"...You've worn this coat for over ten years?"
"?"
Isn't that focus a bit off?
The Dumbledore on the right instinctively looked down, while the one on the left walked as usual to the door of the Hog's Head Inn and pushed it open.
The dimly lit inn was almost devoid of customers, with only a flickering oil lamp casting a faint glow in the darkness. The bartender wiping glasses stood behind the counter, glaring at the entering Dumbledore, and snorted impatiently, producing a dull thud as the wooden cup touched the tabletop.
"...Suddenly, I realize, do the two of you look quite alike?" William rubbed his chin. Previously seeing the bartender and Dumbledore separately didn't feel this way, but now, appearing together, aside from that excessively crooked nose, the two looked as if cast from the same mold.
"He's my brother, Abeforth." Dumbledore wasn't inclined to hide it.
"Did you two have a fight?"
"...Sorry, William, I don't really want to talk about it."
Dumbledore shook his head, and William refrained from asking more, sensing perhaps some old conflicts lurking here.
Under their gaze, the Dumbledore from memory directly approached a woman wrapped entirely in blankets, sitting across from her. After a brief greeting, they began talking business.
"Sybill Trelawney, Hogwarts' Professor of Divination... I heard from Minerva that you haven't studied divination?"
Dumbledore, as the narrator, began explaining the scene to William, and the scene before their eyes also began to fast forward.
"Starting from fifth grade, the curriculum was demanding, you know..."
Instinctively explaining, William hesitated for a moment, suddenly realizing his secret was already out.
"..."
"Ahem, you know, I've taken all those courses before, and let me be frank—" Under Dumbledore's silent gaze, William coughed slightly, "Divination stuff is useless for those without talent—even finding half a person with such talent among a thousand is a blessing from heaven."
"...That's what I thought at the time."
As Dumbledore's words fell, the memory Dumbledore stood up, seemingly expressing some apology to the woman, then grabbed his hat to leave. But just then, realizing she was about to lose her job opportunity, the woman abruptly stood up, her deep green pupils began to dilate—
"Madam?"
Seeing this, the memory Dumbledore frowned.
But the woman appeared to enter a trance-like state.
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... The Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not..." The woman began to speak, her voice low and hoarse, garnering the attention of everyone in the bar—
But actually it was only the bartender and Dumbledore... wasn't it?
Realizing the situation, Abeforth swiftly drew his Magic Wand, a crimson Charm passed through William's body and struck a figure who had just entered the inn, "Get out, Death Eater, you're not welcome here!"
The man hit by the Charm stumbled backward, and William caught a glimpse of the man's face beneath his hood.
"Snape?"
Although the man looked much younger, his signature greasy hair hadn't changed at all.
"... Yes."
Dumbledore also watched the figure quickly disappear into the darkness, his voice carrying a hint of melancholy.
At this moment, the memory Trelawney finished her prophecy, "...One must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."
So, Harry is the Dark Lord's nemesis?
Looking at the gradually blurring memory before him, William turned to the old man, filled with reminiscence and melancholy, "So, according to this prophecy, if the Dark Lord successfully resurrects, Harry might die?"
"Barring any surprises, that's so." Dumbledore nodded, "To protect Sybill from being captured by Death Eaters, I brought her back to Hogwarts, and continued the Divination classes..."
"Resurrection... How does he return after being hit by the Killing Curse..."
"Soul Artifact, senior..."
"...Are there really morons who use such a method?" William's voice carried disdain.
Of course he knew about Soul Artifacts, but... killing people, tearing one's soul apart, hiding it in objects... He really hadn't seen many Black Wizards make such things, because continually tearing one's soul leaves one questioning which part is truly oneself.
Such a cognitive issue is tremendously dangerous in the Magic Realm.
"So your previous plan was, to adhere to the prophecy and toughen Harry?" William guessed at Dumbledore's intentions, "Ultimately have him face the resurrected Voldemort, allowing prophecy fulfillment to determine his final destiny?"
"..."
Once again, Dumbledore fell into extended silence, only nodding hesitantly when William asked again, "Might be too harsh for a child just entering school..." The old man's expression appeared sorrowful, him usually poised seldom showed such genuine emotion.
He knew William's Emotion Magic influenced him, yet he didn't mind.
"Feels like handling it this way is rather cumbersome?"
"...Cumbersome?"
"I mean, is there a chance, once Voldemort resurrects, I directly go and... chop him?"
William gestured a slitting motion across his neck.
"...No, Voldemort cannot be killed; he would merely obscure himself until next time he arises."
Dumbledore's voice was somewhat hoarse.
"Then just kill him again when the time comes—" William frowned, "I'd like to see if he buys more Resurrection Coins, or if I chop faster."
"...?"
Senior, I always thought you were a good person...
......
"Huh—"
Drenched in sweat, Harry abruptly raised his head from the table, staring at the open notebook with visible terror.
[Now, Harry, do you believe?] Neat black handwriting emerged on the blank page.
"Bang—"
Harry quickly shut the diary, staring blankly at the starry sky outside the window, as time slowly passed, the boy's terror was gradually replaced by a hint of confusion...