"Uh, Hermione, I think... I need to head back to the dormitory for a moment..." Orli clutched her stomach and slipped out of the Gryffindor crowd like a slippery eel. She hugged the castle walls, trying to stay unnoticed as she sneaked to the back of the Slytherin group. But before she could say a word, Snape turned his head as if he had eyes in the back of it.
"Waters? Perhaps you've finally realized that Slytherin suits you better and are planning to join our ranks?" Snape said with a sneer.
"Professor, today's paper..." Orli bit her lip.
"Peter Pettigrew is dead. It's hardly surprising," Snape said coldly, but he stopped walking. The Slytherin students had moved on, leaving only the two of them in front of the castle.
"I don't think he's dead," Orli said urgently.
"The Ministry of Magic has confirmed it," Snape replied. "I only regret not finishing him off in my office and savoring the sight of his demise."
"I don't trust Fudge!" Orli's voice was sharp and anxious. "Peter Pettigrew faked his death once; he can do it again. They didn't even find a body!"
"Watch your tone! Do you realize who you're speaking to?" Snape snapped.
"Severus. Orli." A calm, aged voice interrupted them. Dumbledore stood at the castle entrance, holding the Quidditch Cup in his hands. "Why aren't you both watching the match? It's the final between your houses today—it must be quite thrilling."
"I was planning to," Snape said, turning around. "But apparently, Waters has come up with another one of her 'wild ideas,' this time about a rat who supposedly drowned itself."
"Headmaster, I believe Peter's not dead. He must have escaped!" Orli repeated to Dumbledore.
"I'm very sorry, Orli," Dumbledore said calmly. "But if he truly isn't dead, perhaps fate has other plans."
"Headmaster! You don't understand how important this is!" Orli almost shouted hysterically. "A Death Eater with nowhere to turn—who else would he seek out but his old master? Voldemort is his only option now!"
"Things are not always so absolute," Dumbledore said, adjusting his glasses. "Voldemort's whereabouts are not so easily uncovered. If they were, I would have dealt with it long ago."
Orli shook her head vigorously, her breathing quickened, and her eyes reddened. "Do you remember what Trelawney said before? 'The Dark Lord will rise again, more powerful and terrifying than ever.' Headmaster! She didn't seem like she was pretending that day!"
"Orli, calm down," Dumbledore placed a hand on her shoulder and looked at her. "I'm aware of Professor Trelawney's prophecy that day. You must know, many of her prophecies are not entirely accurate—for example, the part about you being 'the child who should not have been born.'"
"No, Headmaster," Orli said, feeling a wave of helplessness in her heart. "The Trelawney family's lineage shouldn't have ended yet. Otherwise—no offense—but if she were truly useless, you wouldn't have hired her. You must have heard about her state in class that day; it wasn't her usual self. She was in a prophetic trance."
"So you believe her words that day were a true prophecy—even the part about you?" Dumbledore looked into Orli's eyes. "Orli, the accuracy of a prophecy depends on whether the listener believes it. Sybill once made a prophecy over a decade ago involving Harry, and Voldemort believed it—so he was defeated. He created his lifelong enemy with his own hands."
Orli felt Snape beside her sway slightly.
"If he hadn't believed that prophecy, he wouldn't have gone to Harry's house, nor would he have suffered total defeat in a single night. Do you understand?" Dumbledore continued, "Never let a prophecy dictate your judgment."
"Excuse me—has the life philosophy lecture ended?" Snape interjected, his voice dry and stiff as though his throat had turned to stone. "I need to get to the pitch, not stand here listening to tales about prophecies."
"Very well, Severus. No more talk of prophecies," Dumbledore said, straightening up and holding the gleaming Quidditch Cup once more. "I just have one last little question for Orli—when did you learn Occlumency?"
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