Son of Voldemort

The deafening roar of the departing Express echoed in Harry's ears as the train pulled away from the station, leaving him standing there in a state of shock. The ground beneath him vibrated with the immense power of the engine, and the realization struck him like a blow to the chest - he was still on the train, and he hadn't even had a chance to retrieve his luggage. Panic gripped him, but amidst the chaos, the sound of Aiden's voice brought a strange sense of relief, even though Harry was still seething with anger.

Desperately, Harry wiped the blood from his bruised face with the back of his hand.

"We’d better get out of here, quickly," Aiden urged, the urgency in his tone matching the urgency of the situation. Steam billowed from the train's windows as it continued to pick up speed, making it clear that they needed to act fast.

"Come on, we’ll jump."

Without hesitation, Harry followed Aiden into the corridor. It was Aiden who pulled open the train door, leaping onto the platform with a grace that seemed to defy the chaos of their escape. The platform itself seemed to be sliding away beneath them as the train gained momentum. Harry's landing was less graceful; he staggered but managed to straighten up in time to catch a fleeting glimpse of the scarlet steam engine rounding a corner and disappearing from view.

The cold night air enveloped Harry, soothing his throbbing nose as he stood there, feeling exposed and vulnerable. Aiden's gaze bore into him, intensifying Harry's anger and embarrassment at being discovered in such a ridiculous predicament. Amid their silent exchange, Harry wordlessly handed back the Invisibility Cloak. He had not even noticed that it was on the floor, but luckily Aiden was perceptive.

Aiden's expression remained stern as he stared into Harry's eyes.

"Who did it?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern.

"Draco Malfoy," Harry replied bitterly, his resentment toward his fellow student still fresh.

"Thanks for... well..."

Aiden's response was devoid of a smile, his features cloaked in the darkness of the night.

"No problem," he said curtly, his voice tinged with a hint of melancholy. In the obscurity, his misery and distress were all too apparent.

"I can fix your nose if you stand still,” offered Aiden.

While Harry had initially contemplated seeking Madam Pomfrey's expertise for his injured nose, he had refrained from voicing his concerns. It seemed impolite to do so, given Aiden's help.

"Episkey," Aiden intoned, and Harry's nose responded with a sudden surge of warmth, followed by a cooling sensation. Gingerly, Harry raised a hand to feel the once-agonizing appendage. It seemed to be mended.

"Thanks a lot!" Harry muttered awkwardly, unsure of how to navigate the complex emotions that swirled within him.

Before Aiden could respond, Tonks appeared. She looked as mousy-haired and miserable as when he had first met her at The Burrow. Her eyes lingered on Aiden Lestrange for a moment before she waved her wand. An immense silvery four-legged creature erupted from it and streaked off into the darkness.

“Was that a Patronus?” asked Harry, who had seen Dumbledore send messages using similar silvery creatures.

"Yes, I'm sending word to the castle that I've got you and him, or they'll worry. Come on, we'd better not dawdle," Tonks replied urgently, her words punctuated by a stern nod.

They set off towards the lane that led to the school, the weight of their situation palpable in each step they took.

"How did you find me?" Harry inquired, his curiosity piqued.

"I noticed you hadn't left the train..." Tonks began, her words trailing off with a hint of unease.

"But what are you doing here, anyway?" Harry pressed further.

"I'm stationed in Hogsmeade now, to give the school extra protection," Tonks disclosed, her voice heavy with the gravity of her mission.

"Is it just you who's stationed up here, or...?" Harry's curiosity remained insatiable.

"No, Proudfoot, Savage, and Dawlish are here too," Tonks revealed.

"Dawlish, that Auror Dumbledore attacked last year?" Harry sought clarification.

"That's right," Tonks confirmed.

Amidst this exchange, Aiden seized the moment to introduce himself, his voice intense and brimming with formality.

"Aiden Lestrange."

Tonks, however, snarled in response, ignoring him entirely, her demeanor explicit in its disdain.

Undeterred, Aiden persisted. "It's nice to meet you first cousin."

Harry, anticipating Tonks' startled reaction to this revelation, was taken aback when her response was a look of profound disgust, her emotions laid bare in her expression.

Harry cast a sideways glance at Tonks. The Tonks he remembered from last year had possessed an inquisitive nature, occasionally bordering on annoyance. Her laughter had come effortlessly, and jokes had spilled from her lips like sparkling gems. But now, as they walked together through the cold night, she appeared markedly different. She carried herself with an air of somber determination, as if the weight of the world rested on her shoulders. Harry couldn't help but wonder if this transformation had been brought about by the events at the Ministry.

He considered the unspoken advice that Hermione might offer in this situation, urging him to offer words of consolation regarding Sirius. After all, it hadn't been Tonks's fault in the slightest, but Harry found himself unable to broach the topic. He had no inclination to discuss Sirius, preferring to keep his thoughts on the matter buried deep within.

They continued their journey in silence, the only sound the whisper of Tonks's long cloak brushing against the ground. The path to Hogwarts, usually traveled by carriage, seemed endless on foot. Harry's hunger gnawed at him, and a bone-chilling cold seeped into his bones. He longed to put distance between himself and the now gloomy presence of Tonks.

As they reached the towering pillars on either side of the castle gates, each crowned with a winged boar, relief washed over Harry. He was eager to leave the solemn company of Tonks behind. His hand extended to push open the gates, but a cruel surprise awaited him – they were chained shut.

Confidently, Harry aimed his wand at the padlock and uttered, "Alohomora!" But the padlock remained stubbornly unyielding.

Tonks, her voice tinged with knowledge, informed him, "That won't work on these. Dumbledore bewitched them himself."

Harry's frustration mounted, and he scanned their surroundings for an alternative solution.

"I could try climbing the wall," he suggested.

Tonks responded with a flat dismissal, her tone leaving no room for argument.

"No, you couldn't. Anti-intruder jinxes on all of them. Security's been tightened a hundredfold this summer."

Undeterred by the setback, Harry attempted "Alohomora" once more, this time with a flicker of doubt in his eyes. To his surprise and everyone else's astonishment, the spell worked. The padlock clicked open with a satisfying sound, the gate now unlocked.

Tonks blinked in disbelief at the sudden turn of events, her excitement and astonishment evident. Aiden, standing nearby, made a sound of approval. This was the most excited Tonks had been that night, her emotions momentarily overpowering her typically composed demeanor.

However, their celebration was abruptly interrupted by the sight of a lantern bobbing in the distance. As the light drew nearer, it illuminated the unmistakable silhouette of Severus Snape. His greasy hair hung lankly around his sallow face, and his hooked nose seemed even more pronounced in the lantern's eerie light. A rush of loathing coursed through Harry at the sight of his former Potions professor, casting a dark shadow over their newfound hope.

The night air was thick with tension as Severus Snape, the sinister Potions Master of Hogwarts, emerged from the darkness. His obsidian eyes were cold and calculating, and in his bony, pale fingers, he held his wand, poised to tap the padlock. However, Snape's cruel smile of anticipation faltered as he realized that the padlock was already open. His gaze flickered from the unlocked gate to Harry, then to Aiden, and for a moment, his piercing eyes lingered on Aiden before finally giving his attention to Harry.

"Well, well, well, Potter," sneered Snape, his voice dripping with disdain. "Nice of you to turn up, although you have evidently decided that the wearing of school robes would detract from your appearance."

"I couldn't change, I didn't have my –" Harry began, but Snape cut him off with a dismissive wave. Aiden, standing beside Harry, couldn't help but make a disapproving sound, but Snape paid it no mind.

"There is no need to wait, Nymphadora," Snape said with a sneer. "Potter and your cousin are quite – ah – safe in my hands."

"I meant Hagrid to get the message," said Tonks, her brow furrowing in confusion.

"Hagrid was late for the start-of-term feast, just like Potter here, so I took it instead," Snape replied curtly. He then turned his attention back to Harry, blocking Tonks from entering.

"And incidentally," Snape added, standing aside to allow Harry and Aiden to pass, "I was interested to see your new Patronus."

With a flourish of his wand, Snape shut the gates in Tonks's face, the heavy metal doors clanging shut, and then tapped the chains with his wand again, causing them to slither and clink back into place.

"I think you were better off with the old one," Snape remarked, his voice oozing malice. "The new one looks weak."

As Snape swung the lantern around, Harry caught a fleeting glimpse of shock and anger on Tonks's face before she was enveloped in darkness once more.

"Goodnight," Harry called out to her as he turned away, beginning the walk up to the school with Snape and Aiden by his side.

"Thanks for... everything."

"See you, Harry," Tonks's voice carried faintly on the night breeze.

For a long while, Snape and Harry walked in silence, the tension between them palpable. Harry felt as though his body was radiating waves of hatred so potent that it was a wonder Snape couldn't feel them burning him. Snape had always been a target of Harry's loathing since their first encounter, but he had cemented himself as an irredeemable enemy with his callous attitude toward Sirius. Over the summer, Harry had pondered this, coming to the conclusion that Snape's snide remarks to Sirius about hiding while the rest of the Order of the Phoenix fought Voldemort had likely played a significant role in Sirius's ill-fated decision to rush to the Ministry that night.

Harry clung to this notion, as it allowed him to place blame squarely on Snape, which felt deeply satisfying. Moreover, he was certain that if anyone felt indifferent, if not pleased, about Sirius's demise, it was the man walking beside him in the dark.

"Should I deduct fifty points from Gryffindor for lateness, do you think?" Snape finally broke the silence, his voice laced with a cruel sneer. "And perhaps another twenty for your Muggle attire. I don't believe any house has ever started the term in negative figures before. We haven't even reached dessert yet. You might have set a record, Potter."

The fury and hatred simmering within Harry threatened to erupt, but he would rather endure immobilization spells all the way back to London than reveal to Snape why he had been late.

"I suppose you wanted to make an entrance, did you?" Snape continued, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "And with no flying car at your disposal, you decided that bursting into the Great Hall halfway through the feast would create a suitably dramatic effect."

Still, Harry remained silent, though he felt his chest might explode from the pressure. He understood that Snape had come to fetch him solely for this purpose, to needle and torment him.

Aiden, who had been quietly observant, cleared his throat, capturing Snape's attention at long last. Aiden's gaze was defiant, and an unspoken communication seemed to pass between the two.

"I don't believe a professor should address a student in such a manner, Professor Snape," Aiden declared boldly.

Snape's lip curled into a snarl as he turned his gaze upon Aiden. "Ah, Aiden Lestrange," he hissed. "Rest assured, Mr. Lestrange, if you were assigned to a house, I'd have no qualms about deducting points from it as well. Your father, after all, is quite invested in your success, I've heard."

Aiden glared at Snape, his expression a mixture of defiance and resentment, but he wisely refrained from further remarks, recognizing the futility of arguing with the formidable Potions Master.

They finally reached the castle steps, and as the massive oaken front doors creaked open to reveal the expansive flagged Entrance Hall, a cacophony of animated conversations, laughter, and the melodious clinking of plates and glasses welcomed them from beyond the doors leading to the Great Hall.

Harry pondered whether he could discreetly slip on his Invisibility Cloak, allowing him to quietly rejoin his spot at the long Gryffindor table, inconveniently located at the far end of the hall, without attracting any attention.

However, as if he had glimpsed into Harry's thoughts, Snape interjected, "No Cloak. You should walk in so that everyone can see you, which is undoubtedly what you desire."

Aiden, aware of the blood marring Harry's face, acted quickly. He gently pulled Harry aside, his voice a hushed whisper filled with concern, "Let me fix that blood on your face."

With a graceful wave of his wand, he conjured the Tergeo spell, and the dried blood vanished, leaving Harry's face clean once more. Despite Aiden's efforts to conceal it, Harry could feel his nervousness. Entering Hogwarts in his sixth year must be a daunting experience for him.

Harry appreciated Aiden's gesture and briefly touched his arm in acknowledgment.

"Thanks," Harry said softly, grateful for the support.

Aiden, however, seemed uncertain about what to do next. He hesitated for a moment before making a tentative suggestion.

"I could walk you to your table if you'd like."

Before Harry could respond, Snape's voice cut through the air, his tone sharp and definitive, leaving no room for argument.

"Absolutely not, Mr. Lestrange. You have the Sorting to attend to, given your rather convenient absence."

Aiden's shoulders stiffened at Snape's words, and he nodded in reluctant agreement. He knew that arguing with Snape was rarely productive, especially in front of the entire school.

With a sense of determination, Harry pushed open the imposing door, the grand entrance to the Great Hall. As the heavy doors swung wide, the room's atmosphere shifted. The previously lively chatter and laughter that had greeted their arrival faded into a hushed silence, and all eyes in the Great Hall turned towards them. It was as if a collective gaze of curiosity, astonishment, and even apprehension settled upon the late arrivals.

Harry's heart raced as he felt the weight of hundreds of stares fixed upon him. He knew that his entrance was creating a stir, and he couldn't help but feel self-conscious under the scrutiny of his fellow students. It seemed that his return to Hogwarts was destined to be a dramatic affair, whether he wanted it or not.

Focused on the task at hand, Harry moved with purpose, determined to reach the Gryffindor table. He navigated the sea of curious onlookers, passing the Hufflepuff table with a quick nod to some friendly faces, but he didn't pause to engage in conversation. He couldn't afford to be distracted now.

As Harry continued his brisk pace, he spotted Ron and Hermione seated at the Gryffindor table, their expressions a mix of surprise, concern, and relief.

Ron's eyes widened as he caught sight of Harry.

"Harry?" Ron exclaimed, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Hermione, her usual composed demeanor momentarily forgotten, leaned forward, her eyes searching Harry's for answers.

"Where on earth have you been, Harry? We've been worried sick."

Harry felt the collective gaze of the Gryffindor table, including Ginny, Neville, Dean, and Seamus, all fixed intently upon him. Even Nearly Headless Nick, the curious Gryffindor ghost, had floated closer, eager to eavesdrop on the unfolding conversation.

Harry felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment. He whispered to Hermione, "I'll tell you everything later, Hermione, I promise. But now isn't the right time."

"But –" Hermione began, her concern deepening.

"Not now, Hermione," he said firmly, his words a plea for understanding.

He hoped that his friends would accept his response and assume that he had been involved in something heroic, perhaps a daring encounter with Death Eaters and a fearsome Dementor.

His gaze drifted beyond his friends to the Slytherin table, where he locked eyes with Draco Malfoy. To Harry's surprise, Malfoy did not avert his gaze as he usually would, nor did he regard Harry with his usual disdain. Instead, there was a complex mix of emotions in Malfoy's eyes—confusion, desire, and something else that Harry couldn't quite decipher.

Harry's thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the Sorting Hat's shout as it announced the first Sorting of the evening. Startled, he realized that he hadn't even noticed that Aiden Lestrange was being sorted at the head table.

As Harry looked up at the staff table, he observed the face of Albus Dumbledore, the venerable headmaster of Hogwarts. For the first time in his life, Harry saw a hint of fear etched on the old man's face, a subtle but undeniable flicker of concern in his eyes. It was a sight that sent a shiver down Harry's spine, for Dumbledore had always exuded an air of unflinching confidence.

Beside Dumbledore, Rubeus Hagrid, the gentle giant and Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts, was enthusiastically waving at Harry. Hagrid's jubilant greeting was met with a disapproving look from Professor McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor House, who sat beside him. The top of her head came up to somewhere between Hagrid’s elbow and shoulder as they sat side by side.

Harry was further surprised to see the Divination teacher, Professor Trelawney, seated on Hagrid’s other side. She rarely left her tower room, and Harry had never seen her at the start-of-term feast before. Her appearance was as eccentric as ever, draped in shawls and adorned with beads. Her eyes, magnified to enormous size by her spectacles, glittered with an otherworldly intensity.

Having always considered her a bit of a fraud, Harry had been shocked to discover at the end of the previous term that it had been she who had made the prediction that led to Lord Voldemort's attack on Harry and his parents. The knowledge had made him even less eager to find himself in her company, and he was relieved that he had chosen to drop Divination for the upcoming year.

Despite his discomfort, Harry couldn't escape the penetrating gaze of Professor Trelawney. Her great beacon-like eyes swiveled in his direction, and he hastily looked away, his attention shifting to the Slytherin table once more.

Aiden had taken a seat next to Malfoy, who visibly shivered at his proximity. The other Slytherins seemed torn between fear and curiosity regarding the new arrival. Whispers and rumors buzzed across the hall, speculating about Aiden and the mysteries he brought with him.

"So, what did Professor Slughorn want?" Hermione asked, her curiosity piqued.

Harry took a moment to gather his thoughts, the encounter with Slughorn fresh in his mind.

"Well," he began, "he invited me and Neville to join a gathering in one of the compartments. Turns out, we weren't the only ones he invited."

Harry proceeded to recount the details of what happened on the train with Slughorn.

As Harry spoke, Hermione's expression shifted from curiosity to keen interest. She listened intently as Harry described the introductions, the tension between the Gryffindor and Slytherin students, and Slughorn's apparent fascination with him.

"Slughorn, it seems, is quite impressed with you," Hermione remarked.

Harry nodded, still processing the encounter.

"Yeah, he seemed really interested in the whole 'Chosen One' thing.”

Dumbledore rose from his seat at the staff table, and a sudden hush descended upon the Great Hall. The lively chatter and laughter that had filled the air mere moments ago now gave way to a heavy silence, as all eyes turned toward the venerable headmaster.

With a warm, welcoming smile that seemed to stretch from ear to ear, Dumbledore spread his arms wide, as though he aimed to encompass the entire room in his benevolent embrace.

"The very best of evenings to you!" he declared, his voice carrying a magical cadence that resonated through the hall. His words were a soothing balm, quelling the rising apprehension that seemed to hang in the air.

But amid the wonder and excitement, Hermione's sharp observant eyes caught something amiss. She gasped audibly, and her voice, laden with curiosity and concern, sliced through the quietude.

"What happened to his hand?"

All around, others began to notice. Dumbledore's right hand, the same hand that had been blackened and lifeless on the night he had arrived to retrieve Harry from the Dursleys, remained as grotesque as ever. Murmurs rippled through the assembly, a tide of questions and unease. Dumbledore, as always, was one step ahead, interpreting their silent inquiries. With a simple smile, he extended his purple and gold sleeve, concealing the mysterious injury.

"There is nothing to worry about," he reassured them, his tone nonchalant, as if discussing the weather. "Now, to our new students, welcome; to our returning students, welcome back! Another year brimming with magical education awaits you."

Harry leaned in toward Hermione and Ron, his voice a confidential whisper amid the unfolding intrigue.

"His hand was like that when I saw him over the summer. I thought he would have found a way to heal it by now, or Madam Pomfrey would have done something."

Hermione's response was tinged with a mixture of knowledge and unease. Her expression soured, and she spoke with the gravity of someone who had glimpsed the darker corners of magic.

"It appears as if it has withered away. But there are wounds, Harry, that even magic cannot mend—old curses, and poisons without antidotes."

Dumbledore continued, addressing various matters, including a ban on joke items from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and the search for new Quidditch commentators. However, these announcements were but a prelude to the revelation that would shake the very foundations of Hogwarts.

"We are pleased to welcome a new member of our staff this year," Dumbledore proclaimed, his voice ringing with pride. Professor Slughorn, bald and overweight, rose from his seat, his head gleaming in the warm candlelight. His imposing presence cast a shadow over the table below. "He is a former colleague of mine who has graciously agreed to reclaim his former position as Potions Master."

The word "Potions" echoed through the hall like a chorus of disbelief. Ron and Hermione, in unison, turned to Harry, their expressions mirroring the collective astonishment that rippled through the room.

"But you said—" Ron and Hermione began, their voices merging into a single chorus of incredulity.

"I thought he was," Harry replied, struggling to remember when Dumbledore had specified Slughorn's new role. The revelation had blindsided him, and he found himself adrift in a sea of confusion.

Amid the ensuing chaos, Dumbledore's voice surged above the clamor, magnified by his magical authority.

"Professor Snape, meanwhile," he declared, raising his voice to ensure his message permeated every corner of the Great Hall, "will be taking over the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

Anger surged within Harry, and he voiced his indignation for all to hear.

"No!"

The word exploded from Harry's lips, causing heads to turn in his direction. He couldn't care less about the attention. His eyes remained locked on the staff table, incredulous and outraged. How could Snape, a figure shrouded in mistrust for years, be entrusted with the vital post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?

"But, Harry, you said that Slughorn was going to be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts!" Hermione protested, her voice tinged with confusion.

"I thought he was!" Harry replied, the memory slipping through his grasp. Dumbledore had never explicitly stated Slughorn's intended subject.

Harry observed that Snape, who was sitting on Dumbledore's right, did not stand up at the mention of his name. He merely raised a hand in lazy acknowledgment of the applause from the Slytherin table, while his gaze, for a fleeting moment, locked onto Aiden, who alone among the Slytherins did not applaud. Harry was sure he could detect a look of triumph on the features he loathed so much.

"Well, there's one good thing," he said savagely. "Snape will be gone by the end of the year."

Ron, seeking reason amidst the turmoil, questioned Harry's statement. "What do you mean?"

"That job's jinxed," Harry explained, bitterness creeping into his voice. "No one's lasted more than a year… Quirrell actually died doing it. Personally, I'm going to keep my fingers crossed for another death…"

Hermione, her shock, and reproach evident, admonished Harry.

"HARRY!"

Ron offered an alternative perspective.

"He might just go back to teaching Potions at the end of the year. That Slughorn bloke might not want to stay long-term, Moody didn't."

The entire Hall had erupted into a buzzing hive of discussion at the news of Snape's coveted position. Seemingly indifferent to the sensational nature of his announcement, Dumbledore refrained from further elaborating on staff appointments, waiting a few beats to ensure absolute silence before proceeding.

"Now, as everybody in this Hall knows," Dumbledore began, his voice low and weighted with gravity, "Lord Voldemort and his followers are once more at large and gaining in strength."

The words hung heavily in the air, the silence growing taut and strained as Dumbledore uttered the name that struck fear into the hearts of many. Harry's eyes flicked to Draco Malfoy, who appeared disinterested in Dumbledore's address, his wand idly suspending his fork mid-air. It was as though the Headmaster's words held no significance for him.

Aiden, however, sat at the edge of his seat, his gaze unwavering, his eyes like twin beacons of unwavering determination. He didn't blink; he didn't flinch. Every word that fell from Dumbledore's lips seemed to find a resting place in his soul.

"I cannot emphasize strongly enough how dangerous the present situation is," Dumbledore continued, his gaze landing on Aiden, but not with warmth or trust; instead, it carried a hint of suspicion, as if he saw in Aiden something unsettling. "The castle's magical fortifications have been strengthened over the summer, we are protected in new and more powerful ways."

Dumbledore's eyes seemed to linger on Aiden for a moment longer, almost as if he were issuing a warning. Then, his tone shifted, and he implored the students.

"But now, your beds await, as warm and comfortable as you could possibly wish, and I know that your top priority is to be well-rested for your lessons tomorrow. Let us, therefore, say goodnight. Pip pip!"

The Great Hall resounded with the screeching of benches scraping against the stone floor. Hundreds of students, their faces etched with curiosity, began to pour out of the cavernous hall, their footsteps echoing in the distance. Harry, however, lingered, his steps deliberate and unhurried. He bent down, his fingers feigning a meticulous focus on retying the lace of his trainer, a ruse to allow the Gryffindors to surge ahead of him.

Hermione had surged forward, embracing her prefect's duties as she shepherded the first-year students. But Ron, his face a canvas of mixed emotions, remained with Harry. Harry could sense a shadow approaching, and he glanced up just in time to see Aiden and a visibly shaken Malfoy closing in on him. Draco's pallor was stark, evidence that he wasn't here of his own volition. The memory of Aiden's confrontation with Draco at Madame Malkin's flashed in Harry's mind, and Ron's expression mirrored his anticipation.

Aiden, never one to mince words, began with an earnest tone, "Draco's been itching to talk to you, Harry."

Draco, clearly out of his comfort zone, opened his mouth, stammering out an apology, "I... I'm sorry for what happened on the train."

Aiden chimed in, his voice firm.

"He might not be great at expressing himself, but he genuinely means it."

Ron, unable to resist a witty remark, let out an unbidden snicker, followed by a hearty laugh.

 "The mighty Draco Malfoy, struggling to say sorry? Never thought I'd see the day."

Draco, seething with a bitterness that spilled into his words, responded with a venomous retort.

"At least I'm not a Weasley."

However, the withering glares from both Aiden and Harry silenced Draco's retort. Aiden took charge, his gaze unwavering, and declared with intent, "My cousin would like to meet with you one-on-one, Harry."

Draco, his face flushing with embarrassment, started to voice his agreement, but Aiden cut him off firmly.

"Hold on, Draco."

Harry, acutely aware of the scrutinizing eyes upon him, reluctantly agreed to their proposal. His voice held a cautious blend of curiosity and prudence.

"Alright, I'll meet him."

As Harry prepared to provide further explanations, their conversation was abruptly interrupted by the imposing figure of Snape, who loomed over Draco protectively. Aiden, his patience waning, turned his steely gaze toward Snape and issued a stern ultimatum, his words dripping with anger and menace.

"I won't tolerate any bullying or interference from you. If there's a problem, you'll be hearing from my mother and father."

For a fleeting moment, Snape's impenetrable facade wavered, uncertainty flickering in his cold eyes. However, he swiftly regained his composure, his voice a command tinged with malice.

"Off to your dorms, or points will be deducted."

The tension in the air lingered long after they departed the Great Hall, leaving behind a buzz of whispered speculations. The stage had been set, the battle lines drawn, and the dramatic encounter they had just experienced was merely the prologue to a tale that would unfold in unforeseen ways, casting dark shadows across the hallowed halls of Hogwarts in the days and weeks to come.