Chapter 15
As we watched through Regulus at the Aurors taking Pettigrew away, we suddenly felt a large part of our consciousness as if being pulled upward. Regulus staggered, barely keeping his footing, and the sleeping Andromeda lost consciousness. It was strange and unpleasant: thoughts flowed extremely sluggishly, and everything seemed too fast to register. Meanwhile, the other part of our consciousness stopped receiving those strange sensations of pull, and instead we began seeing bizarre images. First, we saw enormous scales: on one pan stood eleven-year-old Harry, and next to him were white silhouettes. That pan was balanced against the other, on which stood the young Tom Riddle we knew from the films, surrounded by dark figures. Suddenly equilibrium was broken by the appearance of two white silhouettes, identical to us. The scales shifted slightly, but the weight difference was still small.
Suddenly the focus of attention shifted to one dark figure on the other pan of the scales—Peter Pettigrew. This was now a full scene: the crying, terrified fat man pleading for mercy stood in the middle of a gloomy island against the backdrop of a stone fortress, surrounded by Aurors, and in front of him towered a Dementor.
The creature floated ever closer, as if intent on feeding on his emotions one last time.
"Stop drawing it out, monster, do your job," one of the onlookers suddenly ordered, clutching an artifact in his hand.
We almost physically felt the Dementor's disappointment at being interrupted: it glided right up to Pettigrew and threw back its hood. The creature had no face, only a gigantic, ulcer-covered mouth. At Pettigrew's last desperate scream it lunged at him, covering half his head with its maw, and then we saw something brightly glowing burst from his chest and through his throat, shining through skin and flesh before suddenly going dark inside the Dementor's mouth.
Still alive but already soulless, his body collapsed onto the cold stones.
"Hand his corpse over to the Department of Mysteries," said, apparently, the chief among the spectators, then departed. We, meanwhile, studied the hooded Dementor with unease.
"Could Dementors be more interested in emotions than souls?" we wondered. Suddenly we felt ourselves pulled back, and again we saw the scales, this time heavily tilting toward Potter.
BALANCE, a golden inscription suddenly lit up in the center, and then above Voldemort's side another inscription appeared: CHANCE.
A new figure appeared on that side, and we saw a new scene. The Auror familiar to us—the very one who had asked about Voldemort's downfall—knelt before a disgusting creature vaguely resembling an infant, beside which lay a huge snake, resting calmly.
"It shall be done, my lord," said the kneeling Death Eater. The scales came into equilibrium. Then, with a sudden jolt, we were returned to our normal state.
Regulus, although he had seen everything and was even standing steadily, only now began to realize what was happening around him, as if someone had flipped a switch. He found himself in the Headmaster's office, sitting in a chair, and Dumbledore was anxiously pressing his shoulder, peering at his face.
"What did you see, my boy? Please, tell me," he asked, noticing that we had come to our senses.
"We saw enormous scales with Harry and Voldemort on either side, and… we saw Pettigrew being executed, and then, as if to compensate for his death, another, more skilled servant came to the Dark Lord," Regulus replied, feeling a slight intoxication.
"Did you see who it was?" Dumbledore asked, frowning slightly.
"Yes," nodded Regulus, and we fully recovered from the unexpected vision. "It was the man who at the end asked about Voldemort's downfall: he was kneeling before the Lord who had not yet been reborn."
"I see," said Dumbledore, surveying his office.
We watched as he approached a cabinet and opened it: the entire cabinet was devoted to one item—a stone basin on a pedestal, inside which a luminous liquid rippled. If memory served, it was the Pensieve.
For a time, Dumbledore simply stared at the liquid, then placed his wand against his temple and began drawing out a silvery thread, which soon sank into the Pensieve.
For nearly five minutes he did nothing but gaze into the basin, adding threads, until we finally dared to ask a question. Part of our consciousness had not been drawn into the "realm of prophecy"—or whatever it's called. We knew that Dumbledore had quickly noticed our state and, with the help of the Phoenix, brought us into his office.
"Professor?" Regulus called.
"Hmm?" Dumbledore blinked in surprise; he seemed so lost in thought that he had forgotten his visitor, but he soon composed himself. "Forgive the old man, I got carried away," he said kindly, smiling. "You wanted to ask something?"
"Was what happened to us a prophecy?" we asked through Regulus, the question that troubled us most.
"Ah, I have witnessed both prophecies and predictions, and your case resembles a prophecy, albeit a rather unusual one."
"Unusual?"
"Yes," the Headmaster nodded. "I think I should first explain the difference between prophecies and predictions, and also what made your case unusual."
"If we simplify, a prediction is an attempt to determine the future based on logic and analysis of available information. Essentially, anyone can do it, though the margin of error remains high. Those with the gift can use special tools, like a crystal ball, making their predictions almost prophetic. I personally knew someone who could predict the future quite accurately. And perhaps the chief distinction is that a predictor does not fall into a trance and usually remembers what they saw, and moreover, a prediction can be changed."
"And a prophecy cannot be changed?" we asked.
"No," Dumbledore shook his head, growing a bit somber. "That is why many dislike prophets: what they say is bound to come to pass, and attempts to avoid it often bring it about."
"I see," sighed Regulus. "It would have been better to get rid of that Auror and let Peter go, since without him Voldemort is weaker."
"And what makes your prophecy different from others?" we remembered to ask.
"That prophecies must always have at least one witness: the mind of a prophet is not strong enough to handle the stream of information coming from Fate, so magic steps in to clothe what is seen in words so that the prophecy may be heard. But during your trance you were silent. I can only assume this is related to your unique state, which caused you to witness your own prophecy."
"Professor, you speak of Fate as a material being, not just an abstraction."
"Because I do not dare treat it lightly," Dumbledore replied calmly. "Throughout magical history there have been three beings that, in various tales, have been given human form: Death, Magic, and Fate. So, my child, I beg you: do not dare to neglect any one of that trio."
"Very well, sir," we agreed, somewhat stunned. That information certainly had not been on the day's agenda.
"Excellent. Now tell me in detail what you saw and felt," Dumbledore said, sitting at his desk and preparing parchment and quill.
"Everything began when we felt as if…"
Gryffindor common room, first years' girls dormitory.
"Andromedaaaa…" came Hermione's voice as she actively tried to wake our female representative.
"Well?" Andromeda reluctantly opened her eyes.
"Come on, tell us," Hermione commanded, looking straight into her eyes.
"…," Andromeda sighed heavily, sat up on one elbow, and asked, "What exactly do you want to know?"
"Why was Regulus at the Headmaster's, if you said you were going to rest?" Hermione's voice carried a note of hurt.
"It's all because of the twins. They came and woke us up, and after some words exchanged we had to go to Professor Dumbledore," Andromeda briefly explained before asking her own question.
"And how did you persuade Potter so quickly to go to the library with you?"
"I hardly persuaded him: we just met him on the way, and I casually suggested he join us so we could become powerful wizards faster," Hermione shrugged, and Andromeda blinked in mild confusion.
"Isn't that too simple?"
"I think it's because of you two. Everyone said how skillfully you already use magic, so he was motivated to catch up," Hermione said.
"I see, that's good," Andromeda nodded.
"And where is he now?"
"He said he wanted to be alone, and went toward the owlery."
"I see."
"And where is Regulus?" Hermione asked.
"He's in the Headmaster's office."
"I still don't understand what happened. Why did Professor Dumbledore take him away so abruptly? Honestly, I was scared at first when Regulus vanished in flames."
"Well, it's a bit hard to explain," Andromeda began, awkwardly scratching her cheek.
"And yet?" Hermione leaned closer, full of curiosity.
"We had a vision, and Professor Dumbledore didn't want others to find out about it."
"A vision?" Hermione leaned forward excitedly. "Like the prophets in the tales?"
"Yes, something like that," Andromeda confirmed, feeling a strange tension as her friend leaned in even closer.
"What did you see? Come on, tell me!" Hermione demanded childishly.
"All right, I'll tell you," Andromeda rolled her eyes before beginning. Only she didn't know that an extremely unusual beetle was perched on the windowsill of their dormitory, attentively listening to the girls' conversation.