The year's end-of-term feast finally arrived. Four Houses, seven year groups, all gathered in the Great Hall.
The news that Harry and the others had broken into the forbidden area had already spread. The long tables were always Hogwarts' perfect breeding ground for rumours, where gossip sprouted wings and flew everywhere.
From this crowd, Skyl also pieced together some of what had really happened. This time, the adventure involved a group of four—Neville, that honest, well-behaved kid, had joined in too. Now that the four of them were part of the High Tower Covenant, they really did feel like a tighter, more cohesive unit.
Harry had gotten a little hurt during the escapade—supposedly bitten by a dog. And that dog, called Afu, had been beaten up pretty badly in return.
That wasn't quite the same as Skyl's prophecy. Afu hadn't died, which meant Harry hadn't obtained that massive chunk of memory-construct. Without a doubt, from now on, the course of history would diverge further and further from the prophecy's original track.
Harry was discharged from the hospital wing. He was the last person to enter the Great Hall, aside from Dumbledore himself. The moment he appeared, the entire hall fell silent, every gaze turning toward him. Only after a beat did the noise return.
Skyl lowered his head and tapped out messages on his phone to some old friends. Around him, fifth-years muttered and complained. They were sick to death of Slytherin's lot.
"Don't worry," Skyl said offhandedly. "I made a prophecy—we'll win the House Cup."
"Then we're completely doomed," everyone sighed at once.
When Dumbledore walked into the Great Hall, he looked positively delighted. The instant he began to speak, the hall quieted.
"Another year has passed—what a lovely and fulfilling year it has been. I hope your little heads are a bit richer than before. In a few days, you'll be off for the summer, and then you can have a proper good time—clear a bit of space in your minds to make room for new knowledge. Before we begin the feast, though, perhaps you'll indulge this old man while I finish the House Cup award ceremony…
"The final scores are as follows: in fourth place, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two points; in third place, Gryffindor, with four hundred and one points; in second place, Ravenclaw, with four hundred and twenty-six points; and in first place, Slytherin, with four hundred and seventy-two points."
The Slytherin table erupted in cheers.
Skyl laughed along with them.
"Hey—have you defected?" Percy nudged Skyl with his shoulder. "Or did you mishear? We're third."
"I'll laugh first," Skyl said. "You lot can laugh after."
Dumbledore's tone shifted. "Yes, yes—very well done, all of you. However, there are a few recent matters that must also be taken into account."
"Mr Ronald Weasley, for winning the most spectacular game of wizard's chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor fifty points."
The twins stood up and applauded proudly, and Percy, thrilled out of his mind, shouted at Skyl and the other prefects, "That's my brother! My youngest brother!"
Dumbledore continued, projecting his voice: "Second—Neville Longbottom, who, sword in hand, defeated a troll with extraordinary courage—fifty points. Third—Miss Hermione Granger, who faced fire and performed calm, logical reasoning—fifty points. Fourth—Harry Potter, who overcame temptation and stopped a dreadful plot—sixty points."
With each announcement, the Gryffindor table exploded into fresh cheers.
Looking back on that end-of-term feast, Gryffindor remembered it as tragedy first… and comedy after. Skyl, at last, washed away an old humiliation and earned himself the title of an unreliable prophet.
As for what really happened that night—when four children barged into the forbidden area—on the return journey aboard the Hogwarts Express, they told Skyl in their own words.
Inside the compartment, the four children sat with Skyl again.
They recounted their experience, much like Skyl had recounted his at the start of the year. It was as if they'd made an unspoken bargain with him—trade stories for stories. A year had passed, and growth had arrived without warning.
"Not long after Christmas break ended, Afu started coming to us a lot, wanting to play," Harry began.
Because Dumbledore was buried in administrative work and often had to travel, the werewolf-hound Afu always found chances to slip out of the Headmaster's office. Especially since spring began—when Skyl, that walking calamity, rarely stayed at school—Afu grew even more brazen.
He looked so well-behaved and lovable, and he was especially good at being "helpful." Those watery, earnest eyes would stare at you as if silently saying, "Let me do it for you [Let me help you.]" It was hard to refuse.
So everyone liked him. Everyone except Snape. Snape and that dog simply clashed—more than once he'd nearly been bitten. Which, naturally, only made everyone like Afu even more.
Afu's goal was always the Philosopher's Stone, guarded behind layer after layer of protection. Without Quirrell—his crucial helper—passing all the trials was almost impossible.
So he had only one option: lure a few young wizards into running the gauntlet for him.
"Afu always took us treasure-hunting around the castle. A while ago, he started getting injured a lot. So, to figure out why, we agreed to secretly follow him at night. Afu went to the forbidden corridor on the fourth floor and entered a room—and in that room, we saw a huge three-headed dog."
Ron jumped up and spread his arms wide. "Massive! It could've swallowed all of us in one bite." He did his best to imitate the beast—drooling, snarling, looking vicious—yet with his freckled face, it came out more funny than frightening.
The three-headed dog guarded the entrance to the hidden vault. Afu tried to communicate with it, but kept hitting a wall.
For a dog, Afu really tried. He became a spy, lurking around Hagrid, and learned the secret that the three-headed dog, Fluffy, could be lulled to sleep by music. He even used hollow wood to cobble together a crude set of percussion instruments.
"Afu crouched down, sat up straight like a person, and he'd strapped three wooden drums around his waist. He used both paws—and even his long nose—to beat them. The moment the thump-thump-thump started, the three-headed dog fell asleep immediately."
Afu embodied the bitterness of being a dog. He had to keep playing while awkwardly bending and straightening his back legs, shuffling toward the entrance. There was a trapdoor there. He had to stop playing to grab it with his mouth and pull it open—music cut off, the three-headed dog woke at once and lunged for him.
Luckily, Harry and the others blew a whistle in time, putting the three-headed dog back to sleep.
Afu was injured again, but he wouldn't quit. He yanked open the trapdoor and jumped into the pitch-black pit below. Worried for him, the young wizards worked up their courage and followed.
What awaited them were the trials the professors had set.
Ron overcame the giant wizard's chess left by Professor McGonagall. Neville picked up the Sword of Gryffindor and slew the troll Professor Quirrell had prepared. Hermione solved the potions riddle set by Snape. And with his friends' help, Harry reached the end alone.
"I saw a mirror," Harry said calmly. "Then I got a stone. I figured it had to be an incredible treasure. And then, I don't know how, Afu quietly came up behind me. He bit my hand, and I knocked him out with a spell."
A muddled adventure, ending in a muddled way.
The kids didn't have many deep thoughts about it. Mostly, they just marvelled at how wolf-hearted and dog-gutted Afu was—well, he was a dog, after all.
In Skyl's prophecy, Afu's ambush had been far more successful, nearly tearing out Harry's throat. But the severely injured Harry hit him with the Killing Curse, ripping away a huge chunk of Voldemort's memory-construct and fusing it into Harry's soul.
Just a single slip of thought—and the ending became completely different.
Skyl thought this was better. More often than not, walking down the wrong path is also just a single slip of thought. Life is the sum of countless coincidences.
The story was short. The journey was long.
After that, they chatted about their summer plans.
Everyone would go home.
No matter whether that home was warm… or cold.
Only Skyl stared out the window, his mind drifting who knew where.
//Check out my P@tre0n for 20 extra chapters on all my fanfics //[email protected]/Razeil0810