Chapter 64

After Harry said this, Neville also began to hesitate. If they confessed their mistake to Snape, they could obtain the potion they had failed to steal; but it would mean risking expulsion, and Gryffindor would lose many points.

Harry had originally thought that since Dumbledore had said Snape was on their side, if he took the blame for Neville, he probably wouldn’t be expelled—but then Snape might refuse to give him the potion ingredients again, making the whole situation very difficult.

In the end, Harry decided to leave the choice to Neville. If Neville had no further thoughts, he would say nothing to Snape.

Early Saturday morning, Harry woke as usual and grabbed his broom, heading straight for the pitch. Perhaps he had arrived too early—only Wood was flying around the goalposts; the rest of the team hadn’t arrived yet.

Harry adjusted his sitting position and soared high into the sky, when suddenly he saw a sight he would never forget.

A thin mist rose over the Black Lake, shrouding its normally clear waters in the morning sunlight. In the center of the mist, a small island faintly emerged. From above, the island was densely covered with lush trees, and at its heart appeared to be a shallow inland lake.

“Wood! Wood!” Harry shouted. “Come look—what’s happening to the Black Lake?”

“Good heavens?” Wood, rising into the air, also noticed the anomaly. “I’ve never seen this before. In my memory, that island shouldn’t exist at all.”

“I need to notify a professor,” Wood said.

Harry suddenly remembered: Dumbledore had once told him that, according to Donald’s research, the Avalon Realm might manifest within the Black Lake. If this island before them was indeed the legendary Avalon, he needed to inform Ron and Neville.

In an instant, Wood was gone—Harry assumed he was rushing to find a professor—so he hurried back to the castle, ran to his dormitory, and shook awake the still-sleeping Ron and Neville: “Get up and look—Avalon has appeared!”

“Really?” Ron looked thrilled. He grabbed a woolen sweater and yanked it over his head, nearly putting it on backward.

Neville, however, regarded them with a thoughtful gaze. Only after Ron had dressed and rushed out did he slowly say, “You go ahead. I’ll come later.”

When Harry and Ron reached the edge of the Black Lake, a crowd had already gathered. Most stood far back; few dared to approach closer.

“Strange—why won’t they get closer?” Ron muttered, pushing his way to the front of the crowd.

To his astonishment, the mist and the faint island within it had vanished. All he saw now was the glittering water beneath the rising sun.

“So that’s the mist of Avalon,” Ron stepped back, explaining to Harry. “Legend says that after King Arthur’s death, Avalon was shrouded in mist—a lost age.”

“Is this mist the first trial of the realm?” Harry gazed at the Black Lake. “How do we reach Avalon?”

“I remember Merlin guided Arthur,” Ron recalled stories he’d read. “After Excalibur broke, Merlin took Arthur to the Sacred Lake for the first time—but they didn’t reach Avalon. The Lady of the Lake gave Arthur the sword. Only after his death, guided by the Lady, did he truly arrive at Avalon—so Avalon is described as a blissful afterlife.”

“But I remember that souls after death should reach the Afterlife,” Harry recalled his own experience last year. “What does that have to do with Avalon? I always thought Avalon was simply where Arthur obtained Excalibur.”

“Exactly—because ordinary souls cannot reach Avalon, it’s described as an ideal land far removed from all else,” Ron said. “Legend says Morgan le Fay, Arthur’s enemy, guards Avalon. The mist is likely her doing.”

“Let’s assume Morgan really existed—a powerful witch,” Harry tried to interpret the legend through reality. “She cast a powerful confusion charm to prevent anyone from reaching Avalon. But why has it appeared now? What does its presence here mean?”

“Honestly, I don’t know,” Ron shrugged. “Donald told me Avalon has reappeared to find the heir of the Round Table Knights—but I have no idea what this legacy means. It feels like inheritance for inheritance’s sake.”

“The Round Table Knights’ purpose is to protect the island of Britain,” someone interjected. Harry turned to see Professor Hype.

“Ancient magical texts record that if the British wizarding world faces collapse, the loyal Round Table Knights must return,” Professor Hype murmured. “I believe the magical world is truly in peril now—the Iron Curtain looms over Europe, and the king has lost his scabbard.”

“Are you referring to Dumbledore as the king?” Before Harry could speak, Ron asked.

“Precisely,” Professor Hype said. “After that great war, Grindelwald locked himself in Nurmengard, and Dumbledore locked himself in Hogwarts.”

“When truly powerful wizards withdraw from politics, politics falls into the hands of clowns.”

“Do you have a problem with the Ministry?” Harry asked, confused. “And what’s this Iron Curtain?”

“Fudge was at least respectful toward the Cabinet—that’s probably why he was assassinated,” Professor Hype rattled off facts Harry had never heard. “After Scrimgeour took over, the Ministry became a pure money-grubbing machine with no clear stance. Churchill’s warnings were completely ignored.”

“If Dumbledore were willing to take power, the magical world could still be saved,” Professor Hype fumed. “The current Ministry is too soft externally. Britain’s independence isn’t even guaranteed, let alone democracy or freedom.”

“So… you mean the significance of Avalon appearing in the Black Lake,” Harry pulled the conversation back, “is to select qualified Round Table Knights among the students to support Dumbledore as the new king of the magical world?”

“I never said any of that,” Professor Hype glanced nervously around. “Sorry for burdening you children with my complaints—I must go now.”

“What a strange man. Is he even a professor?” Ron asked curiously.

“Yes, Professor Hype teaches Ancient Runes,” Harry chuckled, patting Ron’s shoulder. “Elective professors only teach four classes a week, so they probably spend their days in their offices reading newspapers and ranting about the Ministry.”

“What’s wrong with the Ministry?” Ron asked. “I don’t understand—Churchill? Cabinet? Does the Ministry even have any external duties?”

“Churchill and the Cabinet are leaders of the Muggle British world,” Harry explained. “But thanks to the Statute of Secrecy, the Ministry doesn’t need to care about their opinions. As for external duties—I don’t think there’s anything worth doing. After all, the Muggle British Foreign Office does nothing either.”

“Never mind all that,” Ron said, seemingly inspired. “If Avalon is choosing the heir of the Round Table Knights, maybe it doesn’t just test the knight’s ability—it tests whether the king they choose is worthy of loyalty.”

"If you choose Dumbledore, he might not be worthy at all," Harry recalled Dumbledore's actions last year. "He's a powerful wizard, but not a qualified king. I think Dumbledore is more like Merlin."

“Perhaps I have the confidence to pass Avalon’s trial,” Ron glanced at Harry, then turned back to the mist. “But I still need a way to reach it…”

“Harry, what are you doing?” Harry spun around to find Wood standing behind him with his broom. “Professors will handle this. Let’s get back to training!”

For the rest of Saturday, Harry had to set aside thoughts of the realm and focus entirely on Quidditch training. When he returned to the dormitory, exhausted, Ron and Neville were studying a book. Harry had no energy to join them—he pulled down his curtains and collapsed into sleep.

Early the next morning, Wood pounded on the window to wake Harry again: the Ravenclaw team, distracted by Avalon, had given up their scheduled pitch time, offering the “precious training opportunity” to Gryffindor. Overjoyed, Wood immediately gathered the team to continue practicing positioning and strategy.

After returning from the pitch, Harry barely had time to grab a quick bite in the Great Hall before slipping on his Invisibility Cloak and rushing off to the abandoned classroom where Malfoy held his self-examination meeting.

Oh, right—he’d started calling it the “Round Table Meeting” now, Harry thought. Everyone seemed to enjoy playing knights. Of course, any British child who’d heard the Arthurian legends would long for the Round Table.