Clan Meeting

In the depths of the ancient stone chamber, beneath the enchanted vaults of the Slytherin Enclave, a meeting was called.

At the head of the obsidian serpentine table sat Lord Slytherin, his cane tapped once against the runic floor. The metallic sound echoed like thunder, reverberating through the marble bones of the room. The sound was more than dramatic—it was functional. At once, the Sigils of the Thirteen Houses flared to life, each etched into a ring surrounding the central dais, glowing with green, silver, and violet fire.

They appeared in sequence, shifting from least to most prestigious, based on ancient power rankings established after the founding of the Enclave.

From right to left:

Monitor Houses: Naga, Amphisbaena, Amphiptere — the three 'testing' houses. Recognized, respected, but not yet confirmed as full Majors. Their leaders were hungry, ambitious, and watched the power dynamics with sharp eyes.

Then:

The Major Houses, from least to most influential:

Taipan, Mamba, Python, Cobra, Viper, Apophis, Ananta, Hydra, Jörmungandr, and Ouroboros — each a titan of old bloodlines, pure-blooded power, and magical prestige.

Last, but never equal — seated above them all:

The House of Basilisk — the Founder's Blood, the First Serpent, the Ruling Line.

Twelve flashes of light shimmered into the chamber, and with each one, a figure appeared—some in person, some as magical projections cast by enchanted crystals. Of the thirteen, only three came in person.

Seated at the Viper Seat was a man dressed in a tailored black suit, blond hair slicked back like polished gold. His cold, calculating eyes scanned the room with ease. He wore his smirk like a crown.

> [Insert image of Lucius Malfoy]

At the Amphisbaena Seat, Rosa sat with poise and silence, her expression a mask of icy professionalism. Gone was the teasing tone or the warmth she showed with Harry—this was the Clan Council, and she wore her duty like armor.

Then came the Apophis Seat, where a burly, bearded man shimmered into view. His robes still bore the seal of the Ministry. Clearly summoned mid-duty, he grunted as he sat, his dark eyes scanning the room with military discipline.

> [Insert image of Tiberius Nott]

Only one seat remained empty: the Hydra Seat—left unoccupied by design.

> He is too young to be here.

Not yet. Not for this.

A voice cut through the murmurs like a blade. From the Taipan Seat, a woman's voice, smooth as silk but laced with venom:

"My Lord and Lady," she said, folding her hands, "what is the meaning of this summons?"

Her projection flickered slightly, but her tone did not.

Lord Slytherin stood—not abruptly, but with the weight of generations in his movement.

"Today," he said, voice calm and resonant, "we formally announce the return of a lost bloodline. The revival… of the House of Hydra."

A ripple spread across the chamber. Lucius's eyes narrowed; Tiberius Nott leaned back in his chair. The crystal projections flickered as the heads of Houses whispered among themselves in surprise.

Lady Slytherin added, her tone smooth and iron-bound:

"He has the mark. He bears the blood. And he wields one of the Ancient Weapons."

Lucius's smile dropped, just a fraction.

"The boy," said a voice from the Python House, low and cautious. "Harry Potter…? Is he even one of us?"

Rosa's cold eyes lifted.

"He bears the mark of Gluttony. He awakened the Blade known as Beelzebub. You know what that means."

Even the shadows recoiled.

From the Mamba House, a deep voice rumbled, "So the Sin Weapons were real after all..."

Lord Slytherin tapped his cane again, silencing the murmurs.

"We are not here to debate myths," he said, steel lacing his words. "We are here to prepare."

"For what?" Lucius asked, voice soft, eyes glittering like daggers.

Lady Slytherin smiled—faint, distant, dangerous.

"For the world to remember… that the snakes do not slumber forever."

Tiberius Nott raised a hand, his tone respectful but firm.

"May I speak, my Lord?"

Lord Slytherin gave a slight nod.

"You may, Tiberius."

The man stood, his dark Ministerial robes settling with authority.

"With all due respect, I hold your words in the highest regard. But how are we to truly know this boy is one of us? You say he wields Beelzebub, and that the mark proves his legitimacy… But are we to trust only appearances? There are curses in this world that mimic lineage. Illusions. Half-truths. Why are we to accept this boy as the reborn Hydra, simply because he bears a scar and summons a cursed blade?"

His words echoed through the chamber like a gavel striking stone. The sigils of the Houses flickered with quiet magic as the Council members turned to one another, murmuring, weighing the implications.

Then, with a soft chuckle and a flash of silver-ringed confidence, Lucius Malfoy rose.

"Indeed," he said smoothly, voice full of smug superiority. "Tiberius speaks reason. Last I checked, James Potter was no Slytherin. A Gryffindor, if I recall—loud, reckless, and utterly mediocre. And the boy? A Half-blood." He practically spat the term. "Even if he is the so-called 'Boy Who Lived', we cannot let sentimentality cloud our standards. We are the Thirteen Houses of Slytherin, not a charity for fallen bloodlines."

Before another voice could rise in agreement or protest, a sharp tap echoed.

Lady Slytherin had raised her gloved hand and tapped a single black-nailed finger against the obsidian table. Silence followed like a cold wind.

Her voice was like velvet sheathed over a blade.

"You want proof, Lucius?"

The room froze.

Lucius turned, and for the first time in a long while, the smirk faltered.

Lady Slytherin walked slowly to the far wall, her robes gliding over the floor like smoke. She raised one hand—no wand—and spoke a command in Parseltongue. A hiss echoed, and the wall shimmered. From it emerged a massive enchanted tapestry—no ordinary family tree.

It was the Slytherin Magical Bloodline Map, a living record of the Founder's bloodline and all branches acknowledged by ancient magical pacts.

Names glowed across it—silver for living members, red for those joined by marriage, and green… for blood heirs.

They all watched in stunned silence as a single glowing thread extended from Salazar Slytherin, through several obscured and long-forgotten lines, eventually winding its way down to Lily Evans Potter—marked in bright green.

From her, a silver line connected to James Potter (marked in red), and from them…

A single glowing emerald mark pulsed beneath the name:

Harry James Potter.

The room collectively inhaled.

Lucius stared.

"…How?" he finally muttered. "Lily Potter…? Who was her ancestor?"

Silence followed.

Lord Slytherin stepped forward now, placing a hand on the table as he looked each House in the eye.

"That… we do not know. Her branch was long hidden. Concealed even from us. But the Tree cannot be falsified. It is ancient magic, older than the wards that protect this very chamber."

Rosa finally broke her silence.

"We checked it three times. Even the monitoring scrolls agree."

Lucius sat down, stiff and pale, his expression unreadable.

Lady Slytherin turned back, her voice firm but calm.

"You question if he is one of us. He is. Not by claim. By blood."

Tiberius slowly nodded, conceding.

"Then I withdraw my protest. If the Tree confirms it… then we accept it."

From the seat of Jörmungandr, a female voice, calm and wise, finally spoke for the first time:

"So… the Hydra has returned. After nearly a millennium."

The House of Ouroboros remained silent, but their crystal flickered with increased brightness.

Lord Slytherin's eyes met each of them now.

"The boy is not yet ready. But know this: he has already awakened a Sin Weapon, survived the River of Styx, and stood before this Clan without crumbling. One day, he will sit at that seat and speak for House Hydra."

A moment passed.

Then, Lady Slytherin added quietly—perhaps to herself, but all could hear:

"And when he does… the world will shake."

Lord Slytherin rose from his seat slowly, the weight of authority in his posture, his cane tapping once again—this time not to conjure magic, but to silence lingering arrogance.

He turned his gaze to Lucius Malfoy, whose smugness had long since withered beneath the pressure of truth. The room held its breath.

"Lucius…" Lord Slytherin began, voice calm—but laced with steel.

"…You called it a shame that Harry Potter is a half-blood."

Lucius tried not to flinch as the older man took a few measured steps forward.

"Then let me remind you—no, remind all of you—that my own great-grandfather was born of a Muggleborn and a Slytherin noblewoman. That the current Heads of House Mamba, Ananta, Cobra, and Taipan are also of mixed lineage. Half-bloods by your standards."

His voice grew sharper, not louder—each word a blade.

"And yet you dare call my bloodline shameful?"

Lucius lowered his eyes slightly. He said nothing.

Lord Slytherin turned his head, addressing the room now.

"Purity of blood does not equate to purity of soul. It is power, conviction, and legacy that shape a House—not the blood in one's veins, but what they do with it."

He looked at Lucius once more.

"I regret having to use my fellow Lords and Ladies as examples in this." His eyes flicked to the other Major House representatives—each of their crystal forms subtly dimmed in quiet acceptance or discomfort.

"But let this be the last time anyone questions a rightful heir on the basis of their blood. Especially when the magic itself has spoken."

He returned to his seat beside Lady Slytherin, who offered a small approving nod.

A silence followed—one of agreement, respect… and a little unease.

Rosa smirked quietly in her seat.

Tiberius exhaled, then gave a respectful bow of the head toward the head table.

"Well said, my Lord."

Lucius, now properly cowed, finally murmured:

"Apologies… I spoke too quickly."

The chamber buzzed with murmurs until the head of House Amphiptere, a wiry man with spectacles that seemed one blink away from falling off his nose, raised a hand.

Amphiptere Head: "My Lord… something is happening."

Lord Slytherin raised an eyebrow, his fingers lightly tapping the edge of his cane.

"Continue."

The man gestured toward his magical crystal.

"My house has been monitoring the outer edge of the barrier. And—well—you're going to want to see this."

He pointed at Rosa, who sighed with clear reluctance but flicked her wand anyway.

"Aspectus Veritatem," she muttered.

The center of the chamber shimmered as an ethereal window expanded outward—like a mirage becoming solid. What the illusion revealed made more than half the table snort or outright burst into chuckles.

A flock of owls—dozens of them—were repeatedly dive-bombing the invisible magical barrier that protected the Slytherin enclave. Each owl had a Hogwarts acceptance letter tied to its leg. The moment one slammed into the barrier, it poofed through to the far side of the valley—then circled back with furious dedication.

A few more owls popped in, confused and panicked, flapping in awkward spirals as they ricocheted again and again off the barrier.

Rosa rubbed her temples.

"Persistent little things, aren't they…"

The head of House Cobra, a tall, stern-looking woman with tight braids and a venomous smirk, sighed as she rested her chin on her hand.

Cobra Head: "We really need to fix this. It happens every year."

Lucius, having just been humiliated moments ago, tried to salvage some dignity by chiming in.

"Maybe Hogwarts should upgrade their owl delivery system. How quaint, using birds in the 20th century."

Lady Slytherin gave him a look that shut him up immediately.

Meanwhile, the illusion continued to show one owl in particular attempting to claw at the air, squawking like a war veteran with PTSD as it was zapped back for the sixth time.

Amphiptere Head muttered, "I think one of them just declared a blood feud with the sky."

Tiberius Nott chuckled under his breath.

"And here we worried about ancient houses, politics, and forbidden swords. Meanwhile, owls are fighting God to deliver mail."

Even Lord Slytherin cracked a brief smile.

He waved his hand, dissipating the illusion.

Lord Slytherin: "Let the barrier handle it for now. The Hogwarts letters will find their way eventually… or the owls will learn teleportation through sheer rage."

Lady Slytherin smirked.

"Let's just hope none of them reach the Hydra boy through Beelzebub. We don't need cursed letters."

The head of House Jörmungandr, her hair braided in a crown of silver coils, lifted her hand gracefully.

Her voice echoed through the chamber, laced with calm precision.

"So, while we're deciding whether to lower the barrier and let the owl armada through… can we circle back to the sword?"

She paused, her serpentine eyes scanning the table.

"You're saying that Beelzebub—not Lucifer—was the weapon tied to Salazar Slytherin?"

All eyes turned to Lady Slytherin, who answered with quiet authority.

"Yes. It's officially confirmed. The Sin Weapon tied to our founder is Beelzebub—the Blade of Gluttony."

A faint flick of her hand brought forth a projection of the infamous blade. Black and red, almost breathing with hunger.

"Lucifer is still unknown, but by process of elimination, he is likely one of the remaining six. Possibly tied to Pride or Wrath, depending on its behaviour."

The head of Jörmungandr, expression unreadable, simply exhaled—and placed a hand on her forehead like someone feeling the headache of a thousand calculations crashing down at once.

"Twelve years… twelve years of research, divination rituals, artefact sweeps, lineage spells, and decoding prophecies... all ending with one messy-haired boy in oversized clothes who eats like a starving lion."

A pause.

"Do you know how many ancient bloodlines I chased across continents for this?"

Lucius muttered under his breath, "Clearly not enough," and immediately regretted it when Lady Slytherin glared at him like she could shatter him with her thoughts alone.

Tiberius Nott chuckled.

"To be fair, Head Jörmungandr, it is exactly the kind of irony our ancestors would've found hilarious."

Lord Slytherin leaned forward at last, voice calm and definitive.

"Regardless of how he looks, or eats, or how many owls will die delivering his Hogwarts letter... the heir of House Hydra has returned."

A subtle ripple of magic passed over the table as the Hydra sigil on the wall pulsed green—acknowledging its new head.

The leader of House Cobra, a stern woman with dark green robes that shimmered like snake scales, leaned forward, her fingers steepled.

"So. The question remains—who will train this boy?"

Her sharp eyes swept across the glowing sigils of the gathered Houses.

"Which House will guide him in the old arts? And more importantly…"—her gaze now fixed squarely on Lucius and Tiberius—"…which House is most likely to challenge him before he's ready?"

The chamber fell into a heavy silence, the weight of her question lingering like mist.

Then, Rosa raised her hand with calm certainty.

"My House will train him."

She stood, her voice unwavering.

"The House of Amphisbaena has always handled the education of newly awakened bloodlines. We specialize in adaptability and foundational mastery—both magical and martial. The boy will be safe with us."

The Cobra Matriarch raised an eyebrow.

"And turn the boy into another Aurora Assassin?"

The chamber stirred at the name. Whispers and sidelong glances rippled through the other holographic representatives.

Rosa's expression remained composed.

"He'll need to survive before he can be anything. Would you rather have him vulnerable?"

Tiberius Nott crossed his arms, tone skeptical but measured.

"Still… giving a boy who wields a Sin Weapon assassin training? That's not mentorship, that's weaponization."

Lucius Malfoy, always eager to twist the knife, smirked.

"Perhaps that's the point. If the Potter boy is truly a Hydra, then he'll be hunted—not just by enemies, but by his own reputation. We all know the Houses will be watching."

He turned to the others, feigning sincerity.

"We mustn't forget… sometimes it's not the sword that kills. It's the wielder who thinks he must use it."

Lady Slytherin finally spoke, her tone steel-wrapped silk.

"Enough, Lucius. You speak as though the boy asked for the blade. He was chosen."

Lord Slytherin added gravely:

"The decision stands. The House of Amphisbaena will oversee his training."

The Cobra Matriarch, still dissatisfied, muttered under her breath,

"If the boy turns out like the last one... don't say I didn't warn you."

To be continued

Hope people like this ch and give me power stones and enjoy