Chapter 39. Like pieces on a board
"I saw her, Professor!" exclaimed Harry in the headmaster's office.
"That's not the only important thing, Harry," the headmaster smiled in response. "I knew that Tom would never personally appear at the Ministry tonight. That's why we sent the Servant."
"But..." Harry was at a loss. "What's the point of all this?"
"Do you know everything, Harry, about what happened last night?" Dumbledore asked, turning to Jeanne, who remained in her armor. "Did you notice anything remarkable about Jack the Ripper's behavior, Miss d'Arc?"
Jeanne responded instantly.
"There was a moment when we knocked over a display stand. We met in a room full of these stands, each one with glass balls labeled with signatures. For a second, I thought she wanted to take one of those balls."
Dumbledore stood up from his chair.
"Professor Snape discovered," Dumbledore began his story, "that you have been having dreams about a certain door in the Department of Mysteries for more than a month now. Of course, Voldemort has been desiring to hear that prophecy ever since he regained his body. When he imagined that door, it would appear in your dreams, although you didn't understand the meaning of it all. Prophecies in the Ministry of Magic are securely protected. Only those who have a direct connection to them can take them from the shelf without going insane. So, Voldemort had to either come to the Ministry of Magic himself, risking finally revealing himself, or make you fetch the prophecy for him. That's why your ability to defend yourself with Occlumency became even more necessary. But Voldemort played a much cleverer game - he used an unmagical Servant, expecting that Jack the Ripper would surely retrieve the prophecy he desired."
"Using a sledgehammer to crack a nut," whispered Fudzimaru.
"I'm sorry?" Harry didn't catch his words.
"Using the Servant for such a task... He doesn't exactly choose the means, does he?"
"On the contrary," Dumbledore replied. "From his side, it was a justified move, since the Servant cannot be stopped by the means available to us. It would have worked that way if Jeanne and Mash hadn't come."
"But now all the prophecies are destroyed," Jeanne pointed out.
"Once I heard someone say how weak we are in spirit to live without knowing our future," Dumbledore mused. "Some people live with the desire to fulfill prophecies, while others live for the fulfillment of their own desires..."
"I'm sorry, Professor," Mash interjected, cutting off the director. "I thought Jeanne Alter would handle the mission entrusted to her. But according to Harry's words, now his supporters are becoming Masters."
Jeanne responded with a self-satisfied smile, wider than usual, and rubbed her hands in joyful anticipation.
"You see, weak creatures are not worthy of my attention. Voldemort was the strongest of them all, so I chose him. I am going to enjoy the moment when I destroy him personally and show everyone who reigns here. So much is said about him! How much triumph is there in killing his pawns when he is the most desired target?"
With these words, Jeanne gleamed her eyes and licked her lips with such pleasure as if she had eaten her favorite treat. But Mash stared at Dumbledore with wide eyes.
"It's enough to overcome Voldemort, so that his supporters scatter in all directions. Some will surrender willingly, some will lie, but all of them will return to their normal lives. In the end, each of them is just an ordinary person with their own problems and concerns. During Voldemort's absence, they have started families and taken important positions in their careers. Some will follow him to the end, and some will turn away from him. Our task is not to chop everyone's head off in a rush, but to wait until the field ripens and it's time to harvest."
Dumbledore spoke, looking thoughtfully into Mash's eyes, and at the end he smiled kindly at her. Then he looked at Jeanne.
"Sometimes, an underestimated opponent suddenly gains strength and acquires formidable allies. But what makes us strong is our ability to adapt to changes and overcome challenges and obstacles. We must be prepared for any turn of events and remain vigilant to avoid falling victim to the dangers that await us. So, what is the secret to the victory of a strong warrior, like both of you, Mash and Jeanne?" Dumbledore said with a smile on his face.
Jeanne's speech sounded passionate and convincing:
"Victory for me is a brilliant demonstration of superiority. If I have to fight, I will fight not only for my life, but for the destruction of my enemy. I don't care how much my enemies have gained in strength or acquired new allies - I will find ways to defeat them by any means necessary."
Mash paused for a moment. She lowered her gaze, and her subsequent response sounded thoughtful and firm.
"For me, the secret to victory lies in being stronger and using my advantages wisely, maintaining calmness and controlling my emotions in battle. Only then can I defeat even the most powerful enemies."
Then Dumbledore turned his gaze to Fujimaru.
"It seems that this time things will be a little different than usual?" he asked.
"Indeed," Fujimaru replied. "Our opponents are making bold and unexpected moves, and we still don't see the full picture on the chessboard. When the picture is revealed, we will have to adapt quickly. I don't know how well we will succeed, but I believe in our victory."
Dumbledore nodded, continuing to listen.
"Sometimes, the most unexpected and, at the same time, correct solution to a complex problem is the most obvious one," he said meaningfully.
"What do you mean, professor?" Fujimaru asked, puzzled.
"I mean to say to all of you that your main task now is to meet your beds," Dumbledore replied, looking at a yawning Ron. "Not all of you will do that at Hogwarts," he said, addressing Jeanne and Mash. "I think our beautiful ladies should take on a proper appearance if they don't plan to trade adventures in dreams for adventures in reality anytime soon."
Dumbledore picked up a charred teapot and asked, "So, have all of you used the portal?"
Jeanne, Harry, and Ron nodded in agreement. Mash and Fujimaru responded with bewildered looks.
"Don't worry, nothing terrible will happen," Dumbledore commented on their looks. "On the count of three, touch the teapot, and you will find yourself in the right place..."
"Wait, professor," Harry interrupted. "So, what was that prophecy about?"
"Oh," Dumbledore hesitated. "It was only a recorded prophecy from the archives of the Ministry of Magic. The actual prophecy was made in the presence of a certain individual, and that person has the ability to remember everything that was said."
"Who was it?" Harry asked, although he already knew the answer.
"It was me," Dumbledore confirmed. "It happened sixteen years ago, on a cold, freezing night, in the room above the Hog's Head inn. I went there to meet a candidate for the position of Divination teacher, although at that time, I didn't want to keep that subject in the school curriculum at all. However, the aforementioned candidate was the great-great-granddaughter of a famous and very gifted Seer, and I felt that I should at least meet her out of simple courtesy. I was disappointed. It seemed to me that she had none of the abilities possessed by her great-great-grandmother. I told her, politely I hope, that I didn't consider her suitable for the vacant position. And I turned towards the door."
Dumbledore stood up and walked past Harry to a black cabinet next to Fawkes' perch. Bending down, he unlatched it and retrieved a shallow stone basin with runes carved around the edges from inside. He then returned to the table, placed the Pensieve on it, and touched his wand to his temple. Silver strands of thoughts emanated from it; Dumbledore extracted a few strands and placed them into the basin. He took a deep breath and lightly touched his wand to the silvery substance in the Pensieve. A figure emerged above the basin, wrapped in numerous shawls; its eyes behind the thick lenses of its glasses appeared huge. Without looking away from the basin, the figure began to rotate slowly. But when Sybill Trelawney opened her mouth, it was not her usual voice with its mysterious, otherworldly tones that filled the room, but a rough, hoarse one — Harry had heard her speak in such a voice before.
"The one who has the power to defeat the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies, born to those who have thrice defied him. And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will not know all of his power... And one of them must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives... The one who has the power to defeat the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."
Still slowly rotating, the figure of Professor Trelawney sank back into the silvery mass and vanished. Dead silence filled the room. Neither Dumbledore, nor Harry, nor the portraits on the walls made a sound. Even Fawkes seemed strangely quiet.
"Professor Dumbledore," Harry finally spoke very softly, as Dumbledore, still not tearing his gaze away from the Pensieve, seemed lost in his thoughts. "What... what does this mean?"
"It means that the only person capable of ultimately defeating the Dark Lord was born at the end of July almost sixteen years ago. And his parents had already defied Voldemort three times by that time," Dumbledore replied.
Harry felt as though he had been trapped. It became difficult for him to breathe.
"So... it's me?"
Dumbledore sighed.
"The strangest thing, Harry," he said softly. "Is that it may not be you at all. Sybill's prophecy applies to two boys from magical families — both were born at the end of July that year, both had parents who were members of the Order of the Phoenix and had miraculously survived Voldemort's attempts on their lives three times. One of these boys is, of course, you. The other is Neville Longbottom."
"But then... why was my name on the prophecy and not his?"
"The label was changed when Voldemort attacked you, still just a baby at the time," Dumbledore explained. "The Keeper of the Hall of Prophecy believed that Voldemort knew who Sybill was referring to and therefore tried to kill you specifically."
"So, maybe... maybe it's not me after all?" Harry asked.
"I fear," Dumbledore spoke the words slowly, as if each of them required great effort, "I fear there is no doubt. It is still you."
"But you said... Neville was also born at the end of July... and his mom and dad..."
"You forget the next part of the prophecy — the one that gives the final clue as to the boy who can defeat Voldemort. Voldemort himself will mark him as his equal. And he did, Harry. He chose you, not Neville. He bestowed upon you the scar — that blessing and curse at the same time."
— What if he made a mistake? — exclaimed Harry. — He could have chosen the wrong person!
— He chose the boy he considered the most dangerous for himself, — said Dumbledore. — And mind you, not a pure-blood wizard — although, according to his principles, he should not pay attention to anyone else — but a half-blood, like himself. He recognized himself in you before he actually saw you, and thanks to his failed attempt on your life, you gained powers that later allowed you to escape from him not just once, but four times — by the way, something that neither your parents nor Neville, nor anyone else in the world managed to do.
— Then why did he do it? — Harry couldn't feel his hands and feet, they were stiff with cold. — Why did he try to kill me that first time? Why didn't he wait until Neville and I grew up? Then he would have seen who was more dangerous and attacked him...
— It would have been more logical indeed, — Dumbledore agreed. — But you forget that Voldemort knew only the approximate contents of the prophecy. "The pig's head," chosen by Sybill as a cheap option, had long attracted, to put it mildly, a much more diverse crowd than "The Three Broomsticks." You can never be sure in this pub that you are not being overheard. Of course, when I went to meet Sybill Trelawney, I had no idea that I would hear anything valuable there. But I was lucky — or rather, we were lucky: the one who was eavesdropping on us was discovered almost immediately, and he was promptly thrown out back first.
— So, he only heard...
— Only the beginning, where it says that the boy will be born in July, to parents who have three times defied Voldemort. Therefore, he could not warn his master that the planned attack was connected with the risk of transferring a part of his power to you and marking you as his equal. It did not occur to Voldemort that attacking you was dangerous, that it would be wiser to wait and find out more. According to the prophecy, he really doesn't know all of your power...
— But that's not true! — Harry squeezed out. — I don't have a power that he doesn't know about, I can't fight like... take Jean, for example!
Jean blushed upon hearing those words.
— I am a Servant of the Holy Grail, Harry, — she replied. — I live to fight.
Dumbledore looked at Harry with compassion.
— Harry, you shouldn't compare yourself to your comrades. Each of you has your own unique abilities, your own strength, and your own path of destiny. You can't know and master everything, but you possess other valuable qualities that may be just as important in our fight against darkness.
But Harry didn't feel any better from their words.
— In the Department of Mysteries, there's a room that's always kept locked, — said Dumbledore. — In it lies a power, simultaneously more wondrous and more terrible than death, than the human mind, than the forces of nature. Perhaps it is also the most mysterious of all treasures stored there. It is this power that you possess in abundance, whereas Voldemort is completely devoid of it. It's this power that protects you from being fully subjected to Voldemort, as he cannot exist in a body that contains so much power that is deeply repugnant to him. Ultimately, it didn't matter that you never learned to isolate your consciousness. The name of this saving power is love.
Harry closed his eyes, and then asked, not very interested in the answer:
— And the end of the prophecy? "Neither can live while the other survives," what comes next?
— "...until the end," — Dumbledore finished.
— And that means, that means that in the end one of us will have to... kill the other?
"Yes," Dumbledore replied.
There was a long pause; no one broke the silence. Somewhere far beyond the walls of the office, faint voices could be heard – probably the first-year students heading to the Great Hall for breakfast. It seemed unfathomable that there were still people in the world who wanted to eat, laugh, and were unaware, or simply did not want to know, that the Servants of the Holy Grail were wandering the world and that a full-scale war would soon erupt for control over it.
"I think I owe you another explanation, Harry," Dumbledore said after a pause. "Perhaps you wondered why I never chose you as a prefect. To be honest… I thought the burden of responsibility you already had to bear was too great. And now… touch this teapot, Harry."
Harry touched the teapot, and at the last moment, he looked up at the headmaster. He saw a tear sliding down Dumbledore's cheek, getting lost in his long silver beard.