At last, ripples stirred in Dumbledore's usually calm eyes:
"Your growth is remarkable, Harry."
He let out a sigh, then gestured for Harry to take the glass orb from the shelf:
"Only those mentioned in the prophecy can remove it from there, because fate lies in one's own hands."
The small, luminescent glass orb was lifted in Harry's hands. Jane saw a look of relief wash over his face.
"It's not as heavy as I imagined... I thought it would be weighty like stone, but it feels light as a feather..." he murmured. "Am I imagining it?"
"I don't think so," Dumbledore observed his expression carefully. "You feel it's light because your state of mind has changed."
Dumbledore took the prophecy orb, his own expression notably more relaxed:
"When you said 'I don't need to hear the prophecy,' that meant I could tell you its complete contents."
Both Jane and Harry let out puzzled "Ah?" sounds.
Dumbledore didn't respond immediately. With a gesture, the prophecy orb shattered.
The breaking glass made a crisp sound, fragments scattering to the floor—
A milky-white, towering figure rose into the air. The figure began to speak in a hoarse, ethereal voice:
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord... born to those who have thrice defied him... born as the seventh month dies... he will have... power... either must die at the hand of the other..."
The air fell into deathly silence once more.
Jane wasn't surprised by the prophecy's revealed contents.
This was the ending of the entire Harry Potter story—regrettably, it didn't describe the process.
What did surprise her was Harry's attitude toward the prophecy after his emotional upheaval—
He seemed to accept everything calmly, even with a hint of relief.
"Why can I know the prophecy's contents now?" he asked Dumbledore. "Earlier you seemed reluctant—"
Dumbledore's tone became even more relaxed, like a wrinkled shirt finally being ironed smooth:
"The reason is simple, Harry—because you no longer see the prophecy as a command strangling your life."
"Even if you'd never heard this prophecy, you'd still want to eliminate Voldemort. You'd still want to do this."
"Indeed," Harry's voice sounded more resolute. "I want to do this."
Dumbledore's laughter echoed through the Hall of Prophecy. Jane realized she'd never seen him laugh so freely.
"Fate lies in one's own hands."
Dumbledore repeated the phrase, but he was no longer looking at Harry—instead, he gazed meaningfully into Jane's eyes:
"Being dragged into fate's whirlpool by prophecy is different from walking in voluntarily."
"This is why I brought you both here. I hoped you'd break free from your shackles and gain some new understanding."
Jane stared back into his eyes, black meeting blue, night sparkling with stars.
Trelawney's deep voice seemed to echo in her ears again... that prophecy about her own fate that only she knew...
The deaths, betrayals, and pain she would bring to others... She felt like the source of disaster... pushing what should have been victory toward death...
The unspeakable secret she bore alone—the future of the final, brutal Battle of Hogwarts...
That was what she wanted to avoid... the shackles that bound her... yet she was always thwarted, fate forcing her toward that destination.
She felt as if she might be drawn into Dumbledore's magical blue eyes, and somewhere in her subconscious, a voice seemed to ask:
If the final outcome was always a fight to the death, what difference was there between being forced into the arena and walking in yourself?
It seemed Dumbledore understood, and Harry did too—the complete difference.
"I understand your meaning," Harry said, not noticing the strange exchange between her and Dumbledore, his face showing a kind of pride. "Even if I'm the one who dies in the end, at least I won't sit waiting to be killed. I'll fight him just like my parents did."
The mature way this teenager spoke was like Sima Qian saying, "All men must die—some deaths are weightier than Mount Tai, others lighter than a feather."
Jane was inexplicably amused by the sudden thought that popped into her head.
But simultaneously, she felt something that had long constrained her mind snap loose with a "click."
Perhaps ultimate fate was unavoidable, but she thought she had to do something... at least enter the arena standing tall.
...
On the return journey, Dumbledore again led them past the Death Chamber.
The stone archway still stood there, the tattered veil still fluttered.
Jane glanced up at the veil and found that sense of rejection seemed somewhat weaker.
"There you are," Dumbledore suddenly laughed helplessly, raising his hands in surrender. "Sorry, Amelia—we took far too long."
Jane looked ahead and saw Minister Bones standing at the entrance, having come to find them.
"I was truly worried something had happened to you—you've taken far longer than our agreed time," Bones said, her stern expression softening into a joke. "Don't tell me you've developed an occupational hazard, treating the Department of Mysteries like your Hogwarts, a place to educate students?"
Dumbledore choked slightly, caught in his intentions, and displayed his perfect benevolent smile:
"Oh, Amelia, you must understand that educational opportunities are everywhere—extracurricular expansion is an excellent choice too."
With some embarrassment, he hastily sidestepped the topic:
"The prophecy orb has been destroyed—this news needn't be kept secret. Originally I wanted to keep it here as bait to lure Voldemort into a trap—but since we're short-staffed, ensuring the Ministry's safe operation must come first."
Minister Bones nodded unsurprisingly, her gaze calm and resolute:
"There will always be another bait. Perhaps we lack personnel now, but we don't lack the heart to fight the Dark Lord—the number of people eagerly signing up to become Aurors these past days proves everything."
She stopped before the black doors, shaking hands with Dumbledore, Jane, and Harry in turn:
"I'm delighted we've gathered here with the same purpose. My brother's entire family gave their lives for this cause, and I'm always prepared to do the same. Even if I die, as long as there's one person named Bones left in the world, whoever she is, she'll inherit my legacy."
Dumbledore's robes billowed behind him without wind. He looked deeply moved, his words ringing with conviction:
"Oppression breeds resistance. Voldemort has created the very enemy he fears most—he's walking the path to his own destruction."
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