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HP460- Prophecy
🕑 Added 2025-07-03 23:25:54 +0000 UTCDumbledore stood awkwardly at the edge of the scorched chamber. No one invited him to the debrief, but he followed anyway, silent and trailing behind like a misplaced fixture.
The group finished up first... checking the last of the defensive arrays, confirming the portkey locks had been re-set, and verifying all the Dementors had truly captured.
They met in a reinforced conference room on Level Two. The walls were covered in layered runes, the ceiling lined with faintly glowing strips.
Amelia sat at the head of the table, back straight, hands clasped, not bothering with any formal greeting. Kingsley and Moody stood behind her... both still slightly battered, but alert. Tonks sat beside Harry, boots up on the bench, picking ash off her coat.
The others filtered into the room without fuss, taking their seats along the long conference table. Daphne and Tracey flanking her. Astoria tucked herself neatly into a spot between Luna and Hermione, humming some tune under her breath while swinging her legs. Susan and Hannah across. Ginny and Pansy say together, discussing something in hush. Neville, Zabini, Draco, and Nott drifted in after them, keeping to one side. Fred and George claimed a spot by the wall, tossing occasional glances between each other with identical grins. Cho, Su Li, Lavender, Parvati, and Padma slipped into the back row, chatting lowly as they passed an enchanted map back and forth. Angelina, Alicia, and Megan trailed in last, looking more curious than worried, though Megan’s hand stayed close to her wand.
Amelia outlined the breach, timing the attacks, the layered wards that had been peeled apart one by one. The Aurors murmured amongst themselves as she spoke. It was blunt, clear, without sugarcoating the obvious. Voldemort had been within reach. The Ministry had been locked down. The group had been ready to finish it.
But Dumbledore’s arrival had broken their portkey locks. The old wards slipped for Voldemort to vanish.
They reviewed the array Astoria had chalked, the decoy orbs in the Hall of Prophecy, and how the modified locks had held until the phoenix’s flash of fire had overridden them.
Even so, the Ministry staff couldn’t hide their surprise as the details of the duel unfolded... how Harry had matched Voldemort step for step, curse for curse, and how his friends had moved as if they rehearsed the entire defence a dozen times over. There was no shock in the students’ ranks. They had expected this, prepared for it. The Ministry, on the other hand, sat still, almost uneasy as they processed it.
By the end, it was clear to everyone in the room... without Dumbledore’s arrival, Voldemort might have been cornered fully... trapped and finished in the Hall of Prophecy. Instead, he slipped away. Fate had cut in at the last moment, as it always seemed to.
Amelia’s final words were cold. “Next time, there won’t be a gap. We are sealing Level Nine tighter. No exceptions.” She flicked a glance at Dumbledore but didn’t say more.
Harry didn’t bother adding anything. He listened, arms folded, taking it in without a word eyes on Amelia as she wrapped up her briefing. The last of the Aurors filed out, murmuring to each other in hushed tones. Even the Unspeakables slipped quietly from the room, their enchanted hoods pulled tight. Only Harry’s group, Kingsley, Moody, Tonks, and Dumbledore remained.
Amelia’s wand flicked. The door sealed with a soft click. Her gaze fixed on Harry.. “Prophecy. Did you all hear it in full?”
Harry shrugged lightly. “Heard it. Word for word.”
Amelia's gaze shifted from Dumbledore to Harry’s group, “Let’s tear it apart.”
“Might as well. He went through all that trouble to hear it.”
Hermione already had a parchment out, quill scratching as she muttered the words under her breath. “The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…”
Harry looked across the table at Neville, who was staring down at his clenched fists. His knuckles had gone pale. Slowly, Neville raised his head and gave a small nod.
“That would be Harry and me,” Neville said, his voice calm but tight. “Both our parents defied Voldemort three times. Both of us born as the seventh month died. That explains why our families were… targeted.” His hands tightened again, the faint sound of his nails scraping against the wood carrying in the quiet.
Harry’s eyes narrowed slightly as his gaze shifted back to Dumbledore. “So Voldemort knew at least part of the prophecy before today.” His casually pointed out. “That is why he came after my parents. Why he went after the Longbottoms. He heard enough to think one of us was a threat.”
Dumbledore sat quietly at one corner, hands resting loosely on the top of his belly as though this was just another pleasant evening chat. His eyes flicked between Harry and Neville but he didn’t offer so much as a single word.
Astoria tilted her head. “How could he know part of it?” she asked.
“Someone told him,” Daphne said flatly, arms folded as she leaned back against the wall. “The question is who.”
Hermione tapped her quill against the parchment, her brow furrowed. “The records in Hall of Prophecies states, the prophecy was made in the Hog’s Head. Only Dumbledore and the seer were present. But...”
“...someone might have overheard,” Harry cut in, his voice light, almost amused. “That is the obvious answer.”
Tracey gave a little hum, tapping her nails against the table. “Bit convenient for him, though. He gets just enough of the prophecy to act on it, but not enough to understand the full thing. Like dangling bait.”
“Could’ve been deliberate,” Susan said, glancing from Daphne to Harry. “Leak a piece to make him jump too early. Wouldn’t be the first time someone played Voldemort like a fiddle.”
Fred, from where he was leaning against the wall with his twin, raised his brows. “Sounds like one of our plans.”
George grinned. “Except with fewer explosions.”
Harry snorted. “Give them time. There’s still a whole war left for fireworks.”
Hermione cleared her throat, pulling the conversation back. “The next part of the prophecy is… and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not.”
“Right,” Harry said. “The bit I heard before was the first half of that, The Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, and only the one marked can defeat him.”
“So this part is new to you too,” Neville said quietly.
Harry nodded. “Completely." He looked at Neville, “That also means Voldemort picked his nemesis. It could’ve been either of us, but he marked me.”
Neville leaned back slightly. “So if he’d gone after me first...”
“...you would be the one with this lightning bolt plastered on your head,” Harry cut in, smirking. “And I would probably be watching you flounce about the Ministry while they invent grades like Marvelous for you.”
Neville shook his head, chuckling, “I doubt your achievements come as a package deal with the scar, Harry. They’re yours.”
Harry smirked. “Well, if Voldemort fancied marking you instead, you would probably have a better hairstyle to go with it.”
Tracey made a small snort of laughter, earning her a look from Daphne, though the corner of her mouth twitched like she was holding back a grin herself.
“Don’t tempt fate,” Daphne said. “The last thing we need is another prophecy about someone else.”
Ginny leaned forward slightly. “So that line... the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal... he decided it was Harry, not Neville.”
“Decided,” Harry echoed, tapping his scar. “Cut me open and left this lovely mark. I suppose that is as formal as a contract in his mind.”
“It is not just the scar,” Hermione interjected, flipping her notes back to the first page. “He tried to kill you as a baby and failed. That alone would’ve sealed the choice. It is symbolic.”
Amelia tapped her finger against the table. “Next line, if you would.”
Hermione nodded, flipping her parchment. “Right, Auntie. The last part, ‘And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives.’”
“Well, that’s cheery,” Fred muttered, breaking the silence.
“Classic prophecy rubbish,” George added. “All doom, no subtlety.”
licia glanced around the room, her brow slightly furrowed. “So basically, h-he and Harry can’t coexist? Either Harry kills him or he kills Harry?”
Harry’s gaze flicked straight to Dumbledore. “No. It means he won’t die as long as I live, and he will die if I die.”
The room went quiet for a beat too long.
Tracey arched a brow, arms folded. “So you’re saying you’re walking life support for Moldy Voldy?”
Harry didn’t look away from Dumbledore, almost amused. “No. I told you all about Horcruxes before.”
The temperature in the room seemed to shift. Dumbledore’s fingers twitched faintly against the edge of the table. His sharp blue eyes widened a fraction.
Harry smirked. “Ah, so you do recognise the word. Thought as much.”
“What?” Moody's voice broke in. “Horcruxes?”
Harry was seated casually, utterly at ease. “I think it is time to fill the Headmaster in properly. He is a bit behind.” He raised a hand and tapped the side of his scar with one finger. “I already destroyed all the Horcruxes Tommy-boy created.”
“How? How did you find them?” the old wizard finally managed.
Harry chuckled lightly, shaking his head. “Oh, don’t play coy, Professor. You’ve known all along, haven’t you?” He tapped his scar again. “I am Voldemort’s unwilling Horcrux. The one that broke his soul apart… and the one that’s destroyed him from the inside.”
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