The Prophecy

Chapter Three

The short, ugly man fidgeted nervously in the center of the cave. His small, beady eyes darted about as if searching for an avenue of escape, and his attention was focused on anything but the tall man standing before him.

"Wormtail, you are not listening to me…you know what happens to those who ignore my voice…"

Peter Pettigrew, or Wormtail, as he was more commonly known, fell to his knees in front of his master. "Forgive me, Master," he whispered. "My mind was…away."

"Get up!" Lord Voldemort spat, staring at the heap of a man in front of him in disgust. His lipless mouth curled into a slight grin, and he said, "Do not worry yourself, my cowardly servant. All is not lost for you. I still have a need for your otherwise worthless self…" He paused, an odd gleam coming into his eyes. "The same goes for Harry Potter, and that miserable excuse for a detective, Joe Hardy…as soon as their usefulness has worn out, I shall kill them both, and Lord Voldemort shall once again rule the magical world…"


"The prophecy," Dumbledore began, clearing his throat slightly and straightening his partially lopsided wizard's hat with long, crooked fingers, "is as old as the prophecy concerning Harry. It was foretold not by Madame Trelawny, as was the first one, but by her niece, a true seer named Tiarta. Unfortunately, the young lady was killed by one of Voldemort's followers soon after she predicted it, and only a handful of people actually know of it."

"I had heard the prophecy all my life," Fenton muttered under his breath, "and I held onto it with every ounce of my being, waiting for someone, a great hero, to fulfill it…" he sighed. "I just…I never dreamed it was talking about my son." He put a hand on Joe's shoulder from beside the bed.

"Me?" Joe whispered. "What does this—what does any of this—have to do with me?"

Laura's eyes filled with tears. "Joe, just…just listen to Albus. He'll explain it to you."

Frank gripped his brother's hand tightly. "It'll be okay, brother," he said. "It can't be too bad."

Dumbledore closed his eyes, and began to recite:

"'The boy who lived
His fate decided
Either way,
The end is sighted

If he lives,
Or if he dies
Another comes
Another tries

A god, a warrior
An outstanding force
Someone with such power
From an unknown source

A killer of the Dark One's spawn
A lover of the one that died
A child who knows not
Of the legacy he'll leave behind

For if he dies, the world is doomed
And if he lives, the world will prosper
The Dark One knows that if the one who lived once dies
There are still threats, and greater than others

But if the first one is killed
And the second untouched
There is still chance
Evil will rise up

For if he kills
The last one standing
Evil rules forever
Good is in the past, and never beginning

But if the last one conquers him
He will die
His servants will vanish
And the world is alright

But if both forces
Remain alive to fight
And are put together
It will be a worthy sight

Unbeatable, these powers be
The Dark One will not win
If the two remain together
Peace shall reign again'"

Silence. It was as if all sound had been erased from the present. Nothing could be heard, save for the sharp breaths taken in by those listening. Finally, as if afraid the quiet would take over, Ron whistled. Joe jumped in his bed, startled by the noise. "That was a long prophecy," Ron muttered.

"Aye, that it is," Dumbledore agreed. A faint trace of a smile could be seen on his ancient face. "You would not believe the amount of time it took this old mind to memorize it."

"What does it mean?" Harry asked doubtfully.

"Oh, it's obvious, isn't it?" Hermione said impatiently. "The first part clearly states that the one who lived—Harry, of course—whether or not he succeeds in killing Voldemort or not, there will be another threat for him, which we assume is Joseph." She looked at Dumbledore, who nodded, and she went on. "The third stanza compares this new force—Joseph—to a god, saying he is a fearless warrior, but the source of all this power isn't really known. It's just…there."

Joe knew what was coming next, and he hated to hear it. Tears began to form in his eyes, but he hastily blinked them away, not wanting his visitors to see him cry. "Go on," he muttered, looking down at the blanket. Hermione looked doubtfully at Laura, who glanced at Fenton, who nodded in Dumbledore's direction. Dumbledore considered for a moment, then gave a fragment of a nod. "Go on," he echoed.

"The fourth part—'A killer of the Dark One's spawn'—is referring to one of the reasons Voldemort wanted to keep Joseph rather than his brother. At first, we just thought that it was a mere grudge against Joseph for…erm…" Hermione hesitated, unsure of how to go about this touchy subject. Sometimes she wished she didn't have to be such a 'know-it-all' as Ron often suggested, and now was one of those moments. She hated being stuck in this situation, not knowing what to say.

"A grudge against me for killing his daughter." Joe's voice was quiet and reserved, and his face drawn up tight. A single tear had escaped, and was trailing down his cheek, sorrow in solid form, taking its path down…down…down. Frank watched, heart heavy, as the tear fell off his brother's chin and dropped onto the blanket, where it was lost forever. But oh, how he despised that single tear, an illustration of how tormented and guilt-ridden his brother was.

"No, Joe," Frank said, voice shaking in emotion. "You did not kill Iola. It was NOT your fault." He turned to his father. "The prophecy can't be talking about him, Dad."

"As much as I wish it wasn't, we know it is true. Every line in that prophecy points to Joe."

"So I am a killer."

Everyone turned to face Joe, whose face had grown quite pale in the past several seconds. "No, Joe—"

"Mom, don't. It's okay. I've accepted it. Go on, Hermione. Let's get this over with."

Hermione hesitated. "Sir…?" She glanced at Dumbledore, who nodded.

"As hard as it may be, this must be done. Joseph must know what he's up against."

"Wait a minute!" All eyes turned to Frank. "Why couldn't it have been that guy who was responsible for Iola's death? The one who actually planted the bomb?"

"First of all, he was pure evil, Frank," Joe said, a little harsher than he intended. Frank's face fell, and he said no more. Joe didn't bother to apologize for his rash tones.

"The main reason, Frank," said Hermione, "Is the second line in the stanza: 'A lover of the one who died.' Joseph was obviously in love with Iola."

"Why don't we move on?" Laura was staring at her youngest son worriedly. He was slumped back on the pillows, pale and motionless, his blue eyes staring but not really seeing. She knew his mind must be far away.

"Oh…of course, Mrs. Hardy. I—I'm dreadfully sorry."

"I'll take it from here," Fenton said gently.

Hermione's face turned red. "Of course, Sir."

"Nothing to do with you, of course," Fenton said quickly. "I just wanted to explain the rest to Joe, if that's okay."

"Of course."

"The rest of the prophecy basically says that if Harry dies—which we hope with all of our being doesn't happen—that there's still a chance we can win this thing. But the fate of the magical world would then fall entirely on Joe's shoulders. If he kills Voldemort, then the magical community is saved. If not, he will…" he cleared his throat, "…well, you get my point, and the magical world will be doomed forever.

"Now, if they both live and fight together, side by side, there will be no stopping them."

"So, basically, what they're saying is—" Harry began—

"—that the fate of an entire world rests in our hands," Joe finished.

Frank leaned over Joe's shoulder. "I was wrong, little brother," he said, only half-joking. "I guess it really can be 'that bad'."

Joe said nothing, but merely sighed. Then, without warning, he let out a cry, put his hand to his head, and fell against the pillows in a dead faint.


So, how was it? Please review, and I'll update ASAP. Oh, and be looking for an update on "castaways" next!

~Emachinescat ^..^