Godfather Owl: Guardian of Batman [160]

Cedric smiled faintly.

"You're right."

He fully agreed with Bruce's point. "It's something worth considering—villains can turn on each other too."

Even in a group as small as three, there had to be a leader.

Someone to guide the group, to decide their targets.

From the precision of their first move—killing Harry to throw Sirius and Snape into disarray—it was clear this leader had a methodical approach from the very beginning.

Who could it be?

The possibilities were almost laid bare.

Hermione, Malfoy, and Neville were incapable of such tactics. Sirius and Snape, by their actions, were clearly not involved.

Peter Pettigrew lacked the charisma of a leader.

That left only Fred or Cedric.

"I suspect Fred," Bruce said to Cedric. "What do you think?"

"I don't." Cedric met Bruce's gaze evenly. "Fred saved Snape, disrupting the villains' original plan. That alone proves he's unquestionably on our side.

"Bruce, you already know this.

"You're not really questioning Fred. You're testing me, to see how I'd respond.

"I suspect you've already decided that I'm the villain.

"And if it's come to this, nothing I say will change your mind. I know you better than anyone, Bruce. Once you make up your mind, you never look back."

I know you better than anyone…

Bruce understood the weight of those words.

Cedric's knowledge came from possessing the memories of the Year One Batman—a version of Bruce who had lived through the darkest corners of Gotham.

"But I can still promise you this: I'm not the villain," Cedric said. "As you'd put it, let's be honest with one another."

At that moment, Bruce's lingering doubts vanished.

Cedric was indeed the one who had killed Harry.

He not only understood Bruce but had meticulously observed him.

Bruce had once casually mentioned his "honesty" philosophy to Neville, and Cedric had picked up on it.

How much had Cedric studied him?

"Well, that's a relief," Bruce said emotionlessly.

A fleeting thought crossed his mind: If I attack Cedric now—not to kill, but to incapacitate him—will the banquet end?

Time to test it.

Bruce flicked his wrist inside his robe, and the Elder Wand slid into his hand.

But just as quickly, the expected happened.

The wand vanished, reappearing in Cedric's grasp.

"This belongs to you, doesn't it?" Cedric said with a smile, handing the wand back. "A wand is important to a wizard. Don't lose it."

"Thanks."

Bruce accepted the wand without betraying any reaction.

He could cast magic without a wand, but the outcome of a direct confrontation was already clear.

"If you're not the villain, then I'm reassured," Bruce said. "It seems this banquet could have a satisfactory ending after all."

With that, he turned to leave. His purpose for the conversation was fulfilled.

"Bruce."

Cedric's voice stopped him. Bruce turned back to see Cedric wearing an expression he hadn't seen before—one of utmost seriousness, like a warrior acknowledging a worthy opponent.

"Do you care about this banquet so much because someone you love is involved?" Cedric asked. "Someone you'd never let be harmed, no matter what?"

"Someone very important to me," Bruce replied.

"Family…"

For a moment, Cedric's eyes clouded with a loneliness far beyond his years.

"I see. I understand now."

When Cedric snapped out of it, he nodded. "We all want to protect our families, even at the cost of our own lives. But reality often denies us that chance.

"Bruce, you're lucky. You can protect what you hold dear, even if it means sacrificing yourself."

The cryptic words didn't escape Bruce's notice.

The loneliness in Cedric's gaze mirrored something Bruce himself had felt before.

At that moment, it wasn't clear whether it was Cedric or Batman speaking—but the promise was unmistakable:

Before I kill you, I won't harm Hermione.

---

The chaos at Hogwarts didn't last long, as something far more shocking occurred that afternoon.

A corpse was found in a secluded corner of the castle, discovered by a house-elf.

Professor McGonagall arrived first. With everything spiraling out of control, she had to handle every crisis personally.

The body was unrecognizable, its face smashed beyond recognition with a stone.

Fighting back her nausea, McGonagall used magic to restore the victim's features.

"It's Sirius Black."

There was a faint sense of relief in her voice. It wasn't a student or faculty member, just an escaped convict from Azkaban.

Unaware of Sirius's innocence, she still believed he was Voldemort's most loyal servant.

"Perhaps this is for the best," McGonagall murmured. "At least it's one less threat to the school."

Word of Sirius's death spread rapidly.

Kathoom brought Bruce the details of the scene.

"This time, Sirius was executed by stoning," Kathoom explained. "As for Harry, I didn't go into detail before, but his death was brutal—a form of ancient Viking punishment.

"It was gruesome and agonizing. I'll spare you the details."

Bruce's expression darkened. He understood why Cedric insisted on such methods.

By using execution-style killings, Cedric could convince himself he wasn't committing murder—only carrying out justice.

Bruce searched for a word to describe Cedric's current mindset.

After some thought, he couldn't settle on one.

"Are you thinking of the word 'twisted'?" Kathoom suggested. "Wants to kill but doesn't want to admit it—classic hypocrisy?"

"No," Bruce replied. "I think 'deranged' is more fitting."

---

The ominous sound of a gong reverberated through the castle, heralding the start of the third banquet.

Bruce had noticed something peculiar: while the first gong was audible to everyone, subsequent strikes seemed only heard by the banquet's participants.

"It's because of that mark, isn't it?"

Bruce referred to the mysterious sigil on his wrist—a mark bearing the image of an owl.

Kathoom always denied any connection to the symbol but never offered a clear explanation.

This time, however, Kathoom provided an answer.

"The owl of Minerva flies at dusk," he said without his usual evasiveness. "It represents reflection at the end of an era. Ancient Athens minted coins bearing this owl to honor their goddess, Athena.

"But the design itself is far older.

"It was originally a soul coin, payment for the ferryman Charon to cross the River Styx.

"One life exchanged for another—that's what it means.

"Killing someone lets you claim their soul coin, granting you a new life."

Kathoom paused before adding, "I only learned this recently. I didn't know before."

Soul coins?

"What does this have to do with the gong?" Bruce asked.

Kathoom explained, "There's no gong. What you're hearing is the sound of a soul coin being struck. The coin is simply enormous."

An enormous soul coin.

"Whose soul does it belong to?" Bruce asked.

"I don't know," Kathoom admitted. After a moment's thought, he added, "But owl coins aren't the oldest form of soul currency. Owl coins are silver.

"The highest tier of soul coins comes from an earlier era.

"They're called—amber coins."

Amber coins… amber gold…

Realization dawned on Bruce. Soul coins were made from the Fifth Metal.

"Let's see what happens at the third War God's Banquet," Bruce said. "I have a feeling this will be the final one."

"So do I," Kathoom replied. "Based on Cedric's behavior, he's already ensured his victory."

The good guys had already lost.

Bruce was determined to witness firsthand what catastrophe awaited when the War God's chosen victor claimed the ultimate prize.

---

When Bruce saw Hermione again, she was different—markedly so.

"I heard Sirius is dead," she said, standing by the window, her gaze fixed on the sky.

"In the last banquet, no one voted. For a moment, I thought it meant no one wanted to hurt anyone else.

"But after the banquet ended, the deaths kept coming.

"No matter how much I want to deny it, I have to face the truth:

"One of the people who abstained with me is the one who killed Harry.

"Some of us have already gone mad."

Though Hermione's fear lingered, the confusion that once clouded her was gone. She had come to terms with her role, ready to confront the situation like the Gryffindor she was.

Even if it meant suspecting her own friends and classmates.

"We were wrong not to vote," she said through gritted teeth. "I've realized that voting is the only way for the good guys to win.

"No matter how difficult the accusation, I'll cast my vote this time!"

Bruce, who had been silently watching, finally felt a glimmer of relief.

"It's late, but better late than never," he thought. "Hermione, you've grown."

Hermione had always been capable of courage and action.

This was the same girl who, in her fourth year, locked the beetle-transformed Rita Skeeter in a jar until the school year ended.

The same girl who, in her fifth year, permanently etched a reminder of betrayal onto the skin of a fellow student. Hermione had never been one to hesitate when action was needed.

Before, her hesitation came from a place of softness—a reluctance to avenge Harry because it meant suspecting her friends.

But now, everything had changed.

"Let's go, Bruce."

With her fists clenched and her chin held high, Hermione transformed back into the steadfast know-it-all.

Once she embraced her vulnerability, she became unstoppable.

---

Near midnight, Hermione arrived at the hall.

Everyone was present.

Hermione held Kathoom on her lap as she sat, her gaze drifting from person to person, searching for the murderer.

"Professor Snape is definitely innocent," she thought. "He attacked Ares and nearly didn't come back."

"That means Fred is also innocent—he saved Snape."

"Unless they're both villains putting on an elaborate act, but that would violate the banquet's rules."

Eliminating Harry and Sirius as the deceased, and herself as a participant, she was left with four suspects: Cedric, Neville, Malfoy, and the late Peter Pettigrew.

Among these four, three were complicit in the murders of Harry and Sirius.

"Neville… you're not involved, are you?"

Hermione glanced at the trembling boy sitting beside Malfoy.

She didn't want to suspect Neville, not Neville.

"No matter what, I must cast my vote today," she thought. "And I need to convince others to vote too!"

"With Fred and me, that's two votes. At worst, the villains have three. That half-vote from the leader is crucial."

She glanced at Professor Snape.

Even after a day, he hadn't recovered from his earlier ordeal.

He alternated between long periods of staring blankly and moments of lucidity, speaking briefly with those around him before lapsing back into silence.

Whatever he had endured, it had left him incapable of participating.

"I need to identify the last good person and secure that half-vote to have any chance of winning!"

The stakes had never been higher.

Hermione resolved to listen carefully to everyone's arguments and to make her own persuasive case.

But as she steeled herself, Kathoom sighed quietly to himself.

It's already too late. The good guys have lost.

"Good evening."

Ares appeared at the head of the table, greeting the participants with a smile.

"Since the last banquet, we've lost another member: Sirius Black. He left us peacefully."

Ares's tone was almost mocking. "The banquet has advanced once more. Now, let the discussions begin."

Hermione straightened, preparing to listen intently.

Fred was the first to speak, breaking the silence with a heavy sigh.

"I have something to say," he began, looking around at the remaining participants. His face betrayed no joy—only despair and exhaustion.

"I'm the eagle's blessed," he announced, drawing every gaze in the room.

Fred ignored the reactions and spoke as though on autopilot.

"The first time I used the Patronus ability, I investigated Peter Pettigrew. He was a villain, without question."

"But by the time the second banquet began, I couldn't feel any satisfaction. You all know why—Pettigrew was dead. I wasted my chance."

"For my second use, I investigated Cedric."

"He's a villain."

"So, Cedric killed Harry. He killed Sirius too."

Fred turned to Cedric, seated beside him.

"Can I ask you something?" Fred's voice cracked with sadness. "I've known you for almost five years. You weren't like this."

"How could you bring yourself to do it?"

Cedric didn't flinch under Fred's accusation. He simply shook his head.

"I don't understand what you're talking about," Cedric said. "I'm the eagle's blessed. My first investigation was also Peter Pettigrew—he was a villain."

"For my second, I investigated Hermione. She's innocent."

"As for you, Fred—have you finally dropped the act?"

Two claimed to be the eagle's blessed, as expected.

Hermione didn't hesitate. Even though Cedric vouched for her innocence, she was certain he was the one who killed Harry.

"So it's you!" Hermione snarled, her gaze dark with hatred.

Harry's death would be avenged.

But Fred, now the center of attention, remained unnervingly calm.

"Is this fun for you?" he asked quietly.

Cedric's face broke into a radiant smile.

"No, it's not," Cedric admitted. "Even Hermione, the 'innocent' I vouched for, is glaring at me with nothing but hatred. There's no point in continuing this charade."

"Alright, Fred, you've caught me."

Cedric's confession sent a thrill through Hermione. She nearly shouted in triumph, the prospect of avenging Harry filling her with joy.

"Fred—"

"Hermione!" Fred interrupted, his voice cutting her off.

He turned to her with a bitter smile, one that carried the weight of a final farewell.

"We've lost."

Fred's words hit her like a curse.

"What are you talking about?" she stammered. "We can still win! If we vote Cedric out, there'll be only one villain left—we can win!"

Fred shook his head, his voice rising. "It's over, Hermione!

"I've always trusted my instincts. When I suspected Pettigrew, I was right. When I suspected Cedric, I was right again."

"And now, Hermione, I have one last instinct to share."

He extended a trembling finger toward Neville and Malfoy, huddled together.

"I think they're both villains."

Hermione's mind reeled.

Four villains?

"This isn't a game, Hermione," Fred said. "At the start of the term, I felt something strange about the people around me."

"Cedric—sometimes he felt familiar, sometimes he didn't."

"Neville… he's been acting scared since the beginning, but his fear doesn't feel real."

"His performance is terrible."

Hermione turned to Neville and found him staring back at her.

Fred's words began to make sense.

She knew Neville well—when he was truly afraid, he fainted.

But now, though Neville appeared frightened, he only trembled slightly, like a bad actor overcompensating.

"Neville…"

Hermione whispered, her voice shaking. "Are you one of Harry's murderers?"

"I-I-I…"

Neville stammered, but no explanation came.

Hermione's heart sank.

No… this can't be…

She remembered the boy who panicked over a missing toad.

How could that boy commit murder?

"It can't be…" she muttered, trying to console herself.

"What about Malfoy?" she asked Fred desperately. "He's always been awful!"

"Malfoy's different," Fred replied with a sigh. "Sometimes he feels like Malfoy, other times he doesn't."

"Right now, he's not."

Hermione's mind spiraled into chaos.

Fred's words felt like riddles, but Kathoom understood.

The owl felt a pang of regret.

Of course. How could I overlook someone so important?

If Lupin, Sirius, and Cedric had awakened memories of their DC counterparts, why wouldn't someone else?

Someone like Malfoy.

Kathoom studied him now. Malfoy's DC counterpart came from the Flash universe: Julian Albert, a British nobleman and forensic scientist.

And Julian Albert was also a villain—a man who called himself Alchemy.

"Of course…" Kathoom murmured.

Fred had laid it out plainly: the original villains were Cedric and Neville, but Malfoy's strange behavior meant he wouldn't side with the good guys.

That left Fred, Hermione, and Snape as the only good players.

And Snape couldn't vote.

No matter how they counted, the votes would never add up.

They had truly lost.

"No… no…"

Hermione shook her head, unwilling to accept it.

She had steeled herself to fight, but reality had given her no chance.

Ares, still smiling, watched the proceedings with amusement.

"Hermione, run," Fred said, forcing a reassuring smile.

Before Hermione could respond, a bloodied hand burst through Fred's chest.

The worst ending had begun.

---

T/N: RUN HERMIONE RUN! (i really wanted to end the updates here but i made a promise) (morax transferred to scribble hub!)

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