Chapter 344: Chapter 344: "Truth in Prophecy Part - 1"
While Harry was battling the dark forces threatening his home, things were heating up in the Ministry of Magic as well.
Charles's heart pounded harshly inside his chest as he and his friends arrived on a barren side street near the Ministry of Magic. Night blanketed London's skyline with faint illumination, throwing lengthy shadows against the graffiti-splattered walls. The Thestrals that had transported them here flapped their leathery wings and huffed uneasily.
"This is it," Luna announced in her usual dreamy tone, sliding off her Thestral. She glanced around, her pale eyes brimming with hushed resolve. "No one's around. Perfect spot to sneak in."
Charles drew in a shaky breath. "I still can't believe we're doing this," he muttered, gazing down the empty street. "But Remus doesn't have time. We have to get inside."
He looked over at his group: Hermione, Ron, Neville, Luna, Ginny, Fred, and George. Each held their wand in a white-knuckled grip. Their faces were set with fear, but also with an unyielding determination.
"Remember," Charles said, lowering his voice. "We get in, we find the Department of Mysteries, rescue Remus, and then we get out. Fast. No stopping, no detours."
Ron nodded, his freckles standing out in the dim glow of the lone streetlight. "We're right behind you, mate. Lead the way."
Luna took the Thestrals by their bridles and whispered something soothing before motioning for them to fly off. The creatures vanished into the dark sky as Charles gestured to the battered red phone booth—the Ministry's visitor's entrance.
They hustled across the street, glancing around to make sure they weren't seen. Charles and Hermione squeezed into the phone booth first, followed by Ron and Neville. Then somehow, Ginny, Luna, and the twins crammed themselves inside, too. It was like stuffing an entire Quidditch team into a Muggle closet. The booth gave a pathetic groan at the sudden weight.
"It's so cramped," Fred complained in a hushed tone.
"Yes, well, they designed it for two or three visitors, not eight," Hermione snapped back, fumbling for the receiver. "But we'll manage."
"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic," a cool female voice chimed through the phone once Hermione dialed the code. "Please state your business."
"Rescuing a kidnapped family friend," George muttered sarcastically, but Hermione, thinking quickly, answered more convincingly.
"Visiting the Department of Mysteries," she said aloud.
There was a tiny pause. Then, with a jolt, the phone booth started to descend into the ground. The ride felt painfully slow. Each second stretched Charles's nerves thinner, giving him too much time to imagine what state Remus might be in—or if they were already too late.
When the lift finally came to a halt at the Atrium, the glass walls revealed a space that was usually alive with the chatter of witches and wizards. Now, it was unsettlingly empty. The polished floor reflected only the dim, flickering glow of torches. No guards. No Ministry workers. Nothing.
"This feels wrong," Neville muttered, his wand already drawn. "Where are the aurors and the guards?"
"Probably taken care of," Fred replied grimly.
"Or it's a trap," George added with equal gravity.
Ron shot them an annoyed look. "Not helping, guys."
They exited the phone booth carefully, wands raised. The fountain in the middle of the Atrium—usually a grand statue of magical beings—had been drained and left eerily silent. Charles felt a prickle on the back of his neck. It seemed like eyes were watching them from every dark corner.
Hermione took the lead toward the golden gate of the lifts on the far side. "We go down to Level Nine. That's where the Department of Mysteries is," she said, trying to sound steady.
They all piled into an ornate elevator that clanked and groaned. For a moment, no one spoke. Luna hummed absently under her breath. Fred and George stood back-to-back, scanning the corners. Ginny peeked over Hermione's shoulder at the control panel, biting her lip nervously.
Finally, the calm voice of the lift chimed: "Department of Mysteries. Level Nine."
A collective shudder rippled through the group as the doors slid open. Beyond lay a long corridor, illuminated by cold, blue flames flickering in sconces along the walls. The light cast twisted, shifting shadows that moved like prowling creatures just beyond reach.
"I don't like this," Neville whispered. "My gran used to tell me stories about this place. Nothing good ever happens in the Department of Mysteries."
Charles drew a steadying breath, squaring his shoulders. "Remus is in there somewhere. We have to try."
They advanced, the sound of their footfalls echoing. At the end of the corridor stood a plain black door that somehow felt wrong, like it was drinking in the light around it. Charles raised his wand, took a deep breath, and stepped forward.
The moment they crossed the threshold, they found themselves in a circular chamber lined with identical black doors. With a low rumble, the walls spun, transforming the space into a dizzying blur. When everything finally stopped, each door looked exactly the same as the next.
"Brilliant," Ron groaned, clutching his head. "Which way did we come in?"
"More importantly, which way do we go now?" Ginny asked, glancing nervously at the many identical doors.
Luna tilted her head, her dreamy expression unfazed. "We don't. But I think the Nargles suggest we try… that one." She pointed to a door at random.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Nargles or not, we'll have to try them one by one."
They chose a door and pushed through it, only to find a large room filled with desks stacked high with bizarre contraptions—spinning silver instruments and odd glass tubes.
Another door led them into a long, narrow chamber, where a giant bell jar glowed at the far end. A hummingbird flickered inside, alternating between hatching from an egg and returning to it, as though time cycled endlessly in that spot.
The next space they entered was darker, with enormous tank-like containers lining the walls. Each was filled with shimmering, ethereal shapes, drifting lazily through constellations of glowing lights. The silence in this room felt heavy, almost suffocating.
Then came the infamous Veil Chamber. A stone archway with a thin black veil stood at its center, the fabric fluttering and whispering, though no wind disturbed the air. They lingered just long enough for Ron to mutter, "Creepy," before Charles urged them to move on.
Room after room stretched their nerves tighter. Each was more disturbing than the last, yet none offered any trace of Remus. With every wrong turn, Charles's dread increased. He tried not to show it, but fear gnawed at him. Could Remus already be…?
After what felt like hours of searching, they stumbled into a cavernous hall, vast and echoing. Soaring shelves filled the space, each one crammed with softly glowing orbs. The faint light from the spheres cast eerie shadows that danced across the high ceilings.
"Spread out," Charles said, keeping his voice low. "Look for any clue that Remus is here."
Their group split into pairs, moving silently through the dusty aisles. Soft whispers tickled Charles's ears, like thousands of secrets trapped behind glass. He wondered if any of these orbs might have the power to save Remus—or if they were just illusions. His hand shook on his wand as he inched forward.
"Charles!" Ginny's urgent whisper cut through the silence from a few rows away. "Over here!"
Charles didn't hesitate. He sprinted toward her voice, weaving through the towering shelves of softly glowing orbs. His pulse thundered in his ears, and his breath came in short gasps as he rounded a corner.
At the far end of the aisle, he spotted a figure slumped in a chair. His heart seized—Remus. Even from a distance, Charles could see the older wizard was bound tightly and unconscious, his head drooping to one side.
"Remus!" Charles shouted, his voice raw with urgency. "Remus, wake up!"
"Charles, wait!" Hermione's warning came too late.
Charles skidded to a halt beside Remus, falling to his knees as panic and relief warred within him. He gripped the older wizard's shoulders, shaking him gently but urgently. "Remus, it's me! Wake up!" he pleaded.
Relief washed over him as he realized Remus was still breathing, though his breaths were shallow and uneven. Thick ropes bound the werewolf's arms and legs to the chair, cutting into his skin, and a dark, ugly bruise marred the side of his face. Charles's chest tightened with a rush of fury. His hand trembled around his wand as rage coursed through him. Whoever had done this was going to pay.
Chapter 345: Chapter 345: "Truth in Prophecy Part - 2"
"Well, well." The smooth, chilling voice seemed to emanate from everywhere at once. Magnus Blutreich, the head of the former Schwarzwald Zirkel and now a ruthless general of the Dark Alliance, stepped out of the shadows like a ghost. His movements were calm, deliberate, and menacing. He walked toward Remus with his wand steadily trained on the werewolf's head.
"How delightfully predictable children can be," Magnus mused, his lips curling into a cold smile.
Charles's wand snapped upward in an instant, his stance rigid with determination. But Magnus only chuckled, the sound low and condescending.
"I wouldn't, if I were you," Magnus said softly. "One wrong move, and your precious werewolf won't live to see another full moon."
Charles's teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached. His friends rushed to his side, their wands raised and trained on Magnus. Still, the dark general remained unfazed, his wand unwavering from Remus's head.
"What do you want?" Charles demanded, his voice tight with anger and desperation.
Magnus made a lazy gesture toward the towering shelves of glowing orbs. "It's quite simple, really. There's a particular prophecy orb here with your name on it. Fetch it for me, and perhaps we can all leave this… unpleasant situation unscathed."
Ron let out a short, derisive laugh. "We're not stupid—"
"Silence." Magnus's voice sharpened, cutting through the tension like a blade. He pressed his wand deeper into Remus's hair, his eyes flashing with warning. "Another word, and your friend pays the price."
Charles raised a hand quickly to silence Ron before the situation spiraled further. Every muscle in his body felt coiled, ready to snap, but he forced himself to speak with measured calm. "Please. What do you want with a prophecy?"
Magnus's lips curled into a slow, sinister smile. "I want the prophecy—your prophecy. The one that binds you to the Dark Lord."
Hermione's eyes widened in shock. "But that prophecy… Surely Dumbledore destroyed it, or—"
"Shush!" Ginny hissed sharply, nudging Hermione before she could say more.
Magnus's gaze remained fixed on Charles, his tone mocking. "It's there," he said, inclining his head toward a nearby shelf. "With your name on it. Go on, boy. Fetch it."
Charles hesitated, his mind racing. The prophecy—his prophecy—was something he'd heard whispers of long ago but had never learned the full truth about. Dumbledore had always been adamant that it was too dangerous to reveal its contents, and Charles had assumed it was just one more secret tied to being the Boy-Who-Lived.
But now, faced with Remus's life hanging in the balance, he had no choice. The risks no longer mattered.
"Fine. I'll do it," he said at last, his voice low but steady. Rising slowly, he kept his wand trained on Magnus as he moved toward the indicated shelf. "Just don't hurt him."
Magnus's eyes gleamed with triumph, his voice dripping with mock sincerity. "That depends entirely on your cooperation."
Charles turned to the shelf Magnus had indicated, his heart pounding as his friends kept their wands trained on the dark general. His fingers brushed past row after row of dusty labels, scanning frantically until his eyes locked onto something unusual.
Riddle… Potter…?? He finally spotted something that seemed to match: "Dark Lord and H. Potter (?)."
A wave of confusion swept over him. H. Potter? That's not me. Heart pounding, he reached for the sphere. A sharp jolt of magical energy shocked his fingers, making him snatch his hand back with a yelp.
"What's taking so long?" Magnus's voice, sharp with irritation, echoed across the hall. "Get the prophecy!"
"I—I can't," Charles stammered, his voice shaking as he stared at the label. "It's not... it doesn't have my name on it."
Magnus's expression darkened, his wand pressing harder against Remus's throat. "Don't play games with me, boy. Take the orb with the Dark Lord's name on it."
"But it's not mine!" Charles shot back desperately. "It says 'H. Potter.' That's… that's my brother's initial!"
A flicker of realization crossed Magnus's face. He yanked Remus's unconscious form closer and leaned in, his cold eyes narrowing as he read the label. The hall fell eerily silent as Magnus processed what he was seeing. Then, a harsh, mocking laugh erupted from his throat, reverberating off the towering shelves.
"H. Potter... Hadrian Potter!" Magnus declared, his voice dripping with glee. His eyes glinted with malicious triumph. "Oh, this is perfect. Absolutely perfect. So it was never about you. Dumbledore was wrong. We were all wrong. All this time, the prophecy was about your brother. You're nothing but a footnote—a child who was just lucky."
Charles felt the air leave his lungs as cold dread spread through his chest. "What are you talking about?" His voice was barely above a whisper.
Hermione's face had gone pale as realization dawned. "Dumbledore… got it wrong. Harry is the one prophesied to defeat Voldemort. Not you, Charles."
Luna blinked, her dreamy expression replaced by something more solemn. "It would explain a lot," she murmured quietly.
Ron scratched the back of his head, confusion warring with disbelief. "But that can't be right. Everyone knows Charles is the Boy-Who-Lived. He's the one the Ministry and the Daily Prophet always wrote about."
Neville stepped closer, his tone cautious but supportive. "Harry's the real chosen one. But… that's good, isn't it? If he's the one, then he'll be strong enough to defeat Voldemort."
Charles felt like the floor had been yanked out from under him. His head swam with the weight of it all. "I'm… not the Boy Who Lived? I should have been sent to the Dursleys… and my brother should have grown up with my parents?" His voice cracked as the words left his lips.
Magnus interrupted the spiraling revelation with a mocking clap, his cruel amusement cutting through the group's disarray. "Ah, the great Charles Potter, brought to his knees by a truth he couldn't face. How deliciously ironic. You've been living a lie your entire life." He sneered. "But I'm afraid our little therapy session is over. Since you're not the subject of the prophecy, you're of no use to us."
As he spoke, dark figures began materializing from the shadows between the shelves. Death Eaters in their menacing masks emerged, their wands aimed and ready. They surrounded the group in a tightening circle, cutting off any chance of escape.
"Since you're clearly not the prophecy child," Magnus drawled, his voice dripping with mock pity, "I'm afraid you've all become... expendable."
"You said you'd let us go!" Ginny shouted, her wand aimed steadily despite the fear flashing in her eyes.
Magnus chuckled darkly, the sound echoing ominously through the Hall of Prophecy. "And I would have, had you retrieved the prophecy orb from the shelf. But now that we know Charles here can't even touch the orb…" He paused, letting the words hang like a noose. "Well, you children have become a liability."
The teenagers instinctively closed ranks, forming a tight circle with their shoulders pressed together. Fred and George shifted to shield Ginny, their wands held at the ready, while Neville and Luna stood resolutely on either side of Hermione. Charles, still gripping his wand tightly, kept his focus locked on Magnus.
"Brave," Magnus remarked, his lips curling into a twisted smile. "But pointless."
The Death Eaters surrounding them seemed to revel in the tension, their masked faces turned toward the group like wolves circling their prey. Their wands glimmered menacingly in the dim blue light of the hall. Charles's mind raced, desperate to think of a plan, but the odds felt suffocating.
What none of them noticed, however, was the subtle shift in the room. The shadows behind the Death Eaters began to deepen, dark tendrils stretching unnaturally across the floor. Silent figures moved into position, their disillusioned forms blending seamlessly with the darkness. And among them, a familiar grin spread across the face of Sirius Black, hidden beneath the shimmer of a Disillusionment Charm.
The cavalry had arrived.
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