The Seventh Month
"That is where we made an error."
"Huh?" Harry asked.
"According to the prophecy, 'the one' would be born 'as the seventh month dies'. We mistook that to mean July."
"But what else could it mean?"
"Most of the names of months in English originate from Latin. The Roman year started in what is our March, and their seventh month was September — 'septem' is 'seven' in Latin."
"So... all along, you should have been looking for someone who was born at the end of September? I'm not the chosen one?" Harry asked, stunned.
"So it would seem, my boy. I am terribly sorry about the mix-up. No hard feelings, I hope?"
Harry was struck dumb. He was speechless with rage. He was... free?
"Sure, Professor. And I'm sure you won't mind if move out of Privet Drive and take a little trip around the world?"
"Not at all, my dear boy. I hope you have a pleasant trip. And... do remember to pack a nice pair of warm socks."
"Sure thing. Good luck with finding a new weapon, you old bastard. Don't Owl me, my lawyers will Owl you!"
The end