Harry Potter's revenge.

There had been one moment in the meeting when Slytherin had cut loose and showed a flash of what lay hidden beneath the mask. Anger. Anger at him. Anger at him for something he had done in the past. The implication was that he'd caused Slytherin to lose something or someone dear to him, and it was a direct consequence of Dumbledore's willingness to sacrifice others for a greater good.

He grimaced. He hated that phrase. Yes, he'd been forced many times to conduct the cold blooded calculus of necessity, but to try to pretty it up was the first step on the road to falling to the Dark. That was a major difference between good and evil. Evil tried to justify evil in the name of good, while good knew that evil done in the name of good was still evil.

He had no delusions that he was a little bit evil. But it was that knowledge that kept him from falling, that kept him Light.

Did Lord Slytherin appreciate that subtlety?

Clearing the air with the man was crucial, but Slytherin wasn't telling and gave nothing away. For the last three weeks, Dumbledore had racked his brain, going over every tough choice he'd been forced to make over the last few decades. He could think of few people fitting Slytherin's description who'd have good reason for hating him, but he'd systematically investigated and ruled out each one of the them.

Dumbledore took a sip from a plastic cup and popped a muggle sweet from a paper bag into his mouth.

There was one worrying conclusion about Lord Slytherin that he couldn't help himself drawing. The man was power hungry. Dumbledore had dangled a free power-up out of his window, and Slytherin, after three years of ignoring his existence, had come running. That was an important point to consider.

That the power-up that brought him in had been healing worried him even more. That suggested the man didn't trust St Mungo's, or that he eventually wanted to place Miss Granger there as an agent, or, worst of all, that he planned to get into situations that needed a healer on call. Situations like battle.

He idly stroked his beard.

Of course, there was also the possibility that he was massively over reading this and Slytherin was just pulling strings for a girl in his care. He took another sip. The drink fizzed in his mouth.

"Good afternoon, Dumbledore." Minerva sat down on the bench opposite him. He always admired how well his old friend could blend in with muggles. He smiled.

She sniffed.

"Good afternoon, Professor. I trust we can expect the rest of our faculty soon?"

"No doubt." She sniffed again. "And once more, Albus, I must voice my objection to holding our staff meetings, here." She clipped the final word so short it might have been a punctuation mark. "I do not like leaving the castle with so few adults."

One lane over, a heavily built muggle threw his bludger down his lane. It smashed into a neatly arranged set of pins and toppled them over. A barrier crashed down and the words 'FULL STRIKE' flashed up onto the muggle screen above him.

Dumbledore smiled. "I've always felt it important to come together and build friendships as a team." He poked his wand into the air and a bolt of static flashed across every screen in view. "And what better way to do that than with such a delightful muggle pastime?"

Minerva made no attempt to argue the point. She placed her hands on her knees and assiduously ignored the group behind her, now shouting, cheering, and jumping up and down.

More Hogwarts staff trickled in over the next few minutes — Sinistra, Vector, Flitwick, Babbling, Burbage, Sprout, and Kettleburn, in varying states of enthusiasm. Quirrell arrived with a face so blank it might have been vanished.

Dumbledore was just putting the final entry into the machine when Severus turned up. "Ah, Severus." He turned to regard the man, still in full wizards robes, now trying to make room for himself between Sinistra and Babbling. "What would you like your name to be?"

"I've said will not be Not ever."

before, Headmaster…that I participating. Not now….

On the bench opposite, McGonagall sniffed in agreement.

Professor

He sighed and turned back to the machine. "Very well, as you wish." He pressed a button and the screen flashed the message 'GAME TIME'. He picked up his favourite fluorescent pink bludger, stepped towards the lane and rolled it down the track. Several pins fell over. The screen flashed an animation and a number six appeared next to the name 'THE GRAND WARLOCK'

He turned back.

Babbling stood to take her turn.

"So," he started. "We're now through our first month of classes. What do we think of our so called golden year? Professor McGonagall?"

Minerva tapped a rhythm on one skirted knee. "Miss Granger, Miss Greengrass, and Mister John Potter." There was a susurration of murmuring around the group.

He sat down and popped another muggle sweet. "Oh yes?"

"Yes, Dumbledore. All three of these students are so far beyond their class mates as to be unbelievable. John Potter's homework is clearly fourth year level. Miss Granger's is third year, and Miss Greengrass' is late second at least and I've already seen improvements in just the last four weeks in both of them."

Babbling returned and sat down with a huge grin on her young face. The screen updated a large X next to the name 'I WILL RUNE YOU'.

Flitwick nodded. "Indeed, Minerva—"

Vector stood and made her way to the front. "—Those three students are quite something else. Miss Greengrass and Miss Granger spend almost their entire class time fine-tuning control of their spells rather than learning them."

Severus grumbled something incoherent.

Minerva nodded.

Dumbledore stroked his beard. "And what do you think, Professor Quirrell?"

"I agree with those assessments. Miss Greengrass and Miss Granger are… unique students. But it is Mister Potter who most catches my interest."

📖📖📖

🪄✨This novel is available in pdf format with more than 600 chapters if you want you can visit our store🪄✨

⬇️⬇️⬇️

 ✨🪄https://sunflowersfic.tiendup.com/🪄✨