Voldemort's plan

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With a troubled mind, Harry drifted into a restless sleep.

That night, he was plagued by vivid nightmares, his slumber punctuated by frequent, jarring awakenings.

In one particularly strange dream, Harry found himself viewing the world from an unfamiliar perspective.

It was as if he were an unseen observer, being pulled into a decrepit, crumbling house.

The walls were damp and crawling with moss, giving the place an eerie, lifeless air.

The dream guided him deeper into the cave, which was as dark as a cave. The silence was broken only by the creak of old wood.

Harry's perspective was drawn up the narrow, decaying staircase to the second floor.

There, behind a closed door, a voice suddenly shattered the quiet.

"Yes, my Lord," came an indifferent, cold female voice.

"Everything is arranged. When they begin, we'll act."

Before Harry could fully process the words, another voice—a sharp, venomous tone—interjected.

"How dare you address the Dark Lord so casually!"

The room exploded with tension. Harry recognized the voice, though he couldn't place it.

"Shut up! We are merely collaborators!" snapped the first voice, now filled with irritation.

"Enough, Alecto!"

This time, a high, chilling voice rang out, silencing the room. It was sharp and menacing, like shards of ice piercing the air.

Harry shivered, feeling an unnatural cold spread down his spine.

"We are indeed collaborators," the high-pitched voice continued, its tone quieter now but no less sinister. "

But remember your place. You will help me achieve my aims."

The perspective in Harry's dream leaned closer, as though straining to hear more.

Through a narrow crack in the door, Harry glimpsed the room beyond.

It was crowded, the occupants divided into two distinct groups. On one side stood a faction in black robes, reminiscent of the Death Eaters he had encountered before.

Opposite them was a group in scarlet robes, their pointed hoods casting deep shadows over their faces.

The black-robed wizards appeared to encircle and protect someone. Harry strained to see, but the figure at their center was obscured from view.

Still, there was no mistaking the source of the cold, commanding voice—it came from the hidden figure.

"You failed to capture Harry Potter," the figure said, its tone dripping with disdain.

"Now we must wait for another opportunity."

A trembling Death Eater stepped forward, his voice quaking as he spoke.

"Forgive us, master. We underestimated the Ministry's new enforcer. He… he killed many of our comrades. Even Mr. Crouch and Pettigrew..."

The room seemed to darken as the voice in the center interrupted.

"You incompetent fools!" it hissed, the temperature plummeting further.

"I've dealt with such obstacles before. When my most loyal servants return, this nuisance will be crushed."

"Yes, my Lord!" the cowering Death Eater stammered, his tone thick with desperation.

"But, master..." Alecto hesitated, her earlier boldness now tempered with caution.

"Do we truly need Harry Potter? Could we not..."

"Speak carefully, Alecto," the icy voice warned, its edge sharper than ever.

Alecto hastily continued, her words tumbling out in a rush as if to avoid further wrath.

"Master, I didn't say this because I care about the boy!" Alecto's voice trembled slightly, though she strained to sound composed.

"I don't care about the boy—never have, never will! I just thought, if we used another wizard, man or woman, things could be resolved much faster!"

Her tone grew more confident as she pressed on.

"Harry Potter's protection is too strong. Dumbledore, Sirius Black, and that Ethan—they've fortified him well. It's almost impossible to find an opening. But if we shifted focus..."

She hesitated, her words hanging in the air as though she were weighing her next statement carefully. Then, after a brief pause, she continued.

"We have many allies who remain undiscovered. With a single command, they could capture someone just as suitable!"

Alecto finished, her eyes darting nervously toward the figure in the center. She studied its reaction, as if trying to read its mood.

The figure responded with an icy chuckle, a sound that sent a shiver through the room.

"Cowards, all of you," it hissed, its voice like the scrape of steel on stone.

"How pathetic that my most loyal servants are locked away in Azkaban. If they were here, I wouldn't need the likes of you."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop as the words echoed. The Death Eaters surrounding the figure dropped to their knees, trembling with fear, and bowed their heads low.

For the first time, Harry's dream revealed the figure in the middle. His breath hitched in horror.

At the center of the room sat a grotesque, eyeless creature, its form twisted and unnatural. Its body, slick and hairless, resembled that of a malformed infant, covered in dark, scaly skin tinged with raw, red patches. Its arms and legs were frail and limp, and its face—a horrifying blend of human and serpent—was flat, dominated by gleaming, blood-red eyes.

Coiled around it was a massive serpent with shimmering black scales that seemed to absorb the dim light.

The snake raised its triangular head, flicking its tongue, but the gathered Death Eaters seemed oblivious to its menacing presence.

Their terror was reserved solely for the monstrous figure before them.

The creature's gaze swept over the room, its red eyes cold and calculating.

"Stand up," it commanded, its voice sharp and disdainful.

"I don't have a habit of mistreating those who serve me."

The Death Eaters rose hesitantly, their movements stiff with fear.

In stark contrast, the group in scarlet robes stood unmoving, their rigid forms like statues rooted to the ground.

The discussions seemed to have no effect on them; their silent presence was both unsettling and enigmatic.

The creature spoke again, its tone laced with finality.

"I have my reasons for using the boy. I've explained this before—I won't consider another. I've waited thirteen years. A few more months are nothing. Once everything is in place, my plan will succeed, regardless of the boy's protections."

Alecto's voice rang out again, her tone now fervent, almost fanatical.

"Of course! Lord Voldemort is invincible!"

A low, chilling laugh escaped the creature.

"Indeed. But before we move forward..."

Its voice trailed off, and an eerie silence filled the room. Then, with a cold, deliberate tone, it added, "There's an old Muggle standing outside this very room, eavesdropping on our conversation."

Harry's stomach dropped. A wave of dread washed over him as the words sank in. An old Muggle? Could it be him?

Suddenly, every head in the room—black-robed and scarlet-robed alike—turned toward him.

Their collective gaze seemed to pierce through the dream's perspective, locking onto Harry's very soul.

Panic surged through him. His legs felt like jelly, refusing to obey him as he tried to move. He stood rooted to the spot, trembling violently, his mind screaming for escape.

Finally, with immense effort, Harry regained control of his body. He turned to flee, his heart pounding in terror.

But as he spun around, the most bizarre scene of his life unfolded before him.