Chapter Twenty-Five - The Words of Prophecy

The weekend brought the first days of June. The sun shone nearly every day. Temperatures soared, and much studying was done outside. Even the Slytherins were known to bask in the wonderful weather.

Just like real snakes enjoyed sunning themselves.

Harry received a note at dinner asking him to please report to the Headmaster's office following the meal. He went, feeling very nervous. He hadn't done anything wrong as far as he knew. With the O.W.L. exam review formally starting on Monday, he hadn't been out to cause any mischief.

Harry said the password to the gargoyle that guarded the spiral stairwell. It stepped aside, and Harry rode to the top. He knocked firmly on the door.

"Arrive immediately!"

Harry pushed open the door and was not surprised to see Professor Snape already there. When one was called in for discipline, the Head of House was usually present. He had his arms folded in front of him, a stern expression on his face.

"Ah, Mister Potter. My gratitude for your prompt attendance. Please park your hips on the sitting device."

Harry allowed a small grin at the Headmaster's choice of language.

"Am I in trouble, sir?"

"Have you done anything you ought to be in trouble for?"

"No, sir."

"Then you are not. Amazing how easily that works."

"Why am I here, sir?"

"I had a cancelled appointment, so I thought to give you an unscheduled lesson. I hope I have not interrupted your studies too greatly."

"It's starting to get a little rigid. OWL review starts tomorrow."

"Have you had any more troubling visions or thoughts not your own?"

"Sometimes I can feel Voldemort trying to break into my mind, but I push him away as soon as he touches me."

"How fortuitous. Precisely what we've hoped for."

"He's trying to show me Elan and Percy being toutured. I don't want to see that, so I don't let him in."

"Most excellent. We are going to take the challenge a step further. Every mental shield can be beaten, but the power to assert mastery over one's own mind is to throw an intruder out. If you can defend against both Professor Snape and myself, you will be ready."

"Let's do it."

Harry took a deep breath and cleared his mind.

"Legilimens!"

A delicate probe came against the calmness of Harry's thoughts. It felt like Snape. Harry did not react. Snape had ceased being able to break through his defences some time ago. This was little more than an irritant. He waited.

As he anticipated, Dumbledore had let Snape make the first move, trying to keep Harry busy. Dumbledore's mind was immensely powerful, and his attack was two-pronged. Harry was now fighting off three probes. He tried to keep his cool and pushed the assault back.

Snape's thought, which had been dancing around the edges, pressed in suddenly. Harry was already dealing with Dumbledore, and Snape managed to break through. Harry lashed back, but Dumbledore took advantage of his distraction and broke in as well.

Images of Privet Drive began to flash in Harry's mind. Harry used it, showing them Vernon with a raised fist, open mouth, and angry words.

The intensity of the memory made Dumbledore back off. Harry re-established his mental defences. He shoved Snape away, adding a sort of slap to make the man think twice about re-engaging. When Dumbledore pressed in again, Harry was ready, and he redirected the attack away from his own mind and into Snape's.

Then it was over. Harry was breathing heavy. He was wary of another attempt, but Dumbledore was smiling, his blue eyes twinkling.

"Excellent, Harry, truly excellent. Thirty points to Slytherin for a marvelous display of some truly complicated magic."

"Thank you, sir."

"I am more than satisfied that you are able to keep Voldemort from penetrating your mind. Secrets that you keep will be safe."

"Is that what this was about, sir?"

"It was. Do you remember the question you asked me four years ago, Harry?"

Harry flashed back to his first year at Hogwarts. He'd been laid up in the hospital wing after he'd saved the Philosopher's Stone from Voldemort and Quirrell. Back then he'd wanted to know just one thing.

"Why does Voldemort want to kill me so badly?"

"Indeed. I told you then that the time was not right. A part of me wanted to let your innocence continue, for no child should be burdened with such an awful answer, but I should have realized that if you were ready to ask the question, you were ready to hear the answer. I cannot change the past, but I am ready to tell you now."

"Yes, sir?" Harry was eager now. Of course, he already knew why, but he was interested to see if Dumbledore would tell him the whole truth.

"Before you were born, there was a prophecy about how Voldemort might be undone. A record of it is kept in the Department of Mysteries. This prophecy clearly identifies you as the one chosen to end him. However, I was the one to hear it uttered, and I would like to show you now."

Dumbledore got to his feet and walked past Harry to the black cabinet that stood beside Fawkes's perch. He bent down, slid back a catch and took from inside it the shallow stone basin, carved with runes around the edges. Harry immediately recognized a Pensieve. Dumbledore walked back to the desk, placed the Pensieve upon it, and raised his wand to his own temple. From it, he withdrew silvery, gossamer-fine strands of thought clinging to the wand and deposited them into the basin. He sat back down behind his desk and watched his thoughts swirl and drift inside the Pensieve for a moment. Then, with a sigh, he raised his wand and prodded the silvery substance with its tip.

A figure rose out of it, draped in shawls, her eyes magnified to enormous size behind her glasses, and she revolved slowly; her feet in the basin. Harry recognized her at once.

"Trelawney?!"

"Professor Trelawney, Harry. It was a cold, wet night sixteen years ago, in a room above the bar at the Hog's Head inn. I had gone there to see an applicant for the post of Divination teacher, though it was against my inclination to allow the subject of Divination to continue at all. The applicant, however, was the great-great-granddaughter of a very famous, very gifted Seer, and I thought it common politeness to meet her. I was disappointed. It seemed to me that she had not a trace of the gift herself. I told her, courteously I hope, that I did not think she would be suitable for the post. I turned to leave.

"Then she said this."

"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...and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives...the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."

The slowly revolving Professor Trelawney sank back into the silver mass below and vanished. The silence within the office was absolute. Neither Dumbledore nor Harry nor Snape nor any of the portraits made a sound. Even Fawkes had fallen silent.

"It means me," Harry said at last. He'd felt a lot better knowing only part of the prophecy. The whole thing seemed to imply that he might not win, only that he had the chance to.

Dumbledore surveyed him for a moment through his glasses.

"The odd thing, Harry," he said softly, "is that it may not have meant you at all. Sibyll's prophecy could have applied to two wizard boys, both born at the end of July that year, both of whom had parents in the Order of the Phoenix, both sets of parents having narrowly escaped Voldemort three times. One, of course, was you. The other was Neville Longbottom."

"Longbottom!" Harry burst out. "Longbottom's a good bloke, but he's no saviour."

"Yes," Snape murmured.

"Then it might not be me?" said Harry. "We might really have to depend on Longbottom?"

"The official record was re-labeled after Voldemort's attack on you as a child," said Dumbledore. "It seemed plain to the keeper of the Hall of Prophecy that Voldemort could only have tried to kill you because he knew you to be the one to whom Sibyll was referring. There is no doubt that it is you. The final identifying feature of the boy who could vanquish Voldemort is that Voldemort himself would mark him as his equal. And so he did, Harry. He chose you, not Neville. He gave you the scar that has proved both blessing and curse."

"But he might have chosen wrong!" said Harry. "He might have marked the wrong person!"

"It is worth notice, Harry, that Voldemort's creed is that the only kind of wizard worth being or knowing is the pureblood, and yet when considering the boy he thought most likely to be a danger to him, he chose the half-blood, like himself. He saw himself in you before he had ever seen you, and in marking you with that scar, he did not kill you, as he intended, but gave you powers, and a future, which have fitted you to escape him not once, but four times so far - something that neither your parents, nor Neville's parents, ever achieved."

"Why did he do it, then?" said Harry. All this talk of the events of that night was making him angry as he remembered just why it was he wanted so badly to kill Voldemort. "If he'd never gone after me, I wouldn't want him dead. If he'd just left my parents alone-"

"He was acting on incomplete information, Mister Potter," Snape interrupted. "Remember, he did not know the whole prophecy."

Dumbledore looked over sharply. "Severus, what do you mean?"

"Mister Potter has been aware of the prophecy for some nine months now," Snape said smugly. "I told him myself."

"I asked you not to."

"There was no harm in telling him what the Dark Lord already knew. Such a thing could only help him."

"I wanted to protect him."

Snape coughed impolitely. "So did I."

Dumbledore sighed. "Well, it doesn't matter now anyway. We must look forward. I do not know when or how the fight between you will occur. It could be tomorrow or it could be in ten years. I am trying to give you as much time to grow up and prepare as I can, but the war is upon us now."

"Yes, this fight," Harry said. "What was that about the power he knows not? I know a fair bit of magic for a fifth year, but even my Parseltongue is something he can do too. I bet he doesn't even need to see a snake in order to speak it."

"There is a room in the Department of Mysteries that is kept locked at all times. It contains a force that is at once more wonderful and more terrible than death, than human intelligence, than the forces of nature. It is also, perhaps, the most mysterious of the many subjects for study that reside there. It is the power held within that room that you possess in such quantities and which Voldemort has not at all."

"And that is?"

"Love, Harry. The power of love. It is Voldemort's great weakness. He cannot understand it, and therefore he will be defeated by it."

"Love?"

"Love. It was the love of your mother that protected you from the terrible hatred of the Killing Curse. It reflected back upon Voldemort and destroyed him instead."

"But he came back."

"Through Dark magicks too foul to discuss right now. I am still uncertain as to precisely what he has done to achieve such a thing. I am still trying to find proof, and then we will be able to reverse it. Then his last death shall be his final."

"Have we tried a stake through the heart?" Harry muttered.

"I have considered that he experimented with vampire's blood," Dumbledore said seriously. "Few know this, but Voldemort was once a student at Hogwarts. His name was-"

"Tom Marvolo Riddle."

"Yes, of course, you would know that. Good, this shall save time. Tom was one of the best students Hogwarts had ever seen, before or since. He became a prefect and was later Head Boy. He earned top marks in all his classes, full marks on OWLs and NEWTs, and had a magical prowess that half the staff wished for. Yes, Tom was brilliant, but troubled. Coming to Hogwarts was a dream for him, as well as you, but he made the dream a nightmare."

"I don't understand, sir."

"He sought power and control. He'd always known he was special, and now that he had the means to harness his magic, he was determined to use it to control others. He disappeared from sight immediately upon finishing school. When he reappeared, he was Voldemort."

"He was calling himself that long before he finished school, sir."

"Yes," Dumbledore said softly. "It was happening even then. I kept a watch on him, but not close enough. He was a model student. He never gave me any cause other than a very bad feeling whenever I was around him."

"He's just a sicko," Harry said, summing it up. "There's something flat wrong with him. Who tries to kill a baby?"

"Yes, he very well could be called a sociopath. Yes, he cannot comprehend love. I think you've put your finger on it, Harry. And what he cannot understand will be his end."

"Somehow."

"Somehow. I am no Seer, Harry. I don't know how this is all going to play out. I wish I could offer more comfort to you, but it would be disingenuous of me to do so. All we can do is fight to deny him dominance and sabotage his schemes. That includes protecting the words of the prophecy that you have just heard. Now you understand why it was so important for you to learn Occlumency. Which brings us full circle and back to why I called you here tonight."

"Yes, sir."

"A prophecy can only be removed from the Hall by those named in it. Terrible madness otherwise afflicts one who does so, even if they should manage to return it. Thus far, Voldemort has not risked simply ordering one of his Death Eaters to take the prophecy anyway. We believe it because he needs every single one of his servants, but that situation could change at any moment. We do not know why he hasn't tried to enter the Department of Mysteries himself."

"And none has been brave enough to ask him," Snape added.

"Now that you are able to protect your mind, we need your help."

"My help?"

"Harry, will you come to the Department of Mysteries with me and move the prophecy?"

"Sure, but where? There's no place that's safe. Gringott's has been broken into, and this place might as well have a welcome mat put out by the gate."

"Quite true," Dumbledore said without batting an eye. "So we must rely on cleverness, I'm afraid. It must be hidden in some place where Voldemort would never think to look in a hundred lifetimes."

"Order Headquarters? It's under a Fidelius Charm."

"He would expect there and would simply turn an Order member to take it for him."

"My house? Nobody knows where it is."

"A few people do, Harry. What if your friend Draco were to be told that he must take the prophecy or see his brother killed?"

Harry felt a sudden lump in his throat. Elan had been missing for more than two months now. Everyone knew he was in Azkaban if he were still alive, and he would likely never be the same if he survived.

"Draco would try to save his brother."

"Yes. And a most noble thing it is. So we cannot keep the prophecy there."

"Can we find a place and cast a new Fidelius Charm? If you didn't tell anyone-"

"Even I can be broken, Harry," Dumbledore said quietly. "All men have a weakness. No, several people must know where it is in order to move it again. We must keep Voldemort ignorant at all costs."

"So how do we hide it?"

"With a cunning Slytherin trick," Snape answered. "We put it where he would never look, would never even dream of looking. You are, I believe, familiar with Arthur Weasley?"

"Yeah, he drives the Knight Bus. Is that the plan? Keep it moving?"

"That's fairly ingenious, Harry, but no. Weasley also has a second job, at the Ministry. He runs the Centaur Liason office, where no being ever goes. It's a perfect place to put something you don't want anyone to find."

Not even Dumbledore could Apparate on the grounds of Hogwarts. Professor Snape went before them to clear the way of students. Harry followed as the Headmaster meandered towards the front gate at a casual stroll. He seemingly had not a care in the world, as though they weren't on a mission of urgency.

Harry tried to keep his excitement under control. He walked just as leisurely as the old man, but inside he was near to bursting. He had finally learned the truth about why he'd had to grow up in a cupboard under the stairs. He at last had an answer to why Voldemort wanted to kill him so badly. The knowledge made him giddy.

The sky was partly cloudy, the waning full moon providing all the illumination they needed. There was a warm breeze rustling the leaves on the trees, the whispering call of nature. Harry had an urge to change into his mongoose form and run freely through the grass. He resisted, for it would never do to let the Headmaster know he was an illegal Amimagus. He'd managed to keep that secret during their Occlumency lessons, and he wasn't about to just blatantly show the meddler just because he was flying high. Dumbledore had orchestrated entirely too much for Harry's liking, and the more control Harry had over his own life, the better.

The gates opened wide in well-oiled silence as they approached. Harry supposed they must recognize the Headmaster. They stepped over the boundary and stopped.

"Here is where we Apparate. You have been Side-Alonged before, yes?"

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent. Take hold of my arm here, and we shall be off. You're not prone to Apparition sickness, I hope?"

"No, sir. I Apparate just fine."

"Splendid, dear boy, splendid. Nothing more off-putting than vomiting as soon as one arrives. Terribly difficult to recover and make a good impression after that."

Harry took a tight hold of the Headmaster's arm, trying to pretend he didn't know all about Apparating.

"To the Ministry."

They Disapparated with a pop!

The designated Apparition point for all arriving wizards was a very long and splendid hall with a highly polished, dark wood floor. The peacock blue ceiling was inlaid with gleaming golden symbols that kept moving and changing like some enormous heavenly notice board. The walls on each side were paneled in shiny dark wood and had many gilded fireplaces set into them. Long queues of wizards had formed before each fireplace, waiting to depart with a soft whoosh.

Halfway down the hall was a fountain. A group of golden statues, larger than life-size, stood in the middle of a circular pool. Tallest of them all was a noble-looking wizard with his wand pointing straight up in the air. Grouped around him were a beautiful witch, a centaur, a goblin and a house-elf. The last three were all looking adoringly up at the witch and wizard. Glittering jets of water were flying from the ends of their wands, the point of the centaur's arrow, the tip of the goblin's hat and each of the house-elf's ears, so that the tinkling hiss of falling water bounced off the marvelous hall in a cascade of sound.

"Normally you are supposed to check in at the security desk, register your wand, and have a search for Dark magical items, and under normal circumstances, I would agree with such measures. However, tonight is no normal night. Follow my lead."

"Yes, sir."

They strode towards the golden gates at the end of the hall. A few other people were also fighting the crowd, but they seemed to instinctively make way for Dumbledore. Harry trailed him closely. As they were about to pass through, a burly-looking wizard stepped over.

"Here, what's all this then?"

"Good evening, Eric," Dumbledore said pleasantly. "I'm just popping in for a quick visit with Cornelius. Won't be but a moment."

"Who's the lad?"

"Allow me to introduce one of Hogwarts' finest," the Headmaster said grandly. "Prefect and Captain of the Ministry Youth club, Harry Potter."

Eric the security guard looked and saw the famous scar. His face paled a bit, and he stood up straighter.

"He's expressed a certain interest in joining the Aurors once he finishes school," Dumbledore continued, leaning close in as if sharing a confidence. "Has a fair shake of making it, if you ask me. I figured since I was coming to the Ministry tonight anyway, I might as well bring him by to meet Amelia."

"Amelia?" Eric said haplessly.

"Director Bones, of course, Head of Magical Law Enforcement. You don't know her?"

"The- the director of the Aurors?"

"Oh no, my boy. Rufus Scrimgeour is Auror Actual. He reports to Amelia."

"I see."

"Charming fellow, Rufus. His wife Teresa invited me to join them at the opera next month. I have never seen The Pirates of Penzance, but I expect it should be fascinating. Are you an opera-goer, Eric?"

"Me? No."

"Ah. Pity. It really is a marvellous experience. Would you like to come? There are four tickets, and I must invite a guest."

"I'm probably working," Eric grumbled.

"I'm sure Rufus would be glad to get you the night off."

"That's all right, Dumbledore," Eric said shifting his balance back and forth. "Thanks, but I don't think all that warbling is for me."

"As you wish. Do send an owl if you change your mind. I'll pass along your regrets to Rufus."

"That- that won't be necessary. You can go on up now."

"You're too kind, Eric. Come along, Harry."

Harry kept close as they made their way to the lifts. Beyond the large gates was a smaller hall where at least twenty lifts stood behind wrought golden grilles.

Dumbledore pressed the nearest 'down' button, and a lift clattered into sight almost immediately. The golden grilles slid apart with a great, echoing clanking. They stepped inside, and Dumbledore pressed the number nine button. The grilles closed with a bang, and the lift began to descend, jangling and rattling the whole way.

"We're to meet with the Keeper of the Hall of Prophecy," he told Harry. "I can't tell you his name, because I don't quite know it myself. You should address him as Keeper."

"Yes, sir."

When the lift halted, a cool female voice said, "Department of Mysteries," and the grilles slid open.

They stepped out into the corridor where nothing was moving but the nearest torches, flickering in the rush of air from the lift. This corridor that was quite different from those above. The walls were bare; there were no windows and no doors apart from a plain black one set at the very end of the corridor. As they approached the door, it swung open silently. Headmaster and student stepped inside.

They were standing in a large, circular room. Everything in here was black including the floor and ceiling; identical, unmarked, handleless black doors were set at intervals all around the black walls, interspersed with branches of candles whose flames burned blue; their cool, shimmering light reflected in the shining marble floor made it look as though there was dark water underfoot.

The door closed behind them. Without the long chink of light from the torchlit corridor behind them, the place became so dark that for a moment the only things they could see were the bunches of shivering blue flames on the walls and their ghostly reflections in the floor.

There were around a dozen doors here. There came a great rumbling noise, and the candles began to move sideways. The circular wall was rotating. Harry feared for a moment that the floor might move too, but it did not. For a few seconds, the blue flames around them were blurred into brilliant lines as the wall sped around; then, quite as suddenly as it had started, the rumbling stopped and everything became stationary once again. Harry's eyes had blue streaks burned into them; it was all he could see.

"Hall of Prophecy," Dumbledore said pleasantly.

The door to their left opened. The room beyond was filled with beautiful, dancing, diamond-sparkling light. It took a few moments for Harry's eyes to become accustomed to the brilliant glare, but then he saw clocks gleaming from every surface, large and small, grandfather and carriage, hanging in spaces between the bookcases or standing on desks ranging the length of the room, so that a busy, relentless ticking filled the place like thousands of minuscule, marching footsteps. The source of the dancing, diamond-bright light was a towering crystal ball jar that stood at the far end of the room.

Dumbledore led the way down the narrow space between the lines of desks, heading for the source of the light, the crystal bell jar quite as tall as Harry was that stood on a desk and appeared to be full of a billowing, glittering wind.

In the very heart of the bell jar, drifting along in the sparkling current inside was a tiny, jewel-bright egg. As it rose in the jar, it cracked open and a hummingbird emerged, which was carried to the very top of the jar, but as it fell on the draught its feathers became bedraggled and damp again, and by the time it had been borne back to the bottom of the jar it had been enclosed once more in its egg.

Harry hurried to catch up with Dumbledore, who had moved past the bell jar to the only door behind it.

Harry had never seen anything like it.

The ceiling was as high as a church and full of nothing but towering shelves covered in small, dusty, glass orbs. They glimmered dully in the light issuing from more candle-brackets set at intervals along the shelves. Like those in the circular room behind them, their flames were burning blue. The room was very cold.

Without any warning, a wizard was suddenly standing before them. He was very tall, and thin even though he wore shapeless black robes. He reminded Harry very much of Professor Snape, and he was suddenly thankful that Snape liked him.

"Who are you?" The voice was low and croaky, as though he didn't often use it.

"I'm Harry Potter."

"What do you want?"

"I come to retrieve a prophecy. It names me and my destiny." The flowery language might have been a bit silly elsewhere, but Harry felt the need to be formal.

"You speak the truth. We do have such a prophecy here. If you would hear it, then follow me."

The Keeper turned sharply and headed down the central aisle. Harry and Dumbledore followed as best they could to keep up with his long strides.

The further ends of the long alleys of shelves were in near-total darkness. Tiny, yellowing labels had been stuck beneath each glass orb on the shelves. Some of them had a weird, liquid glow; others were as dull and dark within as blown light bulbs.

"The ones that look burned out are those prophecies that were thwarted. Their light no longer burns through time. Those which glow are either still valid or yet to occur in our time."

They stopped at row 97, and the Keeper pointed imperiously to one of the small glass spheres. It glowed with a dull inner light, though it was very dusty and appeared not to have been touched for many years.

Harry stepped forwards. He had to crane his neck to read the yellowish label affixed to the shelf right beneath the dusty glass ball. In spidery writing was written a date of some sixteen years previously, and below that:

S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D.

Dark Lord and (?)Harry Potter

Trelawney and Dumbledore, he realized. He glanced at the headmaster, who nodded solemnly.

Harry closed his fingers around the dusty ball's surface. He had expected it to feel cold like the rest of the hall, but it did not. On the contrary, it felt as though it had been lying in the sun for hours, as though the glow of light within was warming it. Harry lifted the glass ball down from its shelf and stared at it.

It didn't do anything. He didn't know what he'd expected, but it managed to disappoint.

Feeling like things had become very anti-climactic, Harry threw the glass ball at the floor as hard as he could. It smashed just like a snowglobe, and sparkling points of light swirled around.

"What are you doing?" screamed the Keeper, showing some emotion other than cold disdain as a miniature pearly-white figure with hugely magnified eyes rose into the air. Professor Trelawney spoke the prophecy and dissolved into nothingness.

"You can't just come in here and smash prophecies!"

"I'm pretty sure we just did," Harry said flippantly.

"A novel approach, Mister Potter." It seemed that nothing ever surprised Dumbledore.

"Sorry I didn't say anything, sir."

Dumbledore gave a sigh of relief. "That is one way to solve the problem of where to hide it. The words are denied to him."

"That was my thought, sir. Why hide it if he might find it?"

"Reparo!" said Dumbledore.

The shards of the orb reassembled, but the inside was dark and empty.

Harry didn't recognize the next spell, but the globe began to glow from its heart. It looked as though it were brand new.

"What are you doing, sir?"

"No need to hide it any longer. Portus!"

Harry didn't recognize this spell either, but the Keeper did.

"You don't have authorization for that Portkey!"

"I don't? How careless of me. I'll have to stop by the Portkey office and file the requisite paperwork."

"A Portkey? Where does it go?"

Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling. "Any Death Eater who tries to take the prophecy now will find himself in an Auror holding cell."

"What if it's Voldemort himself?"

"That would be a very easy way to capture him. I doubt we will get so lucky, but we can always hope."

Leaving the Keeper to his apoplexy, Harry and Dumbledore headed back out through the Time Room to the circular room of doors.

"We wish the way out."

The door opened, and they were outside the plain black door again.

"Shall we, Harry?"

"Yes."

In short order they had taken the lift back to the Atrium level and made their way through the now much-thinner crowd of Ministry workers to the Apparition zone.

Harry took Dumbledore's arm again, and they were outside the gates of the school again.

"Mission accomplished," the headmaster said, "and it's not even curfew."

"Yes, sir. I need to tell Sirius what's happened."

They parted ways as they reached the entrance hall.

Professor Umbridge came down the stairs.

"Hem, hem. My goodness, it certainly is late, isn't it? What urgent business could have the headmaster out of his bed?"

"It's just an unscheduled patrol, Professor Umbridge," Harry said boldly. "I went to see Professor Dumbledore with a question about the magical protections of the castle. We got to talking, and I asked him when was the last time the spells were checked."

"It had in fact been nearly a year," Dumbledore offered helpfully.

"Well I said they should be checked as soon as possible, and every month thereafter."

"I quite agreed, and so urgent was Mister Potter that we exercise constant vigilance that we set out to inspect the spells this very night."

"You did not think to consult with me? I am the Security Officer. I could tell you that the protective spells were checked only last week."

"Indeed," Dumbledore questioned.

"Yes. I brought in three of the best to have a thorough going-over."

"Well, our errand appears to be in vain. You may return to your studies, Harry."

"Good night, Professors."

Harry hurried down to the dungeons. He ignored the few people in the common room who tried to call him over and went right for the enchanted mirror.

"Sirius Black!

"Harry Potter!"

"We did it, Sirius."

"Did what?"

"We destroyed the prophecy."

"You what?"

"Dumbledore took me to the Department of Mysteries. I met this crazy old wizard called the Keeper, and he took me into the Hall of Prophecy. You should have been there, Sirius. There were thousands of glass orbs on shelves, each one containing a prediction of the future."

"He took you out of school?"

"Yes, but it's all right. There's no record of anything. He slipped me through security."

"I wonder. So your Occlumency is obviously good enough."

"At my lesson tonight, both he and Snape tried to break through. It took them awhile."

"That's excellent, Harry. Well done!"

"Then he showed me the whole prophecy."

"What did it say?"

"I have to kill Voldemort. I can't live while he survives. He'll keep trying to destroy me because I'm a threat to him. Whatever this power I have that he doesn't, he'll never stop."

"Well, you knew you wanted to."

"Yeah, but it's different to hear someone else say it."

"Keep your chin up, Harry. Term is almost over. Relax tonight. You have prevented Voldemort from ever hearing the full prophecy."

"It was pretty momentous," Harry said. "It feels like the calm before the storm now. OWL review starts on Monday. I'm rather dizzy."

"Get some sleep, kiddo. I'm here if you need me."

"Good night, Sirius."

"Good night, Harry."