Prolouge
‘Anyone can start again
Not through love but through revenge
Through the fire, we're born again
Peace by vengeance brings the end’
Lyrics derived from Lana Del Ray’s song, High By The Beach
The withering long bearded man sat proudly on the central seat at the high table. His tassel hat dipped forwards as a wrinkly finger tipped a drink directly into his mouth—licking his chapped lips as an aftermath.
One would've figured that the old coot was having a rather extravagant time. His softening posture, a twitching finger around the base of his drink, and his thoughts and mind, however, would beg to differ.
Albus wasn't one to not pay attention to his surroundings, he likes being in control of situations; thus creating the obsession with the ability of knowing what will and might happen. A type of ‘seer’ if you will.
But by this time around, he found himself unable to control future events.
It's as if Fate, herself, wants to play a foolish game with him. Which he isn't a fan of, mind you.
Fate knows that Albus knows about the prophecy, she knows that he would never ever disclose such a thing to someone other than himself. So as a ‘take this!’ motive, she sets a heavy weight of guilt on top of the old man's shoulders—openly hoping that it gets too much for Albus and ends with him toppling over, falling to his demise.
Maybe even break a bone or two in the process.
Fate was just like that.
She finds it absolutely insulting that the man hadn't prattled about it to another individual. That no one else but him, the seer that foretold it, and herself know about it.
Albus sees himself as the ‘Light Lord’, he chooses what he believes is just. And this led to the decision of making the prophecy private. He knows that if such information got out, it would spread like wildfire. Voldemort, himself, would know about it. The Longbottom’s and Potter's would go into hiding—their son's would get targeted, for Merlin's sake!
And he knows that it's scarring, it leaves permanent marks on your soul. Having the ‘Dark Lords vanquisher’ title engraved onto your body. It's sickening. And Albus would never make a young child ever experience such a thing.
Through half moon specs, he took sight of the Potter heir at the Slytherin table.
Who, himself, was having a spectacular time.
The boy was silently chatting to a young, light blonde Ravenclaw girl sitting directly in front of him. They both looked deep into conversation. As though they were telling one another a secret.
Albus then shifted his orbs to the very left, scanning over to the Longbottom heir at the Gryffindor table. He, on the other hand, wasn't talking to anyone. Instead, he was nose-deep into a book, skimming through the pages thoughtfully.
Regardless, both of the boys seemed joyful in what they were doing.
The old man smiled warmly (rather creepily from another's perspective). He wouldn't ever deprave these boys from their happiness. And if that meant to choose a single person from dying rather than to save a crowd of people from death, then so be it.
Nothing would change that.
Not even Lady Fate.
Definitely.