Title: Prophecy
Author: Shadow Rebirth
Rating: T/PG-13
Total WC: 2,686
First Written: June 9, 2010
Last Edited: June 10, 2010
Posted: June 10, 2010
Summary: As the Aurors took Harry's wand and bound his hands, Mr. Weasley stared on in mute horror. "Harry, what have you done?" Harry grinned, looking satisfied despite the blood running down the side of his face. "Why, I'm saving the Wizarding World of course."
Prophecy
My name is Harry Potter and today is exactly one week before my 17th birthday. It seems like such an odd number. I feel both years younger and decades older. War does that to a person, I guess. Not that I can really proclaim be part of a war—at least not an outright one. Voldemort is silent and his Death Eaters like shadows.
My hand presses against the cool glass of my bedroom window. It's dark outside. Middle of the night. The clock at my bedside flashes 2:03 in bright neon numbers. My mouth twists and I lightly chew on the inside of my lip as I think.
Soon. I would end this soon. My friends and I would hunt down the Horcruxes and then... And then what? Confront Voldemort in a final, epic duel? Voldemort, a man with decades of experience over me? The only man in the world who is—was, a part of me whispers, but I ignore it—Dumbledore's equal? I have dueled Voldemort once before, but I am no deluded fool. He was playing with me and the only thing that saved me was the connection between our wands and sheer blind, dumb luck. I can't count on such a thing happening again.
I turn away from the window with a muttered curse. I should have studied more in school. I should have prepared, done something! I knew Voldemort was after me. I've known since I was 11 years old. I have faced him again and again, and I've treated it like some sort of an adventure. But now people are dying. And while that may not be my fault, I can't help but feel responsible in some way.
I didn't ask for any of this.
But that's not going to make it go away.
I sit on my bed and hold my head in my hands. I should sleep. I know that I should. But I can't. I keep staying up night after night and I always find myself staring outside my window, as though waiting for something. Waiting for someone to come along and take this all off my shoulders. My own personal hero. Of course, that's not going to happen. Dumbledore is dead, Voldemort is Merlin knows where and only growing in strength, and the rest of the Wizarding World is torn between cowering in fear and pretending that nothing is going on.
It's so bloody frustrating! They are a community of witches and wizards, humans with actual power. There are millions of Muggles who would kill to be able to do magic, to do a single spell! If they stood up for themselves, if they actually tried, they could take down Voldemort so easily. The Order of the Phoenix was a step in the right direction, but even they were more of a watch guard than an actual vigilante group.
"The government is corrupt and the people are sheep," I whisper. My head lolls back and I roughly draw my fingers down the side of my face. "Magic. What magic? This is no fantasy—it's a horror story." I laugh sharply as I slump forward, intertwining my fingers behind my neck.
And what if I do defeat Voldemort? What then? The government will continue as it had for hundreds of years without change and the people would still flock around mindlessly. Nothing will change. And then another intelligent wizard will see what I can, what Voldemort and probably what Dumbledore too had seen. They would see a rotting world, ripe for the taking. Another Dark Lord would arise and the process would repeat again and again.
No.
That can't happen. Something has to change. The Wizarding World has to change. They are like still water now; there is no progress, and nor will there be if they don't wake up.
If someone doesn't wake them up.
I press my lips tightly together. How pretentious, to think I can change the whole world. All this prophecy business must be feeding my ego. But... I have to try something. I can't just sit by, watching them all flounder and drown; I've never been able to. That whole "saving people" thing, I guess. But what can I do? What could possibly change everything?
I rapidly tap my fingers on the wooden table as I flip another page. Here's exactly why I never studied much in school: it's bloody boring. I'm determined, so I haven't given up, but that doesn't stop my attention from constantly wandering. The library is quiet, which somehow only makes it more difficult to concentrate. It feels wrong. The library as Hogwarts is quiet too, but it's a different sort of quiet. There, the shelves of books seem to tower over everything and the ancient walls feel like they are watching you. It's a respectful sort of silence. Or at least it was when we weren't breaking it.
Lying out before me on the table are all the history books I can find. I am researching into all the past Muggle revolutions and looking for the similarities between them. I am also vowing to always leave researching up to Hermione, but asking for her help isn't really an option right now.
So far, I've found that most revolutions were started by people rebelling against their corrupted governments. That's all good and well, but it's not going to happen to the Wizarding World, not while Voldemort is around. I need something that will cause them to fight Voldemort on their own, to take control of their own destinies instead of waiting for my bloody prophecy to take care of everything. And if they can take care of Voldemort, then with a bit of luck they will force the government to change as well. It is about as far from a perfect plan as it can be, but it is all I have.
A particular passage on the page before me catches my eye. I stare for a minute, reading it again, then tear the page from the book and leap from my seat. With determined strides, I swiftly take my leave of the building. A woman behind me is chasing after me, hollering about defacing the books. I ignore her.
I know now what I have to do. It's a stupid plan—the most rash, moronic idea I've ever come up with. But it's just stupid enough to work. It'll be a massive shock to the entire community. It'll cause mass panic and hysteria and there's a good chance that it will backfire on me and only make the situation worse. But if it works... If it works, it'll change everything.
The moment I reach the sidewalk, I hold out my wand, calling up the Knight Bus. When the doors open, it's not Stan who greets me, but some other man. I don't bother to say anything other than "Diagon Alley" as I shove my way past him, slapping a galleon into his hand as I do so. It's a good thing I have both Muggle and wizarding money on me; if I'd had to go back to the Dursley's to get some, I might have lost my nerve. As it is, I am shaking, and not just because of the Knight Bus's usual crazy driving. I grip my hands together tightly in an attempt to either stop or hide the tremors.
The Knight Bus stops outside the Leaky Cauldron far too soon. I keep my eyes downcast as I step off the bus, but it is gone before both my feet are even planted on the sidewalk anyway. The Muggles walk by without a glance. I take a moment to watch them, feeling oddly disconnected. These people... They have no idea what is going on in their own country, and never will if I have anything to say about it. Their lives are so different from mine; they literally live in another world. If I touch one of them, will they pass through me like a ghost? Shades from my past, from a life I once knew.
...Have I really changed so much in the past six years?
I can still remember that stick-thin boy with the broken glasses that were too large for his face. I can also still remember my initial wonder at magic. I can still remember the awe I felt when I first saw Hogwarts, that castle glowing in the moonlight. And I can still remember that terrible, heart wrenching fear the first time I met Voldemort.
My mouth is suddenly dry. I try to swallow, but that only makes it worse. Shaking off my sudden bout of emotional weakness, I straighten my back, square my shoulders, and march into the Leaky Cauldron. Once I step into the slightly smoky air and see the wary witches and wizards hunched over their mugs, casting suspicious glances my way, I remember why I am here and lower my head, making sure that my hair is covering my scar. There is a strange forced-relaxed atmosphere in the pub, as though everyone is trying to mask their tension. I frown, wondering if the rest of the Wizarding World is like this. I am so rarely out amongst people that I don't really know.
For that matter, I don't really know anything about the people I am supposed to save. This prophecy they rely on... It was given to a stranger. I feel disconnected from this world, like an observer merely peeking in. I feel something cold coil in the pit of my stomach as I realize that this is exactly how I'd felt about the Muggle world just moments ago. Lowing my head further, I quickly make my way to the back of the Leaky Cauldron and then into Diagon Alley. The air here is much the same as it was in the pub, but this time I pay it no mind as I quickly move down the road, wrapping my arms around myself as if to ward off some encroaching cold.
It takes me only another ten minutes to find the entrance to the Ministry of Magic. I have only taken the phone booth entrance with Mr. Weasley before, so it feels odd to step through the tall gold doors and into the atrium. It's busy here, abnormally so. I don't remember so many people being here on my last visit, and certainly seeming to be in such a hurry. I swallow a lump in my throat and push on.
I hesitate as I reach the shimmering fountain in the middle of the room. I hate second guessing myself, but this plan... There are so many ways for it to go wrong. And it's going to hurt the people I care about. That's what stings the most. I know that it'll hurt them, that they won't be able to understand. But at this point I have no choice. I have no illusions as to how strong I am, and after the last few years I know exactly how strong Voldemort is. I would never be able defeat him in a duel, Horcruxes or not. But even he can't stand against the combined might of the Wizarding World, so I'll take away their hope and in doing so also take away what has been limiting them: the prophecy.
I steel myself as I reach the fountain. I shove all my doubts and fears deep down inside, gathering every ounce of courage I possess. I leap up onto the stone ring around the fountain, in clear view of everyone. Now there is no turning back.
Taking a final deep breath, I lift my wand into the air and fire off a shower of red sparks. Gasps and screams fill the atrium. Everyone freezes in place, staring at me like terrified deer. A few people fumble around for their wands, but for the most part everyone is too shocked to do anything.
With agonizing slowness, I reach up and hold back my bangs so that my scar is clearly visible. "I am Harry James Potter," I say as coldly as I can manage. "Son of James and Lily Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived. The Chosen One."
Then I lift my wand and fire a blasting curse in a spot devoid of people. I hope that no one has noticed that my wand is trembling. Again, screams greet my ears as debris blasts across the atrium and witches and wizards dive out of the way. Whatever fear had previously had previously held them in place now made them flee, scrambling around like a kicked anthill.
That should call the Aurors down here, if someone hasn't already done so. I press down the guilt mounting at the sight of a sobbing woman and the flare of my own fear—have I harmed someone? I fire off another blasting curse, this time at wall, then another at the ceiling. I wince as rock comes raining down, praying it doesn't hit anyone.
Just as I raise my wand again, a red light whizzes by my head. Instantly one of the statues behind me explodes and something slams into my back, sending me crashing into the floor. My head collides with the ground with a loud crack and hot, blinding pain explodes in my head. Gasping in shock, I lay stunned for a moment, listening deliriously to the panic I've caused. Then I'm up, scrambling to get my footing—and another curse hits me and I tumble back into the ruined fountain.
My glasses have been knocked from my face, but I hardly care as I lay there, gasping in pain. There are people around me now, so many people, in bright robes with angry faces. Hands grip my arms, dragging me to my feet, and my wand is grabbed from my limp fingers. I try to laugh, but my ribs ache at the effort. I stumbled as I'm pulled from the broken stones and feel a crunch beneath my feet. I look down to see my glasses and this time really do laugh—if a bit hysterically. The Aurors around me are talking, yelling and growling like wild animals. I can't hear a word they're saying over the pounding of blood in my ears.
There's a splotch of red hair pushing its way through the people. I lift my head as high as I can and meet the gaze of a shocked Mr. Weasley. He is staring at me in mute horror as the Aurors bind my hands behind my back. I can hear him through the din, as though the rest of the world has been hushed for him to speak.
"Harry, what have you done?"
I can't help but grin at that. I must look crazy, laughing and smiling at nothing with blood running down the side of my face. But I feel oddly at peace, as though I'm free from chains that have bound me my entire life. My lips, caked with my own blood, stretch to form my next words, my final release.
"Why, I'm saving the Wizarding World of course."
A/N: Harry's actions in this story were those of blind desperation. There are intentionally a lot of holes in his logic and a lot of stupidity in his actions. This is basically him breaking under pressuring while simultaneously doing the best he can to cope with his situation. I'm also experimenting with a different type of writing style for this story; I felt that first person present tense would give a better feel of Harry's emotional turbulence.
I am extremely tempted to expand this from a oneshot to a full story. There's so much that could be done with Harry's current situation and I have a lot of ideas... But I also already have a lot of stories on my plate, so I won't—at least not for a while. Thanks for reading!
—S.R.