He waited at the edge of the Forbidden Forest with a new-born boy in his arms. Dumbledore, that is. Against the dark shapes of the trees, he was, for once, not wearing the flamboyant colours he always chose; he wore robes of deep grey to blend in. He waited. She was late.
It was cold, and he jiggled the boy in his arms, for he was awake and he wanted to keep him entertained so he would not cry. The boy was silent and docile. Still he waited.
Then a shape appeared at the edge of the forest, almost hidden amongst the trees.
"Hagrid? Is that you?"
Bane the centaur stepped out into the moonlight, his arms folded, a very forbidding expression on his face.
"Yes, Bane?" Dumbledore said mildly.
"Dumbledore. What have you done?"
"Done?" he said, annoyed. "What do you mean?"
Bane leapt toward him. Dumbledore stood back in shock, and took out his wand, but the centaur's hands came down upon him and he realised that Bane only wanted to search his robes. He was exploring every pocket, nook and cranny. Dumbledore's heart beat in his throat. A perplexed expression was on his face.
"I did not expect such violence," said Dumbledore, looking up at him, "when I have a little child in my arms." Bane nodded mildly, his eyebrows raised, and he took out an object from Dumbledore's robes.
"My deluminator. Is that what you wanted?"
"That is what I wanted. Do you know, Dumbledore, that this object can even put out the light of a star?"
Dumbledore stared at him. Bane stared back.
"I am aware of it," said Dumbledore, stepping back, and deciding to be honest, "but not until recently, - I was turning things on and off when I noticed a star go out above me. Ah, I understand. The stars. Yes, - well, we can solve that." He took the deluminator back, clicked it, and the light of the star he had put out reappeared.
Bane snatched it back.
"You cannot do that!" he said, rearing. Dumbledore ran some distance away, panting. He was in a truly vulnerable position. Bane called at him,
"I mean you no harm. Come and talk to me."
"I'd rather talk from here," called Dumbledore. "And I shall be holding my wand." He laid the boy on a mossy bank and stood holding his wand, looking at Bane.
"Do you realise what you have done? Because you put out the light of that star, a boy was born on the wrong day. A boy named Harry Potter. He is now an orphan, and so is the boy at your feet, but he is the wrong babe! So now, Neville Longbottom is to be the one!"
Dumbledore blinked, surprised, and forced out a laugh.
"It was always going to be Neville, then. I am sure you believe in fate – you do not believe in chance – so this is, apparently, meant to be. Strange! Just with a click of the deluminator!"
He was almost amused. He could not imagine anyone other than Neville Longbottom to be the Boy Who Lived, and he, like McGonagall, found Divination to be a very imprecise and shifty branch of magic. The centaurs could say what they liked, but he knew that this was the way it was meant to be. But he could not help feeling a slight niggle. Harry Potter? The other orphan? Was it possible that he might have been, but for the deluminator, the Boy Who Lived? He felt that there was no reason to wonder: it was all over now.
"Leave me be, Bane!" he called. "Take the deluminator if you like – take it and go."
Bane did. He skidded forward, took it from the ground, and bounded off into the forest.
Dumbledore shook his head in consternation.
Neville was crying. He stepped forward, sighing, and picked the boy up again. He walked toward the spot where he had been before – and saw someone walking toward him.
"Finally, Neville. Your grandmother!"
He could see her walking toward him, swaying slightly, and clearly in tears, wiping her nose on the back of her sleeve.
"Augusta – "
Augusta ignored him. She took Neville out of Dumbledore's arms, tears streaming down her face, walked a few steps away, and apparated along with her grandson.