The Banquet of the God of War.
When Bruce heard this name, his first thought was that Ares was at least an honest god.
By naming the banquet after himself, he spared Bruce the trouble of guessing who the mastermind was.
“Is that all?” Bruce asked Hermione to confirm.
Hermione nodded. She had shared everything she knew.
Bruce couldn’t help but fall into deep thought.
The theme of the banquet—one life for another—what did it truly mean?
“Do you have any ideas?” he asked Kathoom.
“None!” Kathoom snapped, still preoccupied with why there was an owl mark on Hermione’s hand.
Fair enough.
Bruce turned his attention back to Hermione, having made up his mind.
“Tonight, I’ll go with you,” he said. “No matter what happens, we’ll face it together. That’s what family is for.”
At first, Bruce considered persuading Hermione not to attend the banquet.
But after careful thought, he abandoned the idea.
If the other side could silently leave a mark on Hermione’s hand, then taking her life unnoticed wouldn’t be difficult either.
If the mark were on his own hand, Bruce wouldn’t mind testing the waters. But this time, he couldn’t gamble with Hermione’s life.
“Are you sure this will work?” Hermione asked hesitantly. “That voice said only those with the mark can enter the Great Hall.”
“How will we know unless we try?”
Bruce replied, “Even if I can’t get inside, I can wait outside and back you up.”
“All right.”
Hearing Bruce’s reassurance, Hermione seemed visibly relieved.
“See you tonight?” she said.
“See you tonight,” Bruce nodded.
At that moment, Bruce suddenly recalled yesterday’s Divination class.
Professor Trelawney had foretold that he would face a major event but would remain an outsider.
Was this what she had meant?
Bruce pondered. He couldn’t help but wonder how Ares selected participants for the banquet—and why he wasn’t one of them.
Then another thought struck him: Trelawney had also made a prediction about Hermione.
Hermione was shrouded in the omen of death…
Bruce shook his head, dismissing the thought. That was impossible. Hermione wouldn’t die.
He wouldn’t allow it!
At that moment, Kathoom spoke up. “Actually, I could go in with Hermione.”
Bruce turned to the owl, surprised.
“What’s with that look? This isn’t the first time we’ve dealt with rules like this.”
Kathoom said calmly, “The voice said no person without the mark could enter. But I’m not a person.”
—
The day passed quickly, and soon it was evening.
Bruce skipped his usual study session. After dinner, he returned to his dormitory early to make preparations.
As he walked through the castle’s corridors toward the common room, he rounded a corner and saw a small witch waiting by the door.
She was clad in Ravenclaw robes—none other than Rowena Royle.
Ravenclaw herself.
It was clear she had been waiting for Bruce. The moment she saw him, she waved in greeting.
“Were you waiting for me?”
Bruce approached Rowena.
“Don’t play dumb. Don’t tell me you didn’t hear the sound this morning.”
Rowena’s face was devoid of its usual warmth. “Something’s wrong in Hogwarts. I performed a divination and saw a bloody future. Someone will die.”
“Is it that serious?” Bruce asked. “Even you’re feeling uneasy?”
“Very serious.”
Rowena nodded. “It’s a power unlike anything I’ve ever encountered—far stronger than me. And within it, I sensed boundless malice.”
“Can you pinpoint the source of this power?” Bruce asked cautiously.
“If I could, I wouldn’t be here asking for your help.”
Rowena opened her hand, revealing four silver animal figures.
A lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake.
The mascots of the four houses.
“What are these?” Bruce asked.
“A protective magic we four founders left in the castle a thousand years ago,” Rowena explained. “I’m entrusting them to you now. They should be able to help.”
“Entrusting them to me?” Bruce understood her implication. “You think this power is targeting me?”
“What do you think?” Rowena said impatiently. “Just take them!”
Bruce held out his hand, accepting the four silver animal figures.
Before he could examine them closely, the figures transformed into streaks of light and darted away, disappearing in an instant.
“What was that?”
“Don’t worry.”
Rowena said, “That magic is incredibly advanced. You’ve already activated it. The figures will go where they’re most needed.
“When the time comes, they’ll assist you.”
“What exactly can they do?” Bruce asked.
“Their abilities will adapt to the crisis the castle faces.”
Rowena replied, “So I can’t say for sure. This isn’t solely my magic, after all.”
It was a collective effort by the four founders.
“Understood.”
Bruce figured the crisis Rowena referred to was the banquet tonight.
With that in mind, he decided to tell her about the event.
With Ravenclaw’s support, he’d be more prepared.
He relayed everything he had learned from Hermione to Rowena.
“This is troubling.”
Rowena frowned, deep in thought.
After a long pause, she said, “Got it. You accompany Hermione tonight. I’ll join you as soon as I can.”
“You’re not coming with me now?” Bruce asked.
“I have preparations to make,” Rowena explained. “If the castle is facing this kind of threat, it’s time to stop being stubborn. I need to release Gryffindor—only I can break his seal.”
“Understood.”
Bruce nodded.
With such thorough preparations, he was determined to foil whatever Ares had planned.
—
Night fell, and midnight approached.
Bruce slipped out of his dormitory and, with Kathoom, made his way toward the Gryffindor common room.
The owl fluttered beside him, chattering nonstop.
“So thrilling! So exciting!”
“What’s gotten into you?” Bruce asked. “You’ve never acted like this before.”
They’d faced countless dangers together, yet Kathoom had never been this jittery.
“This is different.”
The owl replied, “It’s my first time going into the girls’ dormitory.”
That’s all?
Bruce shook his head. “Hate to disappoint you—we’re not going in.”
They were only heading to the common room entrance.
When they arrived, they spotted a figure sneaking out.
Hermione?
Bruce quickly realized it wasn’t her.
The figure was short and plump, someone Bruce knew well.
“It’s Neville,” Kathoom whispered. “What’s he doing out so late?”
Neville wasn’t the type to break rules and sneak out at night.
This could only mean one thing.
“Neville must be one of the chosen participants too,” Bruce said. “Hermione mentioned there would be others.”
“He’s a chosen child as well!” Kathoom muttered.
Bruce stayed hidden, watching Neville leave. Moments later, another figure emerged.
Still not Hermione.
“It’s Harry,” Kathoom identified. “Makes sense.”
Harry glanced around nervously before pulling out a cloak and draping it over himself, vanishing from sight.
“Invisibility Cloak,” Kathoom remarked. “One of the Deathly Hallows.”
“You’ve told me that a hundred times already. Enough!” Bruce snapped. “Focus on coming up with an explanation for the owl mark on Hermione’s hand!”
“The truth will come out eventually.” Kathoom huffed. “I didn’t do anything this time, and I’ll prove it!”
As they bickered, Hermione finally appeared at the common room entrance.
She called softly, “Bruce?”
“I’m here.”
Bruce stepped out of the shadows, and Kathoom flew to Hermione’s shoulder.
“What’s this about?” Hermione asked, puzzled.
“He’s going with you,” Bruce said. “If things go south, you can use him to block an Avada Kedavra.”
“Stop joking around.”
Hermione gently removed Kathoom from her shoulder and cradled him in her arms.
“He’d be heartbroken if he understood what you just said. Isn’t that right, Kathoom?”
Hermione stroked the owl’s head. Kathoom cooed pitifully in response.
Bruce ignored the owl’s theatrics.
“Let’s go,” he urged. “It’s almost midnight.”
—
As Bruce approached the Hall, he noticed that the doors were wide open.
No guards. No barriers. It seemed as if anyone could enter.
“Wait here. I’ll test it first.”
Bruce considered for a moment, then decided to see for himself if only those with the marks on their hands could step inside.
Hermione, clutching Kathoom, nodded cautiously. “Be careful.”
Bruce nodded back and walked toward the Hall.
As he moved, his palm flipped, revealing a small, palm-sized model of his Hellbat Armor.
The scaled-down version was ready to expand and equip him instantly if anything went wrong.
But he didn’t even get a chance to react.
The moment Bruce took his first step toward the Hall, his body vanished.
“Bruce!” Hermione cried out in alarm.
“I’m fine!”
Bruce’s voice echoed from the far end of the corridor. His figure reappeared at the distant hallway’s edge.
Walking back toward Hermione, Bruce remained skeptical. He decided to try again.
Taking another deliberate step forward, the same thing happened—his body blinked out of sight and reappeared at the corridor’s far end.
“Third time’s the charm!”
Bruce grumbled and tried once more. The result was identical.
“Fine.”
Bruce finally conceded and abandoned the attempt.
“There’s a sophisticated repelling magic here,” he said casually, as though nothing unusual had occurred. “It’s impressive. I can’t discern its principles yet.”
He turned to Hermione. “I really can’t get into the Hall. You’ll have to go in alone. Remember what I told you—if anything goes wrong, use Kathoom as a shield. Always keep that in mind!”
Hermione nodded. “I’ll remember!”
But Bruce wasn’t convinced. She had said she’d remember, not that she’d do it.
He recognized the clever dodge—he’d pulled similar stunts countless times.
However, Hermione didn’t seem inclined to make further promises. She gave Bruce one last glance before turning and heading toward the Hall.
Bruce watched her figure intently as she stepped through the large doors without incident.
“So it really is just me, huh?”
Bruce muttered to himself. Out of curiosity, he stepped forward again, only to be whisked back to the far end of the corridor.
—
When Hermione entered, a few others were already inside.
“Harry? Neville?”
Seeing her friends instantly eased her tension.
The same was true for Harry and Neville.
The sight of Hermione, the ever-reliable “Miss Know-It-All,” immediately put them at ease.
“Hmmph.”
A cold scoff came from the corner. Hermione turned to see Draco Malfoy standing there.
“Another Gryffindor,” Malfoy sneered. “Why don’t you lot just take over the whole banquet?”
“This isn’t exactly a good thing.”
Hermione ignored Malfoy and joined Harry and Neville.
Moments later, another figure entered the Hall.
It was yet another Gryffindor.
“Fred?” Harry exclaimed in surprise.
“No, no, no! I’m George!”
The newcomer, with his flaming red hair and freckled face, grinned mischievously.
“Oh, please.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “You’re Fred. I can tell!”
Fred immediately deflated. “Fine, fine. You always figure it out. Can you at least tell me how you know?”
Hermione smirked but offered no explanation.
Harry, curious, asked, “Were you the only one chosen? I mean, George wasn’t picked too?”
“Whoever chose me clearly has good taste.”
Fred flashed the nearly faded mark on his hand.
“This proves I’m better than George, doesn’t it? My pranks are always more creative.”
That made five participants so far.
“They’re about the same to me,” Hermione commented dryly.
Fred joined Harry and Neville, and before long, two more figures appeared at the entrance.
One was a strikingly handsome boy with pale skin, wearing a yellow-and-black sweater—Cedric Diggory from Hufflepuff.
The other was a dark-robed man with a dour expression. However, his face softened the moment he saw Harry.
Severus Snape.
Only now did everyone realize this banquet wasn’t limited to students.
“Woof!”
Suddenly, as Snape entered, a large black dog darted out from beneath the head table, leaping at him.
“Sirius, stop that.”
A calm voice called off the dog. Professor Lupin appeared in the Hall, smiling warmly.
He was seated at the central spot of the head table—Dumbledore’s usual seat.
“Well, it seems everyone is here. Nine participants, no more, no less.”
Lupin didn’t look like a guest at the banquet. If anything, he seemed more like its host.
His gaze swept across the room, acknowledging everyone.
“Nine?” Harry asked, confused. He counted the people present: himself, Hermione, Neville, Malfoy, Cedric, Snape.
Even adding Lupin made only seven.
“Of course, I don’t count,” Lupin said with a smile.
With a snap of his fingers, a small figure was lifted from a dark corner of the Hall and deposited onto the long table.
It was a rat.
Fred immediately stepped forward, grabbing it by the tail. “If Ron doesn’t fork over ten Galleons, he’s not getting Scabbers back!”
The rat was none other than Scabbers, and it was trembling with fear.
While Scabbers squirmed and tried to bite Fred’s hand, the black dog froze in place, visibly shocked.
The dog’s expression was one of utter disbelief, as though it had seen something completely unexpected.
Paralyzed by confusion, it didn’t act immediately.
“Things just got interesting.”
Kathoom, perched discreetly nearby, observed everything closely.
He noted something peculiar.
“Fred, Cedric, Snape, Sirius, Peter Pettigrew… and Lupin.
“None of these people survive to see the end of Harry Potter’s story.”
Aside from Hermione, Neville, Malfoy, and Harry, everyone else here was, by fate, destined to die.
In fact, if you counted Harry’s brief death, all of them had—or would—die.
What did this mean?
Kathoom couldn’t shake a growing sense of unease.
Tonight’s banquet wasn’t just for the living.
It was a gathering of the dead.
—
This is a fan translation of 蝙蝠侠的猫头鹰教父 by 巴巴罗萨光年. All rights to the original work belong to the creator. Please support them by exploring their original work or sharing it with others if you can. Thank you for reading and supporting my efforts to bring this story to a wider audience!
Reader discussion
0 Comments
Be the first reader to share a thought about this chapter.