Sitting in the Headmaster's office chair, Maevis's face looked exhausted, her beauty overshadowed.
No wonder.
She'd been attacked by dark forces just hours ago and lost her home.
No, more shocking still was being targeted because of her beloved daughter's actions—and that daughter hadn't even come to help.
In other words, left to die.
To her daughter, that's all she was worth.
"Drink. It will warm you."
A gentle voice addressed her, and Butterbeer was placed before her.
If Dumbledore hadn't come, Maevis would surely no longer be in this world.
Considering that, he was her savior—yet also her daughter's enemy.
"Regarding your and your family's future... we can prepare a house protected by defensive magic. I will serve as the Secret-Keeper."
Maevis couldn't respond to Dumbledore's words.
She knew she should say something.
But right now, she didn't even know what to say anymore.
To such a woman, Dumbledore spoke as if calming a child.
"Now, Mrs. Beresford... Won't you finally entrust me with your memory?"
"Th-that is..."
"You are suffering. I want to share that suffering."
The memory Maevis possessed was tormenting her.
He didn't know what that memory contained, but having interacted with many people, Dumbledore understood what kind of suffering it was.
Regret.
The suffering of a sinner cornered by past sins.
Something he himself always carried...
He wouldn't deny there was calculation. It was a strategic action.
But at the same time, Dumbledore genuinely wanted to save her.
"I... I only wanted what was best for that child..."
"Sometimes love doesn't reach its target."
"Oh... Dumbledore, please don't despise me... I was foolish..."
"Of course I won't despise you. If you show me the memory, that will be a courageous act."
Dumbledore spoke gently, persuasively.
That was exactly what Maevis's weakened heart needed—reassurance above all else.
She placed her wand to her forehead and, with trembling hands, extracted something mist-like.
Dumbledore received it and deposited it into the Pensieve.
Now he would understand. What lay at Mirabelle's core.
Dumbledore suppressed his racing heart and took a deep breath.
What lay ahead was beyond even his prediction.
But this would surely reveal... whether that girl was born evil or not.
He could only hope there was at least a tiny glimmer of light.
With such thoughts, Dumbledore submerged himself into Maevis's memory.
✦
Dumbledore found himself inside a large mansion.
Large, though not as much as Beresford Manor.
But at least a mansion showing its occupants lived better than common folk.
A girl ran pattering through the corridor.
At first, Dumbledore thought it was Mirabelle.
But no, it wasn't Mirabelle.
Looking closely, the details were different, and unlike Mirabelle, she overflowed with happiness.
The smile of a girl raised with parental love, wanting for nothing.
"Mom, Mom! Has the Hogwarts letter come yet?!"
"Yes, it arrived, Maevis."
The girl—Maevis—received the letter joyfully, eyes sparkling.
Though her appearance resembled Mirabelle's, her expressions were ones Mirabelle never wore.
She clutched the letter preciously and said happily:
"Mom, I'm going to be in Ravenclaw! That's the house for really smart kids, right?"
"Yes, that's right. I'm sure you'll get in."
"And then, and then, I'll find someone wonderful and fall in love like in storybooks, and when I have children, I'll be a wonderful mom just like you! I'll love them so, so much and we'll be a happy family!"
"My, my, aren't you getting ahead of yourself. Maevis, you're quite precocious."
The floor vanished, and the scenery around Dumbledore changed.
Next, he stood in Hogwarts' Great Hall.
Many students had gathered there, watching the first-year Sorting.
Among them, Maevis waited for her turn with a racing heart.
Names Dumbledore recognized—students now graduated—were called one after another, each taking their seat at their respective house tables.
Midway through, Maevis's eyes met those of a boy heading toward Slytherin.
A sharp-eyed boy with silver hair slicked back.
Brimming with insolent self-confidence, looking down on everything—for some reason, Maevis's gaze became riveted to him.
"Mackenzie, Maevis!"
Her name called, Maevis sat in the chair and donned the Hat.
It hummed thoughtfully for several seconds.
Eventually reaching a conclusion, it shouted the house she belonged in:
"Ravenclaw!"
Welcomed by applause and cheers from many upperclassmen, Maevis ran to the Ravenclaw table.
Her face overflowed with anticipation for the wonderful school life about to begin.
Next came a living room at Beresford Manor, newer than when he'd visited before.
Standing and looking around, he saw a younger Maevis Beresford sitting in a chair at the table, with another woman seated opposite her.
The woman was thin, wearing gaudy clothes decorated with sequins.
Adorned with bracelets, rings, and other accessories, wearing large glasses—she looked like a glittering giant dragonfly.
Sybill Trelawney.
The teacher who taught Divination at Hogwarts... and, in a sense, the root cause of everything.
All the entanglement between Harry and Voldemort began with her prophecy, and led to James and Lily's deaths.
Her presence here gave Dumbledore an "I knew it" feeling.
As expected—there she was.
He'd had a premonition she'd appear somewhere if he traced the memories back.
It was impossible that this prophet, whose words had arguably determined Harry's and Voldemort's futures, hadn't been involved at all with Mirabelle, who'd shaken the wizarding world to this extent.
Probably unconsciously, as if guided by fate, she'd gone to where prophecies should be delivered and, upon encountering the person who should receive them, true prophecy would be unleashed.
That's how Dumbledore theorized Trelawney's power worked.
"Well, so you got the job at Hogwarts then."
"My, if we're talking about that, what about you? I heard—Durmstrang?"
The two spoke like close friends.
That made sense—they were schoolmates who'd studied at Hogwarts during the same period.
And their career aspirations were also both teaching.
Both had successfully obtained teaching positions and were celebrating each other's appointments.
"And I heard you had a child. You look so happy, I'm envious."
Trelawney usually spoke in a voice that sounded mystical (as she believed) as if coming from beyond mist, but now she was natural.
No need to maintain an image before an old friend who knew her true self.
If she were always like this, she'd be more popular with students—Dumbledore found himself thinking such out-of-place thoughts.
But that peaceful moment was suddenly interrupted by an anomaly.
Trelawney suddenly reeled back, eyes rolling white, and stood up.
"S-Sybill?"
"...On the moon of Libra guarded by Venus, a devil will be born. The devil's scales can tip toward either salvation or destruction."
Unlike moments before, Trelawney spoke in a deep, masculine voice.
Here it comes—thinking so, Dumbledore sharpened his focus.
From here on, he couldn't miss a single word.
This was surely the statement that would determine the magical world's future.
The misfortune was that only Maevis heard this.
That's why it was never preserved in the Department of Mysteries.
"The devil will obtain an angel as her other half, achieving balance of the scales. The angel must not be taken from the devil. For then the scales will tip toward destruction, and the determined future will be overturned. Even if the clock's hands are turned back, once the scales have tipped, they will never return."
An angel as the other half—hearing those words, Dumbledore first thought of the student always with Mirabelle: Edith.
But the prophecy probably didn't refer to her.
Edith never left Mirabelle's side, yet Mirabelle had chosen the path to destruction.
Then who? Who was the one who could have stopped Mirabelle?
Who, if present, could have tipped her talents toward salvation?
The scenery changed again.
Next, he arrived in Heathcote's study.
Sitting facing each other were Maevis and her husband Heathcote.
Maevis looked somewhat troubled, while Heathcote sat expressionlessly.
They were discussing their beloved daughter.
"Mirabelle has been smiling more lately."
"Yes. Indeed."
One's child smiling more often.
Normally that would be good... in a normal family.
But this was the cursed bloodline of Beresford, where power was everything.
Common sense didn't apply.
"Corrupted by some Muggle brat... How troublesome. But correcting our daughter's mistakes is also a parent's duty... The obstacle must be eliminated quickly."
Heathcote said this and drank his wine.
But Maevis didn't seem enthusiastic.
"...Dear, are we really doing this?"
"Yes. I've already informed Umbridge and Fudge."
"But... won't doing such a thing sadden that child?"
There had been dreams from childhood.
Dreams of loving children and building a happy family, just like the mother who'd raised her with love...
But that was now nothing more than a distant phantom.
Probably when she'd given her heart to this man called Heathcote and chosen to walk with him, things had gone wrong.
Before she knew it, instead of making her children happy, she'd become a parent who stole their smiles.
That was Maevis's anguish—and her weakness in being unable to strongly oppose her husband.
"That's not the issue. The priority now is quickly swatting away the insect clinging to Mirabelle. That child has the talent of a king. Not parental bias—she's a natural-born ruler who surpasses even Dumbledore. But you know her talents are rotting away now, don't you?"
"Yes... Lettice Valentine."
"Exactly. Some half-blood brat of unknown origin is corrupting Mirabelle. Ruining our masterpiece that we've poured our heart and soul into raising."
Masterpiece.
Without hesitation, Heathcote called his own child that.
It was his supreme compliment, his form of love that ordinary people couldn't comprehend.
But that love would never make his child happy.
Born and raised in a twisted family, he too—like the previous family heads—was warped and twisted somewhere.
"This incident will be processed as an unauthorized Dementor action. They're already despised creatures anyway. No one will suspect anything over one dead Muggle. Those creatures are convenient at times like this."
"..."
"Lettice Valentine Gloastest... She's unnecessary. I won't allow her to show her face before Mirabelle, not even as a ghost. ...I'll bury her soul and all."
✦
Finishing the memory journey, Dumbledore quietly looked at Maevis.
Maevis cowered under his gaze, her beauty distorting.
She'd received the prophecy.
If she'd stopped her husband then, perhaps fate would have changed.
She surely felt that self-reproach. Like a sinner before judgment, her face twisted in fear.
But Dumbledore spoke to her gently:
"Thank you for confiding in me."
"D-Dumbledore... Professor... I-I was foolish... I... that child... I twisted that child... So that child tried to abandon me to die... just as I once did..."
"Enough. You've suffered plenty."
Just because you love someone doesn't mean that love will reach them.
Especially if that love is warped.
As a believer in love, Dumbledore's heart ached at this parent-child miscommunication.
Truly foolish was Heathcote.
That man was the source of all the distortion.
(...Lettice Gloastest.)
It seemed the key lay in that name.
Then he should investigate her next.
With that resolution, Dumbledore quietly left the room.
***
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