Harry Porter part2
Location: Dumbledore's office — midnight. The moonlight cuts through the ancient stained glass. The portraits of old headmasters pretend to sleep, but their eyes shift with unease. The air itself feels heavier, as if the very fabric of the room acknowledges the arrival of something… inevitable.
The fire flickers unnaturally. Shadows curl along the edges of the room — alive, sentient.
Daniel is there.
Long, black coat like liquid ink, tailored and sharp, falling like the midnight sky itself. His gloves—black leather—hide the hands that have touched the beginning and end of all things. His face unreadable, sculpted in marble and death.
Dumbledore, behind his grand desk, watches him, measuring every movement.
Dumbledore (voice calm, but a faint crack at the edge):
"Harry belongs to the wizarding world, Daniel. He must know who he is, where he comes from."
Daniel (steps forward, his voice low, cold, absolute):
"You want to negotiate with me, Albus?"
(pauses, the room grows colder)
"With the one who carries the ledger of every soul that has walked this plane?"
(tilts his head slightly)
"I don't negotiate with mortals trying to cheat fate."
(voice like a whispered storm)
"Especially not ones who play chess with children's lives."
The portraits on the walls shift nervously. Some turn away.
Dumbledore breathes slowly, keeping control.
Dumbledore:
"Harry must grow with his kind. Away from shadows… away from the weight of… your world."
Daniel (a humorless smile curves his lips):
"My world?"
(the room darkens, faint silhouettes of Reapers flicker behind him)
"Albus, everything you see — every street, every school, every so-called sanctuary — exists under my watch."
(steps closer, Dumbledore's quill cracks under invisible pressure)
"This child is not your pawn, not your prophecy to twist."
(glances toward the small crib by the fire — Harry, asleep, scar glowing faintly)
"I made a promise to Lily. A promise sealed in blood, pain… and something beyond your comprehension."
Dumbledore tightens his jaw.
Dumbledore:
"You promised to protect him, but isolating him…? He needs—"
Daniel (cuts him off, voice razor-sharp):
"He needs a life. Not manipulation. Not whispered prophecies hanging over his head like a guillotine."
(leans in, his shadow swallowing the space between them)
"You think I don't see your threads, old man? You weave futures like a spider spins webs. But every web… breaks."
(smirks darkly)
"And I? I decide when they snap."
The room falls deadly silent.
Daniel:
"You parade under the guise of wisdom, Albus, but I've watched men like you crumble under their own arrogance."
(gestures lightly toward Harry)
"He will grow in my house. Among shadows, among truths. I will not let him rot in that den of hypocrites you call his relatives."
(steps back, voice colder now, deadly calm)
"You talk about fate… Do not mistake me for a fortune teller, Albus. I know the past, the present… and I've walked the bones of every future."
(pauses)
"You will get your wish — he will attend your little school. But hear me…"
(gloves creak as his hand tightens)
"If you dare use him — as a weapon, a symbol, a puppet…"
(eyes flicker with something ancient, endless)
"I'll unmake the chessboard entirely."
Dumbledore exhales slowly, masking the chill creeping down his spine.
Dumbledore:
"He deserves… hope."
Daniel:
"Hope?" (soft, almost amused)
"Hope is the candle flickering before the hurricane arrives."
(steps toward the door, shadows peeling off the walls to follow)
"This boy… will carry storms, old man. Let's not pretend the world won't drown trying to chain him."
(pauses at the doorway)
"I protect him because I promised his mother. I protect him because even Death keeps its oaths."
Dumbledore:
"And if I disagree?"
Daniel:
"You won't. You're not foolish enough."
(turns, coat whispering like smoke)
"You see the Reapers behind me, Albus? They don't follow politicians. They don't follow prophecies. They follow me."
(smirk darkens)
"And I follow promises."
As Daniel steps through the door, the temperature rises back to normal — the shadows retract, the Reapers vanish. But his words echo like a death knell through the room:
Daniel's final words, drifting back cold and heavy:
"Your move, Albus… Just remember, even the king falls when the board flips."
The door shuts. Silence.
Dumbledore stands alone. His hand shakes faintly as he pours tea that's long gone cold.
Want to continue with Daniel taking Harry to his home? More scenes of him training, preparing for Hogwarts with that brutal, philosophical style?