Godfather Owl: Guardian of Batman [32]

“It seems you, like countless others before you, have discovered the allure of the Mirror of Erised.”

Suddenly, a voice came from the doorway.

An elderly man with a long white beard and silver hair down to his belt, sporting half-moon glasses over piercing blue eyes, stood there, watching Bruce with a smile.

He was tall, lean, and had a nose that was so crooked it looked as though it had been broken at least twice.

Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts.

Bruce hadn’t noticed how Dumbledore had arrived—it was as if the headmaster had appeared in the blink of an eye.

“It’s Apparition, a type of teleportation magic,” Kathoom explained in Bruce’s mind. “There’s a restriction against students using it on school grounds, but the headmaster has the privilege.”

Interesting.

Bruce found himself intrigued by the idea. If he could master this skill, he’d be able to appear behind anyone in an instant, or vanish whenever he chose.

He mentally asked Kathoom, “When will I be able to learn it?”

“Sixth year, so it’ll be a while,” Kathoom sighed. “Believe me, I’d love for you to learn it sooner. With teleportation, we could start a delivery service—I can’t even imagine the profits!”

The owl was off on one of his wild ideas again.

Bruce reined in his thoughts, focusing on the headmaster in front of him.

Dumbledore returned to his desk, gesturing for Bruce to sit, urging him to feel at ease.

Settling into a soft chair, Bruce responded to Dumbledore’s earlier remark.

“Yes, Headmaster, the mirror showed me my family.”

“Oh, I’m very sorry to hear that,” Dumbledore said gently. “The Mirror of Erised has a formidable power. It shows us only what we most deeply, desperately desire.

“You feel lonely, and so you saw your family surrounding you.

“But, Bruce, remember—the mirror can neither teach us nor tell us the truth.

“We may hold our desires in our hearts, but we must never let ourselves get lost in them.”

Bruce nodded. “I understand, Headmaster.”

“Well then—what was it you came to tell me?”

Dumbledore flicked his fingers, and two cups of hot cocoa appeared before them.

Finally arriving at the main reason he was here, Bruce straightened up, recounting everything that had happened in the Hufflepuff common room.

Dumbledore held his cocoa but, as he listened, he forgot to drink it. His expression gradually grew serious.

“Bruce, what you’re telling me is not something to joke about.”

Through his half-moon glasses, his blue eyes regarded Bruce intently. “Are you certain you heard this?”

“I am,” Bruce replied firmly. “The portrait of Lady Hufflepuff herself spoke those words to me.”

“I see…”

Dumbledore muttered to himself, slipping into thought.

There was no doubt it was a prophecy. If true, the implications were profoundly disturbing.

The fall of Hogwarts was at hand.

From beginning to end, from yesterday to tomorrow, the shadow of three Dark Lords would envelop the entire castle.

Three Dark Lords?

Dumbledore felt a headache building. He hadn’t resolved the problem with the second Dark Lord yet—now a third?

And there wasn’t a single clue about who it might be.

Yesterday to tomorrow was easy enough to understand; it represented the past, present, and future.

But what did “from beginning to end” mean?

A prophecy would never repeat the same concept twice; these two phrases had to represent different ideas.

“Looks like the old man’s feeling overwhelmed,” Kathoom muttered, lazily perched nearby. “Retirement is looking more and more like a distant dream.”

“Bruce,” Dumbledore suddenly raised his head, looking intently at the young “Bat.” “Do you have any thoughts about this prophecy?”

The old headmaster was probing for clues.

Bruce, being the first and only witness to the prophecy, might have caught something in the portrait’s message, even if he hadn’t realized it.

“No further thoughts, Headmaster.”

Bruce shook his head, his expression as innocent as could be.

“Well, all right,” Dumbledore sighed. “Bruce, would you mind sharing your memory of that moment with me?”

“Sharing my memory?”

Bruce frowned. What did that mean?

“Don’t worry, it’s harmless. It’s a small spell, and I won’t insist if you’re uncomfortable.”

Bruce considered it briefly, then nodded.

After all, he wasn’t worried about leaking secrets, thanks to Kathoom’s mental shields.

Dumbledore smiled, relieved, and leaned forward over the desk, reaching out to touch Bruce’s temple.

A silver strand emerged from Bruce’s mind, which Dumbledore carefully drew into a vial.

“Thank you, Bruce. That’s all I needed.”

Bruce watched the silver thread with interest. Was that really his memory?

“Bruce, thank you for going out of your way to share this information. But it’s late now—you should head back to your dorm for some rest.”

All right, then.

Since Dumbledore said as much, Bruce saw no reason to linger.

He stood, bid farewell, and began to walk out with Kathoom perched on his shoulder.

Just as Bruce reached the door, Dumbledore called out to him once more.

Bruce turned, seeing the headmaster seated in the shadow behind his desk.

His blue eyes were like the depths of the ocean, unfathomable.

“Bruce, I hope you’ll pardon an old man’s curiosity,” Dumbledore said softly. “I understand you grew up in an orphanage. Could you tell me which one?”

“Wool’s Orphanage,” Bruce replied naturally.

“Thank you.”

Dumbledore’s expression didn’t change, and he waved Bruce off. “Off to bed with you, then.”

“Goodnight, Headmaster.”

Bruce gave a final nod and left Dumbledore’s office.

Only Dumbledore remained, quietly sitting alone.

Suddenly, a portrait on the wall broke the silence. “Are you suspicious of the boy?”

The portraits had all overheard the prophecy and had observed Dumbledore’s reaction.

They were deeply concerned with the identity of this third Dark Lord; it was a matter that could determine Hogwarts’ fate.

“I don’t know, I don’t know…” Dumbledore murmured. “I don’t want to suspect Bruce, but there’s something in his gaze—so very much like Tom’s. And, besides…”

He didn’t finish his sentence.

Besides, Bruce and Voldemort had both come from the same orphanage.

—

Bruce walked along the corridor in silence.

Only when he was far from the headmaster’s office did he feel even a hint of safety.

“Kathoom,” Bruce said in his mind, “do you think it’s possible that the third Dark Lord is actually Dumbledore?”

—

T/N: God i have the shittiest headache right now, can’t sleep because of it so I’ll just translate more