CHAPTER 34: A Long Day At Hogsmeade (Part 1)

As the sun rose above the hill behind the village of Hogsmeade, its villagers began their day as they went over their morning ablutions and had an appetizing breakfast. Ever since the students of Hogwarts had been allowed onto the village every weekend, the activity had increased tenfold, it had a prosperous impact on the village's economy, as well as driving more witches and wizards from around Britain to visit more often, with parents and siblings coming to visit family members attending Hogwarts.

All in all, it had been a very praised move from Dolores Umbridge's part that had brought a level of support to her from the Hogsmeade villagers.

Unfortunately, that was a decision that would bring upon repercussions, for it was not just friendly family members who had decided to take advantage of the larger exposure Hogwarts students had to the outside world.

So, it was the case with the six men looking at the village from atop one of the nearby mountains, having stayed inside a long forgotten cabin, hidden by the tall pines coated in snow and the animals that surrounded them, scaring away any ordinary wizard.

As they waited atop the hill, their scheme concocted with only its practical challenges needing to be realised, the man in the centre of the group, with ginger hair and a demented look in his eyes, grinned maniacally, with sporadic giggles and cackles leaving his mouth as he pictured what would befall on the village in but a few hours.

Hogsmeade Village

November 11, 1995

10:15 a.m.

The inside of the carriage rocked as they crossed the Hogwarts entrance and headed down the stony road towards Hogsmeade. Pansy was sitting beside him, frantically fixing her hair as she tied it up in a pretty looking bun. It rested on the back of her neck, slightly loose and fluffy with mesmerizing curls. She had been on edge ever since the morning, eating less than usual and more conscious about her appearance. Theo was in front of them, though he had started talking to them again, there was still a tension between the trio as they were alone together. While before they were more at ease with each other, nowadays, their speech was more calculated and their time was filled with more awkward silences than before.

"Would you stop doing that?" Harry finally snapped. "You're putting me on edge."

"Welcome to the club," she snipped back. "Besides, what do you care? It's not like he's your grandfather. He has expectations of me."

"Cry me a river, will you?"

She slapped his shoulder but kept on going over her bun.

The cool, controlled girl he saw during Halloween was gone. Her nervousness, while not overtly obvious, showed itself in ways that had become annoying to him, especially given how they spent almost all their time together. It manifested in her body language, she paced a lot, touched herself frantically, even small things like her knee shaking while sitting down. There had been some traces of it over the past months, most of them during them dealing with the Montague situation, but not to this level.

Seeing Pansy lose her composure like that made his mind race with absurd ideas, like him being a cannibalistic vampire, or the son of a witch and a dementor. He was certainly not enjoying this side of her.

Finally, they arrived in the village. He was the first one out, breathing the fresh air from the outside as the mass of students rushed towards the usual shops. Returning to the village after Halloween made him go numb. He hadn't been the naive kid he was in first-year for a long time, but he had still enjoyed his trips to Hogsmeade over the years. There had been some tinge of ease and anticipation over wasting his money on sweets and pranks, trying some butterbeer, and just hanging around the village, particularly during the times when he did it with Theo and Pansy.

But now, as he saw the excitement from his classmates as they ran to their favourite shops, arms over their friends with laughter ringing all around him, he felt as if a part with him had died with Montague. He felt nothing as joy and exhilaration flooded the streets he was walking through, couldn't think how it ever brought him that. As he watched his classmates, even some of the older ones, he couldn't see any part of himself in them. He hadn't thought the murder had changed him much, he had felt as far from guilty and sorrowful from the act as he possibly could, and yet, now he was sure something had definitely changed.

Perhaps it was his mind mourning his loss of innocence, perhaps it was his gradual detachment from everyone else finally coming to completion - whatever it was, it made him feel more alone than if he had stayed back at the castle.

"Where's your cottage at?" He asked Pansy only a few minutes after exiting the carriage.

"It's on the other side of town, so just keep walking."

"Near where exactly?"

"A bit before the Shrieking Shack, okay?" She said irritably. "And after that, we still have to walk like fifteen more minutes up the mountain."

"Yeah, that's not happening."

He grabbed both Theo's and Pansy's arms before pulling them into a near alleyway, ignoring their indignant cries to let them go. Once he felt sure he was out of sight, he turned and felt his whole body being pushed through a tiny straw, the weight of both his arms a hundredfold, and he had to catch himself to keep his grip on Theo and Pansy before suddenly the sensation stopped. The three of them landed safely, though a bit harsher than his lone apparitions,

"What the fuck was that?"

"Where did you learn how to apparate?"

"By myself," Harry shrugged, before turning around and looking at the surrounding hills, trying to find the path to the Parkinson Cottage.

"I was hoping for a longer response," Pansy huffed.

"Too bad, now where do we go?"

"We are staying here for the next thirty minutes."

"…Staying here?" Harry asked confused, with Theo also looking at Pansy curiously. "Why the fuck would we just waste half an hour here like morons?"

"Grandfather said at eleven sharp, so we're arriving at eleven sharp. He doesn't appreciate unpunctuality."

"We're arriving early!"

"That's still being unpunctual! Besides, we don't even know if there's someone in the cottage."

"Are you shitting me?" He turned to Theo. "She has to be shitting me!"

"Don't bring me into this," he said, raising his hands in an appeasing gesture.

"No, I'm not."

"Fine then, I'll find my own bloody way to the cottage with or without your help."

"You'll get lost, and we're going to be late!"

"You know," he said, smirking. "At this point, that seems more like your problem than mine."

He began walking away, and just as he was beginning to think his bluff wouldn't work, he heard Pansy groan behind him.

"You're going the wrong way, arsehole."

"Am I?"

Pansy shook her head, rolling her eyes as she walked to the complete opposite side from where he was going, murmuring under her breath about moronic, idiotic twats - pulling an unwilling smile from Harry as he followed behind her and Theo.

The walk was short, but the hill became more and more inclined as they went along. The dirt road ended abruptly, forcing them to continue through more rocky and dangerous territories, not that it deterred them. It wasn't until Pansy grabbed both him and Theo from the arm and pulled them with her that a small shack appeared in front of them, leaving the three with a tingling feeling dancing on their skin - wards, and powerful ones at that.

"That's it?" Harry scoffed, "Not even a toilet could fit into that shithole!"

"That shithole is worth more than your uncle's house," a snide voice called out from behind him, pulling Harry into action as he drew his wand and levelled it up to the boy. He had a thin face, with messy black hair covered his forehead and ears, a long nose, defined cheekbones, and rich brown eyes peering into him observantly. "Trust me, we've checked."

"Don't!" Pansy shouted as she pushed his arm down. "Put your bloody wand away! That's my brother, you moron!"

Harry huffed, but grudgingly put his wand away.

"Thank you, sister, but I didn't require your help." He said jauntily, walking over to them.

"Trust me, you did." She sniped back. "That's why we're here, after all, aren't we?"

He turned to Harry, looking him up and down as if searching for something. "No, not really. It's something else."

"Then what?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "But grandfather didn't seem too bothered by him murdering a student, or by the favour we now owe Snape. He's kept it all hush-hush, but he's been excited to meet you," he told Harry. "Been quite obsessed with you for some time now."

"Is that supposed to impress me."

"I'd be more troubled than impressed," he said viciously. "Though why he's so interested in you, I haven't the slightest clue. Frankly, you don't seem to be anything other than a short-tempered, whiny brat."

"Funny, coming from the guy who's clearly jealous granddaddy is paying more attention to some random kid than his own nephew," he smiled.

"Enough, both of you!" Pansy snapped, though Theo didn't seem far behind. "Boys, honestly! What are you even doing here, Kieran?"

"I've been working closer to Grandfather recently. He's even made me his steward for the Wizengamot."

"He's made you the steward? You? The village idiot?"

"I know, it shocked me as well. But grandfather has changed a lot ever since the summer, as you'll see soon enough. He's waiting for you." He added, nodding towards the shack.

"But we're early!"

"He expected as much." Kieran shrugged. "I had my doubts, however…"

"So… do we just… go in?" Theo asked sceptically.

"It would be polite to knock." Kieran said patronizingly, causing Harry to roll his eyes before turning and heading for the door.

He knocked before anyone could stop him, and the second he did, an old voice answered. "Come in."

The moment he opened the door, any judgment of the battered, old shack was thrown out the window. It had been as if he opened the door to a large, winter cottage. The entrance hall was homey and welcoming, the complete opposite of anything he associated to the Parkinson name. The floor and walls were made of pristine, light-brown wood. To his right, there was a large kitchen with a wooden island in the middle. Further down, there was a long, rectangular dinning table with a small bar behind it. To his immediate left, there was a roaring fire surrounded by two linen couches large enough to fit three people as well as two leather armchairs, with a short, circular table in the centre - curved stairs further down leading to the upper level, with an elegant piano under it, being played by an elderly man, with white, balding hair, wrinkly hands, and dressed in a formal, black and white suit.

"Ah, Mister Potter." He spoke calmly, not stopping his playing or turning away from the piano. "Mister Nott. My dear Pansy. Please step inside, make yourselves at home. I'll have young Kieran to prepare some tea and biscuits for you."

Suddenly feeling hesitant, Harry cautiously walked inside the cottage with Theo and Pansy in tow. They made their way to the sitting area, taking one of the armchairs as Pansy and Theo sat together on the armchair to his right. The offered food silently floated above them, settling down on the closest sofa arm, respectively.

Harry forced himself to not touch his food, to begin indulging in it would be to give control over the situation to Bedivere Parkinson, something he wasn't willing to do. There was something unsettling about the man, an omnipresent quality Dumbledore also shared, except, he didn't have the same benevolent and whimsy attitude as the Headmaster. Quite the opposite, every move felt calculated and intentional, even the song playing on the piano, a familiar tune he could eerily recall from an old forgotten memory from his childhood, felt intentional. Presented against a dominant force in a position of power, Harry did what he had always done when presented with one and resisted it - even if, in this way, his resistance seemed a little childlike.

Bedivere didn't acknowledge them again, not until he finished playing his song in the piano. By that point, Kieran had taken the spot on the couch to his left, and Theo and Pansy had made vast progress with their provided courtesies.

"It's an honour to finally meet you, Mister Potter," Bedivere said softly, as he stood from the bench and began walking towards the remaining armchair, taking a seat before continuing. "I confess to being interested in meeting you for a few months, as of now."

"And why is that exactly?" Harry asked, ignoring his insolent tone. Pansy, however, did not, as she shot him a look berating him for his lack of decorum.

"It's quite alright, dear," Bedivere appeased his granddaughter before once again turning to Harry. "I can understand your apprehension, Mister Potter - may I call you Harry?"

He shrugged and Bedivere nodded.

"I can understand your apprehension. I have researched you extensively, not solely on your home life, but your experiences at Hogwarts as well. The strength of character you have shown, surviving through sheer will and spite after everything you were forced to endure…" That got Theo and Pansy's attention. "It's impressive, even to an old man like me who has witnessed many great feats, you are one of the most interesting individuals I have had the pleasure of coming across in some time."

"Why?"

"Why?"

"Why have you been investigating me?" Harry asked firmly. "If it's because of what happened on Halloween-"

"No, not at all." Bedivere cut him off kindly, before waving his hand, floating a cup of tea to him wandlessly. "We are getting ahead of ourselves." He began twirling the spoon inside the cup with his finger, not taking his eyes off Harry. "My granddaughter tells me you believe the Dark Lord has returned, even though the Ministry has disproved the claim as a mere hoax."

"So?" He glanced a glare at Pansy, who didn't look even a tad ashamed.

Bedivere didn't respond immediately, taking a sip from his tea, he stared intently into his eyes as if seeking to see into his very soul. The gaze, while unsettlingly penetrative, didn't convey a Legilimency attack with it - at least not one he could notice - but he could still not take his eyes away from Bedivere's.

"What are your thoughts on the Dark Lord?"

"I don't have any," Harry answered immediately.

"Nothing we say will leave this room, I can assure you of that." Bedivere nodded towards the door. "I had it locked the moment you entered, windows too. No one can enter or leave here until I allow it, not even through apparition." He added pointedly. "And before I release the binding wards, I will ask each of you to allow me to perform a memory lock on you - yes, even you, Kieran."

"What's a memory lock?" Theo asked nervously.

"A rare and classified mind magic developed by the Department of Mysteries for the Unspeakables. It's completely harmless and foolproof, the memory lock acts as… an autonomous vault, if you will. Essentially, the memory lock utilizes a custodire ac oblivisci methodology, in which the host will forget the protected memories if there is a foreign presence inside their mind, or they attempt to reveal it to an individual who isn't allowed to know the information based on the parameters of the ritual."

"But how did you come across it? Shouldn't it be exclusively reserved for Unspeakables?"

"You are speaking to the Head of the Department of Mysteries," Bedivere smiled, and Theo gaped at him, his face quickly turning white.

The fear of every single pure-blood or wizard-raised half-blood towards the Department of Mysteries and the Unspeakables was something he had never truly understood. He virtually knew nothing of what the Department of Mysteries was, or what exactly they did, and whenever he had tried to ask anyone else about it, they had either ignored him, or ran away from him as fast as possible. It would have to be a subject for another day, as Bedivere continued.

"I'll speak in depth of the ritual later, however, as of now, we have more important subjects to discuss."

"Voldemort." Harry said plainly.

"The Dark Lord," Bedivere corrected him. "Unless you wish to alert his followers of your views on him, address him as the Dark Lord or Lord Voldemort. If you don't, there's a very real possibility any member of his legion of Death Eaters or, if you are unlucky enough, the Dark Lord himself, might take offence to such an irreverent address of the name."

"And you're one of them?" Harry asked. "One of his legion of Death Eaters? His servants."

"I used to be," Bedivere confessed as they both ignored Pansy's scandalized looks towards Harry. "A lifetime ago." There was genuine regret to his words, one that put Harry unbalanced as he continued with an eerily calm voice. "However, recently, I have seen what a man like him would do to our world. The Dark Lord is a man who has no such qualms about principles such as morality or personal honour - he doesn't have a creed that restricts him from committing actions that even men such as you, or I would never even consider. He could slowly torture a room full of babies, taking his time with each of them as he rips out each of their fingers, one by one, break their bones methodologically, carve open their anuses as they screamed and cried without even feeling an ounce of empathy or guilt. He wouldn't even smile or laugh, wouldn't revel in such actions, he'd feel nothing at all."

"That's…" Theo spluttered, lost for words.

"Inhumane, Mister Nott. The Dark Lord is a man who has no care of others, he is loyal to no-one and nothing but himself. And a man like that is one that must be stopped at all costs, before he can regain his hold over the wizarding world."

"But…" Pansy interjected in a low voice, as if afraid of speaking. "He can't be that bad, can he? No one can. Even the most extreme cases of psychopaths and sociopaths have been proven to have some sort of conscience, to be able to at least feel something, even if it's weaker than any normal person."

"Not him, Pansy," Kieran scoffed. "It doesn't matter how much you want to believe it, the Dark Lord doesn't care about you, about the family, about the agenda. Those are foolish fantasies you let mum and dad inculcate in you."

"And how are you supposed to know?" She fired back, a bit more fire to her voice. "You haven't spoken to anyone back home ever since you graduated Hogwarts. You're the one who let the Gryffindors make you forget about the values we grew up with their pity parties and simplistic view of the world."

"Are you really trying to discredit my condemnation of a mass murderer and serial torturer by claiming my view of the world is… simplistic?"

Harry and Theo exchanged a look, suddenly uncomfortable at the family feud happening in front of them.

"Enough, the both of you." Bedivere commanded without raising his voice. "If you wish to continue your childish squabbles, you are more than welcome to take over the rooms upstairs. I have adult subjects to broach with our guests, attain some decorum and behave so long as you're in here with us."

"Yes, grandfather." Both Parkinsons chorused meekly.

Bedivere took another sip of his tea before continuing. "I'm afraid your brother is right, Pansy. The Dark Lord has no intention of supporting anything that stops being beneficial to him and his own, personal cause. You are right in saying that even the most extreme cases of psychopaths and sociopaths still have a conscience in them, even if they choose to ignore it. The Dark Lord, however, is not someone that could be considered remotely close to being human anymore. You recognise this, don't you?" He asked Harry as he pulled out a black notebook from a pocket within his suit, gently dropping it on the table in the centre.

There was a large puncture mark tearing into the notebook from the cover, ripping in, with a golden engraving in the bottom.

Tom Marvolo Riddle

Harry shot up from his seat, backing away from the diary. "How the fuck do you have that!?"

"I have connections inside the castle, as you well know. I took advantage of setting our meeting for today, given that Headmaster Dumbledore is busy at the Ministry with Cornelius Fudge and all the Heads of the Departments, and he wouldn't miss it if it disappeared from his office for a few hours."

"But doesn't that mean you should also be at that meeting?"

Bedivere smiled enigmatically before continuing.

"It can't hurt you, Harry. I can vouch, this is nothing more than a tore down diary." And, instinctually, Harry knew Bedivere wasn't lying. He couldn't feel the pull, the overwhelming sensation of grabbing it and write down all of his deepest and darkest secrets. Unfortunately, that didn't help at tacking the edge.

"I'm fine, thank you." He gritted out, still standing behind the armchair, as he pointedly avoided looking at the notebook.

"What is that?" Pansy asked, looking between Harry and Bedivere.

"This is the most vile and despicable act a wizard can do, it is an abomination, a tainted, depravation of magic itself. It is only known… as a Horcrux, a container of evil. That is a word not used lightly, in your youth, you are told tales of good and evil, but such tales and their simplicity rarely have parallels to real-world conflicts. In such a world we live in, to categorize something as pure good or pure evil is a naive fantasy, done by people who have no grasp on the realities of the world they live in. However… across history, few exceptions can be noted of such a thing, and the Dark Lord is certainly one of this. The process in which you create a Horcrux is… there is no word to describe how horrendous and heinous it truly is - and if the creation ritual wasn't enough to define it as evil, the after-effects it has on the individual tear away any shred of humanity they ever had."

"But what does it do?"

"It is the only known and proven method of necromancy in history - a Horcrux acts as an anchor to an individual's soul. So long as it remains, the wizard whose soul it hosts is still alive, if only partly, and can find methods of regaining a body - either by employing a philosopher's stone, or utilizing the Pair Dadeni."

"Pair da-what?

"The Cauldron of Rebirth," Bedivere clarified patiently to Theo. "A Cauldron created by Herpo the Foul himself for the exclusive use to aid an individual with a Horcrux to regain his body. It is said to be forged with the bones and skulls of over five-hundred magical infants, their residual magical energy the potions brewed within it. For centuries, the Cauldron had been thought missing, it has been completely erased from all the modern magical history books, even those that focus on the Dark Arts, and is only known to remain within the Macabre Manus-"

"Forget about the fucking cauldron!" Harry hissed agitatedly. Bedivere slowly turned to him, and Harry felt his gut drop, a shiver wanting waving over him as he realised it would be wise to keep his composure. "What about the Horcrux?"

"It has been destroyed-"

"How?"

Bedivere paused, taking a sip from his tea. "Basilisk venom, and, up to this point, that is the only way I know of a Horcrux being able of being eliminated."

"You… you speak of them as if they're still an active threat." Pansy said gently.

"That is because they still are, at least, that is my hypothesis. With the object itself, I will be able to go over my own examinations of it to detect more information, but I am sure there is still at least one left."

"How do you know?" Theo asked.

"Because this Horcrux was destroyed in 1992 by Neville Longbottom," Bedivere looked pointedly at Harry. "And since the Dark Lord managed to regain a body only a few months ago, it means our work is not yet finished."

"Our work?" Harry blurted out before he could think of shutting his mouth. "I'm sorry, but are you suggesting we go on a hunt for these Horcruxes? Even though we don't know how many there are. Or what they are. Or if we can even find basilisk venom to destroy them. And even if we knew all that, why not just go to Dumbledore or Longbottom? Look, I'm all for destroying these… things, but if anyone should be given the task of killing Volde- the Dark Lord, it should be them."

"Those two are certainly key players in the upcoming conflict. However, they are not individuals I wish to involve in our plans. Albus is not one to cooperate much, he's prone to keeping secrets, to have his own agenda that could put our mission on jeopardy. He's someone we'll certainly need to consult with, but not until the right time. Longbottom, on the other hand… well, he's not someone who I'd be willing to bet the fate of the Wizarding World on."

Harry scoffed. "If it isn't the mighty Longbottom, then who are you willing to bet on a fight against Volde- the Dark Lord?"

"You are," Bedivere said with such a simplicity unbecoming of the intent gaze he was studying him with.

Harry blinked. "Me?" He laughed, though it was short-lived as he realized the man was fully serious. "Are you shitting me? Have you gone fucking senile?"

"I have not. In fact, I don't think I've ever been as sure of something as I am of this."

Harry turned to Pansy, his disbelief clear on her face. "What the fuck is this?"

"This," Bedivere answered before Pansy could, though Harry doubted Pansy could've even mustered an answer. "Is a grave meeting concerning the immediate and long-term future of the Wizarding World. I can understand your apprehension. However, I suggest you keep your sense of decorum in such important discussions, for this is nothing to act childish about."

His words, while soft and calm, stirred something deep within Harry. A fear and respect few people in recently memory had been able to obtain from him as he realised he was dealing with someone truly out of his depth, feeling like a toddler in free-fall, complexly unprepared for someone like Bedivere Parkinson.

"There is a prophecy." Bedivere claimed, stretching his hand away from his chest and opening his palm up. Gradually, a crystal, transparent orb - with faded blue light emanating from it - materialized on his hand. Suddenly, all the candles inside the room were put out by a powerful wave coming from inside the orb. The temperature rapidly dropped, and the orb turned a brighter blue as an ethereal voice spoke, its voice feeling as if it came from inside his head.

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…

Born of those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…

And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal…

But he will have power that the Dark Lord knows not…

And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives…

As quick as it happened, the candles eerily turned back on as Bedivere waited patiently.

"You think Harry is the one the prophecy speaks of?" Kieran asked with enough respect to mask his apprehension.

"Indeed, the obvious choice for the candidate of this prophecy would be Neville Longbottom. After all, he was marked explicitly by the Dark Lord, and his parents were the most famous Auror-duo, known for managing to survive three separate encounters with Lord Voldemort himself, something complete unheard of, not even by the likes of legends within the Auror department such as Moody, Amelia, and Rufus. However, prophecies are… tricky. For they are not a tool to try to decipher the future, but an accurate account of what will happen regardless of people trying to fight against it. It is because of this that witches and wizards over the centuries have attempted to predict the prophecy's meaning before it is complete, something that is completely useless regardless of who you are and your knowledge of Divination."

"I thought the whole purpose of Divination was to learn how to predict the future." Theo said.

"A propagandized notion designed to invest students in that branch of magic. Divination is not something you can study, more something you are born with. Astronomy, while having an impact on Divination given that it's the physical representation of the Theurgical forces - Magic and Fate - is something that can be studied with the hope to gain a vague understanding of the universe. But interpretation of prophecies is outright impossible because of the wording utilized in them could be interpreted in a hundred different ways depending on your point of view."

"So, does that mean we have no free will?" Harry asked, his voice raising itself despite his efforts. "That we have no options, that we are fated for every single thing happening in our life?"

"Not at all. Quite the opposite, in fact, prophecies originated because there is free will. Seers are conduits of Fate, and their prophecies are intoned only if they will affect future events that will play out. Prophecies are strategic elements Fate implements to enforce its will upon the world, regardless of the existence of free will. Let's say, for example, you witness a prophecy that explicitly states you will be late for work that day. You, just to spite Fate, decide to get in early. Only, on the way, you have an accident and end up being late, despite your best efforts. You had the free will to defy Fate, as you had to accept it, but the reality is, if you hadn't witnessed the prophecy, you most likely would have avoided the accident and gotten in on time."

"Wouldn't that mean that, by you telling us this prophecy, you're doing exactly what Fate wants?" Pansy asked.

"It is what needs to happen," Bedivere said gravely. "For Albus has decided that Neville Longbottom will be the one to stop the Dark Lord, and yet, the boy hasn't been trained. He hasn't been prepared or even informed about anything of value, left to roam free without much guidance, he has encountered the Dark Lord and his servants several times over the years, saved by extreme luck and the protection left by his mother's sacrifice. If we were to stay out of this conflict, let it proceed as it has for the past fifteen years, we are dooming our future to the Dark Lord… unless we can prepare another candidate for the task, and the closest one that fits the criteria is you."

"Me?"

"You were born at the end of July, which, could be argued it is the seventh month in the Gregorian Calendar, Your parents both worked in the Auror department, and while I am not entirely sure of how many times they defied the Dark Lord - and defy is a very vague term, for defiance itself would be opposing the Death Eater movement - I am quite positive they fit in this category."

"But the Dark Lord marked Longbottom," Kieran interjected. "A literal mark, his lightning shaped scar, shouldn't that put him as the one the prophecy speaks of."

"I expected better from you," Bedivere said dismissively, causing Kieran to tense his jaw. "Indeed, the Dark Lord has marked the Longbottom boy, but the prophecy is extremely vague. There is no clause stating when the Dark Lord will mark the individual mentioned in the prophecy or that he will only mark one person in his lifetime, for a mark could be as simple as a paper cut with a cursed parchment. Or perhaps the mark could be interpreted as metaphorical, an emotional or psychological impact in one, if strong enough, could certainly fit the prophecy. Perhaps you have not been marked by the Dark Lord, Harry, however, there is no guarantee you will not be marked in the future."

"So, any other person could fit this prophecy," Theo asked, leaning in. "So long as they meet these vague requirements, they could not even be born as of yet."

"That is a valid point, Mister Nott." Bedivere said with slight proud. "Indeed, when speaking of prophecies and Fate, one can never be fully sure. The individual could not be born until a thousand years from now, the Dark Lord has proven to having the means of immortality. However, I am not one to sit back and let others determine the Fate of our future, for the prophecy does not give an answer as to whether the Dark Lord or the saviour will prevail, it solely states only one of them can survive, which means-"

"The Dark Lord can win," Harry said coldly.

"Precisely. Over the past four years, you have shown the strength of character, the sheer will, the ability, power, and ruthlessness to do what is necessary to succeed. These qualities are ones that Longbottom has shown lacking in contrast, and while there is still time to train the boy and lead him to success, if I were to place the future of our world in someone's shoulders… I would choose yours."

Silence entered the room as everyone stared at Harry, who suddenly felt the need to cross his arms. Whatever he had been expecting of his conversation with Bedivere, the proposition of fighting to defeat the Dark Lord, of him being chosen by some random prophecy he hadn't known even existed, was the last thing he had imagined. He couldn't help but imagine the look on Longbottom's face as he snatched his fame and glory, defeating the Dark Lord and showing the world the fraud he truly was. He could picture it perfectly in his mind, the reaction of everyone around them, Granger, Weasley, fuck, even Malfoy's face would be priceless. But soon, the image dissipated as his eyes landed on the notebook again. He felt a cold chill flow through his whole body, his heart raising by the mere memories of that charming, dark-haired boy who began appearing in his nightmares, at first bringing some comfort, before he twisted them into something so horrific unlike anything he had ever experienced.

"No."

That's it for this chapter! Thank you all for reading!

This marks the first chapter of the A Long Day At Hogsmeade arc, one that has been months in the making, as Bedivere's story was one of the first things I had envisioned when I started this fic.

By the time I'm posting this, I'm two chapters ahead - having already finished the A Long Day At Hogsmeade arc - and will begin to post them weekly on FFN and AO3, but if you want to learn how to get early access to them join my discord server using the following link: discord . gg / jyPfbGqhJT

As always, thank you for reading, favouriting, and commenting! I appreciate all of you! :)