A/N: Here is the reboot/rewrite of my Harry Potter/Skyrim fanfic, I do not own Harry Potter or Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim as they belong to J.K. Rowling and Bethesda Softworks respectfully. Now, last of the reboot chapters before we get to the Chapter when Harry's Hogwarts Letter arrives. Until then one last little adventure. I would like to thank and give a shoutout to the author LD50365 for their mod Blackthorn – A Buildable Town in The Rift (SE) the mod I use in all my Skyrim playthroughs.
Chapter One
Hog's Head, Hogsmeade – January 1980
Albus Dumbledore sat in a cramped, dimly lit room at the Hog's Head pub, the scent of stale ale and wood smoke thick in the air. His fingers, slightly warm from his third mug of butterbeer, tapped absently on the scarred wooden table as he waited. The cold January wind howled outside, occasionally seeping through the cracks of the old building, making the flames in the lanterns flicker. The door creaked open, drawing his attention.
A thin woman edged inside, her movement hesitant. Sybill Trelawney, almost swallowed by an odd collection of shawls and cloaks, entered the room. Her large, magnified eyes, courtesy of the thick lenses in her glasses, gave her an owl-like appearance. The clinking of her bangles and the rustle of her sequined attire filled the silence as she cautiously approached the table.
"H-Hello H-Headmaster D-Dumbledore," she greeted, her voice barely above a whisper, sounding as if it drifted in from another world.
"Ah, Miss Trelawney," Dumbledore replied, his voice warm and inviting. "Come, my dear, please sit."
The wooden chair scraped against the floor as she took a seat, her eyes darting nervously around the room.
"T-Thank you for seeing me," she murmured, her gaze finally settling on him.
"My pleasure," Dumbledore said, leaning back slightly. "Now, I understand that you wish to apply for the position of Divination Professor?"
"Y-Yes, Professor," Sybill answered, her voice quivering.
"Call me Albus, my dear," he said with a small smile. "Now, I have known from your days at Hogwarts that you are the great-great-granddaughter of the renowned Seer Cassandra Trelawney." His gaze, sharp and assessing, peered over his half-moon glasses. "Are you able to use 'the sight' as Cassandra did?"
Sybill's shoulders tensed at the question. The room seemed to grow colder, the air pressing down on her. She knew what was expected, knew that without the gift, she would never secure the position. She tried to summon a vision, to pull something from the ether, but each attempt felt hollow, and Dumbledore's gaze remained unyielding.
"My dear," Dumbledore began, his tone gentle yet firm, "I am sorry, but without your ancestor's gift, I will be pressured to discontinue the class."
Sybill's head dropped, the weight of failure settling on her like a heavy cloak. Dumbledore sighed softly, rising from his seat. As he did, the room seemed to darken, the shadows deepening as if the very light was being pulled toward a single point – Sybill.
Dumbledore paused, his senses alert. The faint scent of burning incense, sharp and acrid, tickled his nose. Sybill's body went rigid, her face tilting upward as her eyes turned an eerie white. The air around them thickened, vibrating with a strange energy.
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…" The voice that emerged from Sybill was low and gravelly, echoing with a power far beyond her years. Dumbledore's heart skipped a beat as he listened intently. "Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…"
Dumbledore's mind raced. Could this be young Harry or Neville? His thoughts churned, but he kept his focus on Sybill, who continued to speak in that otherworldly voice.
"And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have the power of an ancient art the Dark Lord knows not…"
An ancient art? Dumbledore wondered, his brow furrowing. What could it mean? The rough voices of men brawling drifted in from the pub's main room, snapping Dumbledore back to his surroundings. He stood and moved swiftly to the door, his robes brushing against the cold stone floor.
"How dare you show your greasy-haired face here after the trouble you've caused!" Aberforth's gruff voice boomed from the hallway.
Opening the door slightly, Albus caught sight of his brother, who was forcibly dragging a young Severus Snape down the stairs. A fleeting look of concern crossed Dumbledore's face, but he filed it away for later, returning his attention to Sybill.
"And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives…" Sybill's voice faded as her head slumped forward.
Dumbledore's heart pounded. This was no ordinary prediction – it was a true prophecy. But before he could fully process it, Sybill continued, her voice even more ominous than before.
"The Serpent Lord's fall comes as Sun's Height reaches its end, but the cost will be high…"
Sun's Height? And what cost? Dumbledore's thoughts swirled, his mind struggling to grasp the meaning.
"Raised by the Slayer of the darkest destroyer, Child of the Sky Lords shall return…"
Slayer, Destroyer, Sky Lords? Dumbledore could feel a headache forming, a dull throb at the base of his skull.
"The child of Two worlds shall vanquish the Dark Lord… The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…" Sybill finished, her head dropping once more.
The room was silent, the oppressive atmosphere slowly lifting as the light returned to normal. Sybill's body relaxed, and she blinked, her eyes regaining their usual unfocused gaze.
"Are you alright, my dear?" Dumbledore asked, his voice gentle, though his mind was racing.
Sybill looked up, her face pale and uncertain. "I th-think so, Professor."
"Sybill, as a member of my staff, you have the right to use my first name," Dumbledore reminded her kindly.
"O-Of course, sorry, Pro-Albus," she stammered.
Dumbledore offered her his arm, and together they left the dim room, stepping out into the cold night air. The wind bit at their faces as they made their way up the snow-covered path toward Hogwarts, the ancient castle looming in the distance. Neither noticed the shadowy figure watching them from afar, hidden among the gnarled trees that lined the road. The journey back was long, the air thick with unsaid words, but they arrived at the castle just as dinner was being served, the warmth of the Great Hall a stark contrast to the chill that lingered in Dumbledore's mind.
~ Scene Break ~
Once the old man and the young woman had vanished up the snow-dusted road, the cloaked figure who had been watching them stepped back into the shadows. With a sudden, sharp crack, the figure Disapparated, leaving the cold night air to fill the space where they had stood.
Miles away, a similar crack echoed through the still night as the figure reappeared before a set of imposing black metal gates. The air here was different—thicker, laden with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. The wrought-iron gates groaned open of their own accord, and the figure stepped forward, the crunch of gravel underfoot the only sound in the silent landscape. Before them loomed a vast manor, its dark silhouette framed against the night sky.
The figure moved swiftly, their cloak rustling faintly as they ascended the stone steps leading to the entrance. The heavy doors creaked open, revealing the dimly lit interior. The air inside was musty, tinged with the scent of old wood and something faintly metallic, like blood. The figure pressed onward, down narrow corridors where shadows seemed to cling to the walls, until they reached a pair of dark wooden doors. Raising a gloved fist, the figure knocked, the sound reverberating through the stillness.
"Enter," commanded a voice from within, cold and sharp like the edge of a blade.
The doors swung open, revealing a room filled with men and women, all draped in similar black cloaks. The room was dimly lit by flickering candlelight, the flames casting eerie shadows on the stone walls. The air was thick with tension, the scent of burning wax mingling with the acrid tang of fear.
"Ah, Severus. You have returned unharmed?" The voice came from a figure seated at the head of a long table, his eyes glowing a menacing red in the half-light.
"Indeed, my lord, and I have news," Severus Snape replied, his voice steady but laced with the weight of what he was about to reveal.
The red-eyed man leaned forward slightly, his gaze fixed on Severus with an intensity that made the others in the room hold their breath. "And what have you learned in this late hour, Severus?"
"A prophecy," Severus began, his words carefully measured, "a prophecy that Dumbledore has heard. It speaks of a rival, someone who could challenge you."
The air in the room grew colder, the very walls seeming to tighten around them as the red-eyed man's expression darkened. His eyes narrowed, gleaming like coals in the dim light. Rising to his full height, he moved with a slow, deliberate grace around the table, each step sending a chill through the room. He stopped directly in front of Severus, his presence overwhelming.
"Give me the prophecy, now!" he demanded, his voice a low hiss that sent a shiver down Severus's spine.
Severus recited the words he had heard from Sybill, each syllable feeling like a stone being laid on his chest. He braced himself, expecting anger, punishment—but instead, he felt a cold, pale hand rest on his shoulder. The touch was unnervingly light, yet it sent a jolt of icy fear through him.
"You have done well, Severus," the Dark Lord said, his voice disturbingly calm. "Take your place at this honored table."
Severus exhaled, the tension in his chest easing as he moved to sit beside a blonde-haired man, whose sharp features betrayed no emotion. The Dark Lord returned to his seat, but he did not sit. Instead, he stood behind the high-backed chair, his long, thin fingers gripping the wood as he surveyed the room.
"My friends," he began, his voice carrying a quiet menace that demanded absolute attention, "we must act quickly. There can be no threats to our glorious new future. Once we have gathered more information on this potential adversary, I will confront it personally."
The room was silent, the air heavy with unspoken dread. The flickering candles cast long shadows on the walls, as if the very darkness itself was closing in around them.
A/N: and that is the First Chapter of Version 2.0 done, as you can see this is my answer to a few things like why everyone believed that Sirius betrayed the Potters. As well as my personal answer for the lightning Bolt scar on Harry's Forehead as in canon the killing curse does not leave a mark on the body. Hope you all enjoy the restart of the Rise of the Dovahkiir, until next time…
Aal Hin Thu'um Kos Mul (May Your Voice Be Strong).