Magical Journey in HP * DXD

The warm, golden light of the setting sun streamed through the tall windows of the Headmaster's office, casting long shadows across the cluttered yet oddly cozy space. The faint ticking of the many delicate silver instruments on the shelves filled the silence, punctuated occasionally by a soft crackle from the fireplace. Dumbledore sat behind his desk, the epitome of calm, his twinkling blue eyes fixed on Severus Snape, who stood stiffly near the entrance.

"Lemon drop, Severus?" Dumbledore offered, holding out the small crystal bowl with a serene smile.

Snape's lip curled slightly. "Don't play games with me, Headmaster. I presume there's a reason you've summoned me here. Let's get to the point." His voice, as usual, was clipped and cold, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of impatience.

Dumbledore's smile didn't falter. "Ah, Severus. Life is fleeting, you know. We should savor the small moments—like the simple pleasure of a lemon drop."

Snape scoffed, crossing his arms. " Perhaps you might save it for someone more inclined to listen."

Dumbledore chuckled softly, leaning back in his chair. "Very well, if you insist. Let's begin with young Harry. How is he faring?"

Snape hesitated, a glimmer of reluctance in his expression. "He remains a dunderhead, as expected. Though…" He paused, as if the words were physically difficult to say. "He has begun doing his own work. For once."

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose slightly in amusement as he plucked another toffee from the small dish on his desk. "Progress, then. A pleasant surprise. And what of today's… activities?"

Snape's lips pressed into a thin line. "Potter continues to embody his father's brutish tendencies. Charging headfirst, no subtlety, no finesse. It's as though he thinks brute force is the answer to every challenge."

Dumbledore nodded slowly, his gaze distant for a moment. "Ah, yes. A trait inherited from James, no doubt. Though I suspect there's a measure of Lily's determination within him as well."

Snape didn't respond, his jaw tightening slightly at the mention of Lily.

"And what about young James Dawson?" Dumbledore asked, his tone light but his eyes sharp, watching Snape carefully.

This question seemed to spark some interest in Snape. His posture straightened slightly, and his voice lost some of its habitual disdain. "I would say," he began slowly, "that he is… better than his peers."

Dumbledore's gaze sharpened further. "How much better, Severus?"

Snape exhaled quietly, his tone grudging but measured. "He was able to take on a third-year today. Quite handily, I might add."

"Impressive," Dumbledore said softly, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a faint smile. "And how did he conduct himself in the duel?"

Snape's dark eyes flickered with something that could almost be called respect. "He has a tendency to fight head-on. But unlike Potter, he does so with a certain composure. He doesn't let emotion cloud his judgment. I'd say he has a good head on his shoulders, despite his age."

Dumbledore leaned back, steepling his fingers as he absorbed the report. "Interesting. Thank you, Severus. That will be all for today."

Snape, however, did not move. His expression darkened slightly as he spoke. "You do realize, Headmaster, that I won't be able to keep the Slytherins at bay much longer. They're itching to retaliate against Dawson after recent events."

Dumbledore sighed softly, his fingers drumming lightly on the desk. "As I've said before, Severus, we must keep them contained this year. Mr. Pennyworth was not exaggerating in his warnings. Should we fail to protect James, he will leave Hogwarts—and I doubt we will see his like again in this generation."

Snape's lips thinned. "I'll see what I can do," he said curtly.

With a sharp turn of his robes, Snape swept toward the door. He paused briefly before exiting, as though he wanted to say something more, but ultimately left without another word.

As the door clicked shut behind him, Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling. He reached for another lemon drop, rolling it between his fingers as his mind wandered.

"So much potential," he murmured to himself. "But potential can be such a fragile thing…"

The faint ticking of the silver instruments filled the room once more as Dumbledore continued to ponder the weight of his choices.

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The soft glow of the moonlight filtered through the window, casting pale, silvery streaks across the wooden floor of James' dormitory. The room was quiet, save for the faint rustling of bedding as his fellow Gryffindors slept. James sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the wand resting across his palms. His brows were furrowed, and his thoughts churned like a restless sea.

The duel from earlier replayed in his mind—each spell, each maneuver, and each moment of tension between him and Peregrine Derrick. Derrick was formidable for his age, with sharp instincts and a knack for exploiting weaknesses. James knew he could've matched Flint earlier if he had truly pushed himself, but he wasn't certain he could have outright won. The idea of losing in such a public setting had unnerved him, though he hadn't shown it.

He let out a quiet sigh, running his fingers through his hair. I have the potential, he thought, but potential alone won't cut it.

The image of Flint's smirk flashed before him, followed by Snape's expression as he observed the duels—sharp, calculating, and ever watchful. Snape wouldn't miss a single detail, and James was certain the man would have already relayed the events of the day to Dumbledore.

Dumbledore will know. James' fingers tightened around his wand. He always knows. But what's his next move?

For all his confidence on the dueling platform, James now felt a creeping unease. He had revealed too much today—his aptitude, his willingness to challenge, and his refusal to back down. It was like laying down a piece on a chessboard, not as a player but as a piece in someone else's game.

James exhaled deeply, leaning his elbows on his knees. "I've made myself an important chess piece," he murmured under his breath, "but I'm still have not shown I am also one of the players moving the board."

His gaze wandered to his side, where a few tomes on defensive magic sat untouched. I need to learn more. The idea of mastering defensive spells seemed both logical and necessary now. Going all out in every fight was tempting—it appealed to the fire within him—but it wasn't the right move. Not yet.

If I want to stay ahead, I'll have to be smarter, not just stronger. Power is useless without control, he reminded himself.

With a determined nod, he stood and pulled one of the books from the shelf. The faint sound of the pages turning was the only noise in the room as he began to study by the light of his wand.

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Christmas was approaching, but for the Slytherins, the festive season felt anything but merry. Wherever they went in the castle, hushed whispers followed them. The judgmental stares of other students burned at their backs, and their reputation, already tarnished in the eyes of many, seemed to sink lower with every passing day.

Groups of Hufflepuffs whispered in corridors. Ravenclaws eyed them with thinly veiled suspicion. And the Gryffindors? They were the worst of all, wearing smug expressions and sometimes even shooting pointed jabs about the Slytherins' "bruised egos" after the dueling club incident.

The tension boiled over one evening in the Slytherin common room. A group of older students, their faces twisted with frustration, stormed into Snape's office, slamming the door behind them.

"Professor Snape," one of the seventh-years began, his voice laced with indignation, "we've had enough! This constant scrutiny—it's unbearable! They treat us like dirt everywhere we go!"

Snape stood behind his desk, his dark robes blending into the shadows of the dimly lit office. His expression was as unreadable as ever, but his presence was enough to make most students hesitate.

The older Slytherin continued, emboldened by the murmurs of agreement from his peers. "We can't even walk through the corridors in peace. Something needs to be done."

Snape's cold, silken voice cut through the room. "Calm yourselves."

The effect was immediate. Most of the students fell silent, deterred by the weight of his tone. But one, more daring—or perhaps more foolish—than the rest, stepped forward.

"If you won't address this, Professor," the boy said, his voice trembling slightly but still defiant, "at least let us… teach Dawson a lesson. Just something small, to put him back in his place."

A tense silence followed. The boy's words hung in the air like a challenge.

Snape's eyes narrowed, and his gaze locked onto the boy like a predator eyeing its prey. "There will be no such thing," Snape said, his voice dangerously low.

The boy, undeterred, scoffed. "You're just a coward. That's why you won't let us act."

The room seemed to drop several degrees. The other students froze, their eyes darting between the boy and Snape, wondering why they had brought him here and how to get away from him.

Snape took a deliberate step forward, his black eyes boring into the student's. "Coward, am I?" he said softly, his tone icy. "I wonder… when you're expelled for your reckless actions, will you have the courage to explain yourself to your parents? Or shall I write to them myself and detail your bravery?"

The boy's face turned ashen. He opened his mouth to retort, but no sound came out. The other students shifted uncomfortably, their earlier bravado thoroughly extinguished.

Snape straightened, his piercing gaze sweeping across the room. "Let me make myself perfectly clear," he said, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. "You will do nothing. Whether you like it or not, you will wait. This year is not for your foolish whims. Do I make myself understood?"

A chorus of quiet "Yes, Professor" responses followed.

"Good," Snape said sharply. "Now, get out."

The students filed out of the office, subdued and chastened. The boy who had spoken out lingered for a moment, his shoulders tense, before finally retreating with the others.

When the door closed behind them, Snape let out a slow breath, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. "Fools," he muttered under his breath. Yet his mind was already turning, calculating the next steps he would have to take.

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so how are you guys liking the story so far .