Harry Wayne and the Batman of Hogwarts
Chapter 43- The Prophecy Revealed
The Order of the Owls, led by Jostanos, the Head of the Ministry, stormed into the Forbidden Forest in pursuit of Dumbledore and the elusive "Weapon X." Shadows stretched long beneath the towering trees as the group split up, scouring the dense woodland.
After several tense minutes, Jostanos finally spotted Dumbledore standing beside a massive oak, murmuring what appeared to be an incantation. Smirking, Jostanos stepped forward.
"Ah-ha! I've caught you, Dumbledore!" he declared triumphantly. "I've found him!" he called to the others. As footsteps rustled through the underbrush, he leveled an accusing finger at the old wizard. "Now, tell us where this 'Weapon X' is so we can end this madness and restore order."
Dumbledore turned, his expression one of mild confusion. "Weapon X?" he repeated. "I'm afraid I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about."
Jostanos scowled. "Your students told me everything. They revealed your plans to become the new Ra's al Ghul. I'm no fool, Dumbledore! Now, show me your Weapon X!"
Before Dumbledore could respond, a heavy thudding sound echoed from the other side of the oak. The very ground seemed to tremble beneath them. Then, a deep, sing-song voice rumbled through the air:
"My name is Solomon Grawp.
I'm as big as a mountaintop.
The ground trembles when I hop.
My momentum you cannot stop."
Jostanos looked up—and up—until he met the gaze of a towering sixteen-foot giant stepping into view. He let out a derisive chuckle.
"You? As big as a mountaintop?" he scoffed. "If anything, you're a runt compared to the larger giants. Now, step aside, little giant."
Dumbledore's eyes narrowed. "I wouldn't provoke him if I were you."
Jostanos smirked. "Provoke him? And what exactly is he going to do? I certainly hope this isn't your Weapon X."
Grawp's face darkened, his brow furrowing in frustration. His voice grew louder.
"My name is Solomon Grawp.
I'm as big as a mountaintop—"
"Yeah, yeah, you've said that already," Jostanos interrupted with a dismissive wave.
But Grawp continued undeterred.
"The ground trembles when I hop."
With that, the giant suddenly leaped into the air. When his feet came crashing back down, the impact sent a shockwave through the earth. The ground shook violently, toppling Jostanos and several smaller trees.
"My momentum you cannot stop." Grawp finished with a toothy grin.
Jostanos groaned, picking himself up and dusting off his robes. His patience had worn thin. "Enough of this nonsense," he snapped, drawing his wand and pointing it at the giant.
Before he could utter a spell, Grawp's massive hand swiped down, knocking the wand from Jostanos's grasp. Then, with surprising speed, the giant wrapped his thick fingers around Jostanos's body and lifted him high off the ground.
Jostanos struggled, his face turning red. "Put me down, you overgrown imbecile!" he barked.
But Grawp wasn't listening. He was too busy curiously poking at Jostanos's wizarding hat, petting the top as if it were a tiny, amusing toy.
Furious, Jostanos freed one hand and cast a spell directly at Grawp's open mouth. The giant instinctively inhaled—and swallowed the spell whole.
Jostanos sneered. "Oh, you'll regret that."
For a moment, Grawp's eyes crossed, and he swayed slightly as if the spell had disoriented him. Then, without warning, he opened his mouth wide and let out an earth-shaking, foul-smelling burp—directly into Jostanos's face.
Jostanos gagged, his expression twisting in sheer disgust. The stench was unbearable. His eyes watered as he spluttered, trying to escape Grawp's grasp.
Moments later, the rest of the Order arrived, weapons drawn—only to find their esteemed leader dangling helplessly in Grawp's grip, his face twisted in revulsion. They quickly took in the bizarre scene.
But when they looked around—Dumbledore was gone.
Meanwhile, Neville Longbottom, Hermione Kyle, and Harvey Weasley arrived at the Ministry of Magic under the cover of darkness. The towering building loomed over them, its grand entrance eerily silent.
Neville quickly slipped on the Cloak of Shadows, vanishing from sight. "Stay put," he whispered. "I'll make sure the coast is clear."
He crept inside, his senses on high alert. The silence was unsettling—too silent. Not a single soul stirred. After scanning the area and seeing no immediate danger, he carefully signaled Hermione and Harvey to follow.
Moving cautiously, they navigated through the vast corridors, eventually reaching the Department of Mysteries. The air in the chamber was thick with enchantment, the walls lined with ancient artifacts of untold power. Countless scrolls floated around them like glowing butterflies, illuminating the room with an ethereal shimmer.
But only one scroll mattered.
Hermione's keen eyes spotted it first—a scroll that gleamed with an intensity beyond the others. It rested inside a glass container, almost as if it were waiting for someone. She carefully lifted the container's lid and unrolled the parchment inside.
Blank.
Harvey leaned in, frowning. "There's nothing written on it."
Hermione sighed and began placing it back, but Neville stopped her with a hushed, urgent whisper. "Wait."
He stepped forward, a memory tugging at the edge of his mind. "Legend says only the one destined by prophecy can read the scroll," he murmured. With a deep breath, he grasped it in his hands.
A strange energy surged through him. Suddenly, ghostly words began forming on the parchment—only to flicker and fade mid-sentence.
Neville's stomach twisted. "That's odd. It started to reveal the prophecy, but then it vanished."
Harvey and Hermione exchanged concerned glances.
Neville looked down at the Belt of Chiroptera strapped around his waist. Understanding dawned on him.
"It thought I was Harry Wayne," he realized.
Determined, he tightened his grip on the scroll and spoke directly to the artifact. "Harry's too injured to be here," he pleaded. "But we need to know what this prophecy says. Please… help me."
For a moment, nothing happened. The chamber remained still, the glowing scrolls hovering silently around them.
Then—
A brilliant light erupted from the Belt of Chiroptera, bathing the scroll in its glow. Neville quickly unfurled the parchment again, and this time, the words solidified before their eyes, revealing the prophecy in full:
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...
Born of those who thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...
And either must die at the hand of the other,
For neither can live while the other survives."
A chill ran through them.
Hermione swallowed. "What does it mean?"
Neville's grip on the scroll tightened. "I don't know," he admitted. "But we need to get this to Harry—now."
Suddenly, a whirlwind of dark energy erupted around them, forcing Neville, Hermione, and Harvey to take cover. The swirling black mist howled like a storm, and within seconds, the chamber was plunged into chaos.
As the darkness dissipated, Neville's heart pounded. He was standing alone at the center of the room.
And his friends—were in danger.
Hermione gasped as Lady Bellatrix coiled an arm tightly around her neck, a wicked grin twisting her features. Across the room, Professor Pyg held Harvey in a vice-like grip, his grotesque snorts filling the air as he pressed a cleaver to the boy's throat.
Then, from the shadows, Deadshot emerged.
His imposing frame was draped in sleek combat gear, his signature firearms slung over his shoulders. He stepped forward, his gaze locked onto Neville.
"Give me the prophecy," Deadshot demanded. "Hand it over, and your friends live."
Neville's grip tightened around the scroll. Now that the prophecy had been revealed, he knew its value. He knew what was at stake.
"Never!" Neville growled.
Deadshot lunged.
Neville fought back fiercely, dodging and blocking as best he could, but Deadshot was stronger—more experienced. Within moments, Neville felt the scroll ripped from his grasp.
Deadshot smirked as he held the parchment in his gloved hands, as if he had just seized the key to ultimate power.
But before he could unroll it—
"Incendio!"
A burst of flames shot through the air.
Hermione had freed her wand arm and unleashed a fireball, her spell hitting the scroll dead-on. Within seconds, the parchment was engulfed in flames.
"NOOO!" Deadshot bellowed, watching in horror as the prophecy burned to ash before his eyes.
The room erupted into chaos.
Hermione seized the moment, slamming her elbow into Lady Bellatrix's ribs. With a pained shriek, Bellatrix's grip loosened, and Hermione broke free.
Harvey followed suit, driving his foot into Professor Pyg's knee. The masked butcher howled, momentarily distracted—just long enough for Harvey to wrest himself free.
Without hesitation, the three bolted for the exit.
Behind them, Deadshot roared in fury. The Death Eaters scrambled, trying to regain control, but Neville, Hermione, and Harvey were already dashing into the vast, echoing halls of the Ministry of Magic.
Just as they reached the door, a towering figure blocked their path.
Ra's al Ghul.
And beside him, a monstrous presence loomed—Bane.
Neville's breath caught in his throat. Bane had grown even larger since their last encounter in the Forbidden Forest. His muscles bulged unnaturally, his veins pulsing with raw power.
"You three aren't going anywhere," Ra's declared, his voice calm, almost amused.
Before they could react, Bane lunged forward.
Harvey barely had time to shout before Bane grabbed him and hurled him across the room like a ragdoll. He crashed into the stone wall with a sickening thud.
Hermione whipped out her wand, but before she could utter a spell, Bane snatched her up in a crushing headlock. She gasped for air, struggling against his unyielding grip.
Neville stood frozen, paralyzed by the horrific déjà vu. He had seen this before. Bane—his monstrous strength—his father's death.
His hands trembled as he looked down at the Belt of Chiroptera, silently pleading for its power.
But nothing happened.
Despite that, something within him refused to cower. His fear melted into resolve.
"Put her down, you brute!" Neville roared.
Ra's merely smirked, as if enjoying their suffering.
Bane tossed Hermione aside as effortlessly as he had with Harvey, her body skidding across the floor. Then, the beast turned to Neville.
Neville swallowed hard and raised his wand. He had to fight.
"Stupefy!" he bellowed.
A bolt of red light shot toward Bane—
But Bane deflected it effortlessly.
The spell rebounded off his thick skin and exploded against a stone column, shattering it into rubble.
Before Neville could react, Bane wrenched the wand from his hand—and snapped it in two.
The sharp crack of splintering wood sent a wave of despair through Neville.
Unarmed and desperate, he clenched his fists and swung at Bane with all his strength.
His punches landed—
But Bane didn't even flinch.
It was like hitting a mountain.
Then, in an instant, Bane's massive hand clamped around Neville's throat.
Neville gasped, struggling for air, his feet kicking helplessly as Bane lifted him off the ground.
Ra's approached, his emerald eyes gleaming with cold amusement.
"I could have killed you when you were a child," he mused. "I spared you only because you are a pure-blood. But now, your time has come."
Bane hoisted Neville above his head, ready to break him over his knee—the same way he had shattered Harry Wayne.
Neville's eyes squeezed shut.
The Belt of Chiroptera—please!
But no power came.
Instead—
A radiant light pierced through the darkness.
A golden glow enveloped Neville, burning like the sun. But this power wasn't from the Belt of Chiroptera.
It came from something older.
Something ancient.
Bane's body convulsed as a shockwave surged through him. With a roar of pain, his grip loosened—and Neville dropped to the ground.
He landed gracefully, feet steady, his body now pulsating with ethereal energy.
A bright golden sword materialized in his hands.
The Sword of Azrael.
The air crackled with raw magic.
Across the chamber, Lady Bellatrix, Professor Pyg, and Deadshot arrived, eyes widening at the glowing warrior before them.
Hermione and Harvey, despite their injuries, staggered to their feet.
The battle was about to begin.
To be continued…