After Snape left his office, Dumbledore continued to stare into the void as if wondering about something.
"When did Hermione and Harry get so close?" Dumbledore mumbled to himself after a few minutes of silence.
"I do not think they were so close last year," he said. "Perhaps when they used the time turner, they might have experienced something."
"Whatever the reason, this is not a good thing," he whispered, still lost in thought. "I cannot overly rely on Ron. He is a fool throughout. I need some new methods."
.
.
.
On the other hand, Snape, who was returning to his quarters, was also lost in his thoughts. His mind was wandering on two things. The first was obviously the encounter he had had with Charlus Potter.
"From that day, I have become many times more powerful," Snape muttered in a whispering tone.
"But this is still not enough. Probably even half a dozen of the current me, would still fail to take him down," he added. "Family magic is truly something else, especially if it is the Potter family Magic."
The second thing Snape was wondering about was the unusual closeness between Harry Potter and Hermione Granger.
Although neither he nor Dumbledore had commented on it, Snape knew that the old man too must have noticed this phenomenon. But what Albus Dumbledore wanted in this regard, Snape had no idea.
No matter how useful a pawn Snape had become for Dumbledore, the old cunning headmaster would never place all his eggs in one basket, nor would he ever show all his cards to anyone. Albus Dumbledore did not trust anyone fully.
"And for him," Snape whispered, "everyone is nothing more than a chess piece."
While Snape was still lost in his thoughts, a certain professor was coming from the opposite direction. Since less than two weeks remained for the opening of Hogwarts, most of the professors had already arrived back to prepare for their classes.
She was a black haired witch. Professor of Ancient Runes, Bathsheda Babbling.
An expression of contempt appeared on her face as she arrived close to Severus Snape.
"Professor Snape," she almost sneered in mockery.
"What thoughts are you lost in?" she questioned with disgust. "Probably trying to find new methods to torture Harry Potter?"
"Ah! Professor Babbling," Snape was no less contemptuous as he responded. "Frustrated, are we?"
"Well, I can understand it," he continued. "Your family is going downhill after all. Your behaviour is not really surprising."
"Without the support of the Potter family and their house magic, you are losing your powers," he smirked, rubbing in Bathsheda's face.
"You need not worry, Snape," Babbling said arrogantly. "Three more years before Harry Potter takes up the Potter lordship. And at that time, I would love to see your bat-like face. Better run away before this happens."
Snape chuckled but did not respond and merely walked away.
On the other hand, a frown appeared on Babbling's face. Even though she had declared and boasted about Harry Potter taking up the lordship, she herself was not sure.
Harry Potter, it was public knowledge, was in Dumbledore's pocket. James had not taken up the lordship after Charlus Potter had died, on Albus' advice.
What guarantee was there that Harry would not do the same? Even if he took up the lordship, what guarantee was there that Harry would operate independently of Albus' influence?
At least, at that time, she would have some power to do something about it. She would not be bound and helpless as she was now. For now, she could stay optimistic and hope for the best.
.
.
.
Voldemort was sitting on his large chair, lost in thought. Less than two weeks remained for Hogwarts to open and another two months for the official start of the Triwizard Cup, yet he had still not been able to design his plan for resurrection.
He had an outline in place, but he needed someone competent for the job. Not like the useless Peter Pettigrew. Peter did not have the capability to do what Voldemort would require of him. Besides, Voldemort also needed someone constantly at his side to look after him.
With every passing moment, the dark lord was growing more irritated and angrier. He was lamenting about certain things when he suddenly felt a certain presence outside his house.
It was the usual Peter Pettigrew, back after collecting supplies, mostly milk, which Voldemort needed to remain alive. But this time the rat was not alone. He had brought someone with him.
Voldemort's grip tightened on his wand as Peter strode in, leaving the man outside the wards.
"My Lord," Peter kneeled as soon as he entered the hall. "I have brought someone… someone whom you would love to see. One of your loyal servants."
Voldemort did not say anything and instead activated the Dark Mark on Peter's arm. A burning sensation spread across Peter's skin as he clutched it and screamed in pain.
"My Lord…" he cried.
The pain vanished after a moment. It was a failsafe Voldemort had designed into the Dark Mark to ensure none of his servants were being controlled by someone else.
"Who is it, Peter?" he questioned hoarsely.
"My Lord," Peter replied happily. "You will be pleased to see him. Please allow the wards to let him enter."
"My Lord," Peter added hastily, "he also bears the Dark Mark."
He did not want the Dark Lord to misunderstand his intentions.
"Very well," said Voldemort. "Tell him to uncover his Dark Mark and enter the wards."
Peter ran out in haste and told the man, Barty Crouch Jr. to uncover his Dark Mark. Doing as told, Barty revealed the mark, and as soon as he stepped into the wards, a burning sensation spread across his arm.
But unlike Peter, he neither cried out nor clutched at it. Barty knew this was merely his Lord's way of testing his reality. And for his Lord, he was willing to endure far greater pain than this.
Soon, the pain subsided, and with confident strides, Barty Crouch Jr. entered the house. He knew that after remaining locked for years in his own house, he was finally going to have a new purpose. He was going to serve his dark lord once again.
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