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ACT4CH26 - Prophecy
🕑 Added 2024-06-22 13:53:44 +0000 UTCFrom the very moment Harry Potter had an absolute stranger get down on her knees, grab his hands and thank him profusely the very moment Hagrid introduced him by his name, Harry knew that something was off. Knowing the name Voldemort as well as Harry’s own moniker, the Boy-Who-Lived had both indicated that there was more going on than him being a survivor to an evil man’s wrath.
Bugger, even Ollivander had all but outlined the connection between them, claiming that Harry’s wand was a brother to Voldemort’s own wand, and that Harry would go ahead and do great things, because Voldemort did great things too. Terrible, but great.
The years that followed, him facing Voldemort in different shades, along with discovering that he and Voldemort were way too much alike for it to be just coincidences. Halfbloods, orphans, raised by muggles, Parselmouths, and offered Slytherin House by the Sorting Hat. Both of them had discovered Salazar Slytherin’s Chamber of Secrets, eventually becoming the Warden to one, if not the largest repository of Abstract Magic in the entire world. In the endless labyrinth of Fate, Harry Potter and Tom Riddle seemed to be unusually connected to each other. And finally, the answer was here, before his own words, summed up perfectly in the single phrase that Lucius Malfoy had just revealed to him.
Prophecy.
“Back in 1980, when the war was at its worst, we received news of a prophecy made by Sybill Trelawney to Albus Dumbledore. A prophecy that spoke of a child that had the power to vanquish the Dark Lord himself. An outrageous fact, since the Dark Lord had already proved himself to be immortal on multiple occasions. The idea of a little brat having the power to vanquish Him was hilarious, and none of us took it seriously. We were winning, and the Ministry would fall within a year. And then, the second line of the Prophecy came to fruition.”
“Tell me,” said Harry, his face impassive. “Tell me the prophecy. And what happened after. Every last detail.”
Lucius looked like he had tasted a bad egg. The oath Harry had made him take just moments ago made it impossible for him to hide secrets from him, or lie directly. It wouldn't, however, prevent him from skirting the line with half-truths.
Closing his eyes, the man began to recite the words of the Prophecy.
“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..”
He opened his eyes, and stared at Harry with zero sentimentality. “Sometime after the Prophecy was made, the Order of the Phoenix took an offensive stance in the fight, and began actively interfering with our agendas.”
That said agenda would’ve caused mass genocide in Wizarding Britain and eventually attracted either a global uprising of muggleborns against Britain, or the complete breakdown of the Statute of Secrecy was conveniently omitted.
“Sirius Black was appointed a Hit-wizard Captain, and with him and Alastor Moody at the helm, and Potter and his mud….”
He trailed off, obviously realising who he was talking to. “Potter and his wife, and the Longbottoms, and Black and a couple more, and that madman Moody. Absolute pests! The Dark Lord taught Moody a lesson for life by killing his wife and children in front of his own eyes, but not before puncturing one eye and one leg. Bellatrix and Rodolphus cruciated the bastard after the Dark Lord left, but somehow, he survived with the better half of his body intact.”
The Death Eater was obviously reimagining old memories with relish, and Harry itched to give him a taste of the same medicine.
“But the Potters and Longbottoms… they escaped! Every! Single! Time! Dumbledore saved them in Aylesbury; Moody helped them fight off the Dark Lord and escape in Dartmoor. And when the Dark Lord attacked the… attacked and killed your mother’s muggle parents, he faced stiff resistance from the Order that forced him to retreat! Three times! People were getting enthused by the Order’s victories, and our own people were getting anxious. There was friction among the werewolves, and Dumbledore was getting the giants to reconsider. Even Rabastan Lestrange was caught talking about the Prophecy.”
A small smirk came to his lips, no doubt thinking of the Lestrange getting cruciated left and right.
“Our people were getting antsy, and the Order was winning victories. Something had to be done. A statement had to be made.”
“Voldemort attacked the Child of Prophecy,” Harry murmured.
“The Dark Lord,” said Lucius, somehow adding disdain and reverence in the same tone, “always had a flair for the dramatic. He wanted to silence all doubts, scare all opposition, and shatter the Order’s belief that its victories were anything more than a fluke. He claimed that not even Fate could stand in the way of the one that ruled over the realms of the Abstract and the Unknown. Fate, he said, was after all, an instrument of the Abstract.”
Dramatic, thought Harry, but not quite wrong. He more than anyone else knew of the incestious relationship between Fate and Magic. He was still far from exploring the Anima and understanding its nature, but from his personal experiences, he knew that if he chose Death, became its Vessel in every sense of the world, the strands of Fate would no longer affect him.
He would in effect, be Fateless.
An anomaly in the system.
The exact opposite of Luna Lovegood, or rather her subconscious self, the Avatar of Destiny.
You are my Destiny, Harry Potter, Luna had told him in his dream. And you are my Doom.
But there was no point in telling Lucius that.
“Yeah,” said Harry, adding a hint of condescension in his tone. “That sounds like Voldemort alright. He always suffered from a massive superiority complex, even as a dangly kid at Hogwarts. Probably from his time terrorising helpless muggle kids at that muggle orphanage he grew up.”
Lucius’s temples ticked.
“When the end of July approached, two babies were born,” he said dispassionately. “The Potters had you, and the Longbottoms had…”
“Neville,” Harry breathed. Briefly, he remembered the conversation he had with the other boy on the Hogwarts Express.
July thirtieth, Neville had said. Just a day before you were born.
“The Longbottoms were Aurors, so they were likely the bigger threat, but you were the last child to be born. Given the vague nature of the Prophecy, it was impossible to determine who could be this prophetic child, but the Inner Circle opined that it was the Longbottom scion. They were Purebloods, and descendants of Godric Gryffindor himself. But the Dark Lord thought differently. He chose the Potters, chose you, a halfblood. Though, knowing his origins, he probably thought another halfblood like himself would pose a greater threat than the descendant of Godric Gryffindor.”
That did sound like Voldemort.
Lucius barked out a cruel laugh. “Don’t tell me that the old fool had kept you in the dark about this for all this time! Ha! You and the Dark Lord, stuck in opposing roles in a script written by Destiny itself… All of your actions over the years, your survival, your unique magic, you being the Boy-Who-Lived, and you’re telling me you never even knew why?”
Something about that revelation seemed to have truly enraged the Malfoy Lord. “Just like a filthy Gryffindor! Do you even know you’re but a pawn in the great game you’ve found yourself in, Potter?”
Oh he had some idea, Harry mused. He wasn’t egoistic enough to believe that he was oversmarting everyone else, or that the unique relationship he shared with Death, Fate and Magic gave him an ace that no other could fathom. He knew perfectly well that he was swimming with sharks, whether it be mortal ones like Voldemort, Nicholas Flamel and this Cabal, or Abstract ones like the Vaults, the Lament, Ignotus, the Family Magics, and the chaotic avatar of Destiny.
Maybe Lucius was right. Maybe he was just a pawn in some great cosmic game. But this pawn had seen the end of the board. And that could make all the difference in the end.
“What happened after that?”
“What else?” Lucius sneered. “Peter Pettigrew betrayed the Potters, and revealed their location. And Barty Crouch Junior revealed a backdoor to the wards of Longbottom Manor. Bellatrix and the others were sent to end the Longbottoms, while the Dark Lord chose to end the Potters personally. You know what happened afterwards.”
Halloween night. 1981. James and Lily Potter perished at the hands of the Dark Lord Voldemort. Harry Potter survived, and Voldemort was likely dead by the rebounding of his own killing curse.
The rise of the legend of the Boy-Who-Lived.
Harry schooled his features, taking careful note of every single thing Lucius had said. He would need Sirius and Daphne to go through these memories separately, and note their observations. And Dumbledore….
Part of him felt betrayed that Albus Dumbledore had hidden this secret from him all this time. No, he had downright refused to tell him why Voldemort had been gunning for him ever since he had been a baby. In hindsight, it was pretty obvious that there must have been something about him that caused a Dark Lord, even one as insane and hypocritical as Tom Riddle to have left his proverbial throne to kill a mere baby.
In another world, where things had played out differently, where Harry’s fifth year would have been similar to any of the previous years at Hogwarts, Harry would have been outright shell shocked, filled with rage from the betrayal of the man he trusted above all else. But then again, had it been like any other year, he’d probably have remained in the dark, fruitlessly aiming to hide in obscurity that was never his to be, playing chess or letting Hermione help with his homework. Dolores Umbridge would’ve probably stayed on as the Defence Instructor, and an absolute pain in the arse. For all he knew, he’d have agreed to Susan and Hermione’s insane plan to teach everyone Defence in a wildly illegal student club. He’d never have learned about anything, until Dumbledore decided it was time, which would probably be already too late.
But things were different. From having nightmares about being a magical cripple all his life to the Defence Instructor and Warden of the Sunken Vault, Harry had grown by leaps and bounds over the course of the year. From the terrified boy trapped in the cemetery, he had transformed into someone that could beat some of Voldemort’s best in a fight and come out unscathed. He had grown in skill, in spell arsenal, in knowledge and most importantly, in experience. Daphne Greengrass and Fleur Delacour had been major factors in the latter, as had Ignotus and every world power he had come across.
In Dumbledore’s own words, the truth was a dangerous thing, and must be handled with great caution. The Sunken Vault and its vast repository of knowledge was constructed over a millennium ago by Salazar Slytherin, not because he wanted the knowledge to be lost, but merely kept away from the incompetents. And while a part of him felt more than a little irritated at Albus Dumbledore keeping secrets from him, the man had begun treating him not like a child but as a peer, and slowly revealing vital information over the last few months. It was possible he had planned on sharing information about this prophecy too in time, probably before the year ended and Harry joined in as a fresh recruit for the Department of Mysteries.
“All of that is interesting,” said Harry at last, a frown marring his features. “But the Prophecy was done and dusted back in 1980, when Tom Riddle was destroyed.”
“Destroyed?”
“Well, for some definitions of destroying, I suppose,” Harry corrected. “Still, what’s got to do with today?”
“Everything,” said Lucius. “I am not stupid enough to think I know every aspect of the Dark Lord’s Plan. The last time, he had the incomplete prophecy and unwittingly acted upon it. But that’s changed now, Potter. The Dark Lord knows of your magic and the threat it presents. That’s why he wants the complete Prophecy. He believes that with the words of Fate herself, he will prevail against Death itself. That’s what Project Prometheus is about. It will herald his return to his rightful throne. With one single move, he will crush everything on his path and wield absolute power.”
Harry narrowed his eyes. That name, Prometheus, rang a bell. Come to think of it, hadn’t that imposter mentioned the same thing? Project Prometheus? Prometheus was supposedly the Greek Titan that stole Gubraithian Fire from the gods themselves and gave it to humanity, for which he was chained to a rock and tormented for eternity. For many, it was simply a parable for human ingenuity to carefully consider its limits, lest its curiosity lead to grave consequences.
What did a title like that have anything to do with opening a massive runic circle over a hospital to serve as a potential gateway for….
Harry stilled.
He hoped things weren’t going where he thought it was.
It wouldn’t end well for anyone if it did.
Either way, his mind began to run through a worst-case scenario and make assumptions on what it could mean as fast as he could.
“Go on,” said Harry. “Tell me of all the grandstandings of Voldemort’s stupidly overcomplicated plan.”
“Have care how you speak, Potter,” Lucius growled dangerously. “Victory has made your tongue careless.”
Which meant there were more sucker punches in place to catch him off-guard.
“I wouldn’t know, would I?” Harry leaned forward, not at all concerned about rubbing salt in the wound. “This isn’t the first time I’ve butted heads with Voldemort…. Or his bootlickers, for that record. In case you haven’t noticed, this game has been played multiple times already. And your Dark Lord has lost each and every time.”
He crossed his arms defiantly. “And now he pulls off flashy Abstract-magic empowered runic circles to demolish a hospital in silly, over-convoluted, needlessly melodramatic ways? Why? What makes you think that Voldemort will break his losing streak right now?”
Lucius barked out a laugh. “You truly are a child, aren’t you, Potter? Do you think that this is the only thing the Dark Lord planned to do? He knows you. He knew you would use your thaumaturgy to get in to save everyone inside this place. And he knows that Albus Dumbledore would never leave his boy-wonder alone. Right now, Azkaban is facing a mutiny from the very guards sworn to protect it. The dementors! The DMLE is scattered apart, and the Senior Undersecretary will not make things any easier. And while all of this is going on, there’s nothing stopping the Dark Lord from going in and claiming the Prophecy for himself.”
The place was dead silent for several long seconds.
“And… that’s everything?”
That, more than everything else he had said till now, surprised Lucius.
“Everything?” He sputtered, raising himself to his fullest height. “Isn’t that enough? Or are you that blind to think you’ve still gotten a chance against him, Potter?”
Well for one thing, thought Harry, Lucius at least had been pushed to a degree to cut off his arm that held the Dark Mark and answer all of Harry’s questions honestly. The man had sworn to not fight or trick him in any form in return for a safe escapade out of the country with his family, but that didn’t make him on his side.
Still, Lucius hadn’t mentioned anything about whatever had happened to Neville. That meant that whatever had triggered that transformation, had been an unknown coincidence. One that could lead to potentially disastrous consequences if anybody tried to tinker with the diabolis spell Harry had cast around Neville before leaving. That power, it was raw and dangerous, and got his Deathly senses on high alert. If he wasn’t careful, Neville’s strange power could potentially hurt him. A power like that, arising out of a prospective Prophecy candidate at the onset of this grand project Prometheus….
It was no coincidence. Fate, like Lucius had put it, truly was nothing but an instrument where the Abstract was concerned.
“A cunning plan,” hissed Morty the Snitch. “Simple, direct and hits all the right buttons. I would very much like to meet this Voldemort.”
“Of course you would,” Harry hissed back. The irony behind Morty’s words didn’t go missed.
“It… it speaks Parseltongue?” asked Lucius with trepidation.
“It also knows more magic than your entire family has squirrelled away in its lifetime. Knowing you, half of them are about curling your hair right.”
Harry chortled. “Still, he must be getting too hasty to risk so many of his people. Greyback’s gone, as is that imposter. Lucius… And that’s not counting the prisoners who’ll die while trying to escape. All of that for a woolly prophecy that wouldn’t even matter.”
“Harry,” Morty drawled, and he sensed a bit of smugness in its tone. “What you know about strategy, I could juggle.”
Harry stared at Morty for a moment, and realised with a sinking feeling that the Snitch was probably right. Not that he would admit to it in a million years, but he was.
He considered everything he had learnt. Voldemort was after the Prophecy, which was stored in the Department of Mysteries. The Prophecy Hall, according to the guidebook Tonks had given him. Technically, anyone that had a prophecy pertaining to them could just walk in, go through the DOM’s checks, and listen to the Prophecy. He also knew that touching a Prophecy Orb that didn’t belong to you would horrifically curse you and drive you to a stage where death would feel like a release.
“AAAGGGHHH!” screamed Lucius, falling down to his knees. His face scrunched up in agony, as eldritch blue lines had begun to form over his face. “POTTER! We had a deal! Get this! This! Help me!”
Harry scowled. Taking control of the wards meant having the foreign Abstract magic flow through him, which meant it would clash with the innate Death energy flooding through him. It would have been better to construct a temporary runic wardstone to tie the wards for now, but given the sheer amount of magic flowing through it, there was no saying if it would even be stable in the first place. And he needed Sirius to get out with the others before he could attempt blasting the entire thing with Mors Exesa.
But the longer they were there, the longer they gave to Voldemort to execute whatever byzantine plan he had in mind. Time was of the essence.
He whipped his wand out, and cast a Patronus, tasking the demonic manifestation that had scared the living shits out of Draco and his cronies not very long ago. “Go to Sirius. Tell him to get out with the rest of the crowd. I’ll be destroying this in one go within a minute.”
His fingers began carving Ansuz runes in mid-air. The rune of communication, Ansuz, was the chief rune utilised in magical contracts. What he was doing was crafting a magical contract between himself and Malfoy, transferring the wards and everything that came with it to himself.
Gebo, the rune for Partnership was next. With the first two accepted and enforced by both parties, the third rune Kano, rune for opening, allowed for the process to begin. After a moment of consideration, he quickly added Laguz, symbolising Flow, allowing for uniform flow of the magical constitution from Lucius to himself. The final two runes he added were the Unknowable rune, also known as the Odin rune, symbolising the Abstract, and Mannaz, symbolising the Self.
The transfer began in earnest.
“Let Magic hear me,” he hissed in an unnaturally resonant voice that echoed through the entire arena. “I am Harry Potter, one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.”
Wind blew, carrying the magic within it, as the runic circle from above pulsed with a menacing glow.
“I am of Peverell. I am of Greengrass. Summer flows in my veins, as fire on the ground, as lightning in the sky, and as the Sun in the Heavens. Death travels in shadow, offering coldness and respite.”
The earth beneath his feet erupted, solid rock splitting and cracking, with sharp shards flying out in every direction save upwards.
“I am Harry, of Potter, and I claim this Circle as my own.”
With a final stroke of his finger, he cast the Othila rune, symbolising separation, breaking the flow of magic as the complete authority over the wards cemented itself deep into his body. Harry felt the sudden rush of power, and felt its immeasurable power taunt him, whisper sweet nothings into his ear, tell him to embrace it, that it was his for the taking.
Lucius dropped down to the floor like a stringless marionette.
“Zat,” spoke in an unfamiliar voice out of nowhere, “was most vell done. My respects, Harry Potter. You vud make a skilled Invokator.”
Harry paused, looking around. The voice was coming out of Greyback’s mouth.
His eyes shifted to putrid yellow.
No conventional bodily functions. Yet blood was forcibly circulating via magic despite the body being otherwise dead from the attack earlier. The voice definitely did not belong to Greyback, but instead it was far more rugged, yet deep and older Germanic accent.
Not possession. Then…. Could it really be…
“A puppeteer,” said Harry Potter slowly. “I did not know practitioners of this Art still existed.”
“Voldemort vas right. You truly have taken control of ze Vault. Is zat not right, Harry Potter?”
When Harry said nothing, the voice laughed. “Apologies. I could not help myself. Helmut Schulz, at vor service.”
The dead werewolf’s body even did a funny little bow.
“Harry Potter,” he said drolly. “Bet you guessed the name.”
The voice laughed. It was hoarse, and coughed slightly in the middle.
“Helmut Schulz,” said Harry, searching his memory but coming up with nothing. “Doesn’t ring a bell. Who are you and why should I care?”
“I am a Necromant. An Invokator. Not as naturally skilled as you in runecraft, perhaps, but a tad more experienced, I vill say. At von time, I was ze Left Hand of Gellert Grindelwald —”
“And now Tom Riddle’s making you do his dirty work. Guess loitering around as a shade for ten years did a good job on him. Showed him the beauties of globalisation.”
“I theenk he has you to thank for zat, Harry Potter. Even zo we stand on opposite lines, I respect your talent. Should you somehow escape zis day, I vud like an opportunit to speak to you about vor magic. No, about Death. I was vatching. Vor skill, vor technique, it is unprecedented!”
“And now I have a fanboy,” muttered Harry, cautious and wondering where the next attack would come from. “Colin would hate to know he’s got competition.”
He regarded Fenrir’s dead head. “If I don’t end up killing you, send me a letter. I’ll see what I can do.”
“My thanks,” Fenrir’s head bowed again. This time, the dead body stood up, strands of magic erupting out of his hacked apart body to fuse the parts together.
Just like a puppet.
“Are you really going to fight me with that sock-puppet body?” Harry couldn’t help but ask.
“No,” said Schulz. “I could not defeat you in a hundred lifetimes, Harry Potter. Why fight you, when you have made it so much easier for me to control you?”
What —
The corpse looked at him in amusement, and raised both hands. At closer look, Harry noticed that both palms had two runes carved upon them. Shaped like an U rotated by ninety-degrees, the rune Perth meant —
“INITIATE!”
Runes appeared around Harry, in the dozens, in the hundreds, circumferencing him in clusters, the concepts and meanings they carried manifesting together in all forms of combinations. The enchantment took material form and lunged at him —
“MORS EXESA!” Harry hissed, and a wave of greyish fumes erupted out of him to devour the incoming enchantment —
—And dissipated into thin air.
“What?” Harry whispered, flabbergasted. “Mors Exesa!”
Didn’t work. The enchantments kept manifesting all around him, forming physical shackles, binding his arms, his legs, his neck, his abdomen, anchoring them to the floor, and no matter how much he tried, no matter how much Death he tried to push out of his body, none of his spells were working. Even pushing raw Death energy out of him wasn’t helping, for the moment it left his body, it would dissipate into thin air.
Something was very, very wrong.
“What — what magic is this?”
“Zis,” said Helmut Schulz. “Is no magic, Harry Potter. Just ze oldest trick in ze book. When quality doesn’t work, use quantity. Zat runic circle you took so much effort to bind to vorself? I designed it. A lesson for another day, Harry Potter. Never bind vorself to any ward zat you have not crafted. Who knows what little tricks ze maker has put inside?”
Harry clenched his teeth, and tried to transform into his animagus form.
Didn’t work.
Damn it.
“Vell then, Harry Potter,” said Schulz. “Lord Voldemort has his little game running outside zis barrier. He has given me a lot of time to get acquainted vith you. Shall ve begin to know each ozzer?”
Comments
SSs34TheElf
Not going to lie, was not expecting another twist on top of all the previous ones we got already lol. Interested to see where this goes.
