The Second Prophecy

Prologue

Now, the Boy Who Lived had been in some dangerous situations before, but nothing could have prepared him for the horrible plan that Lord Voldemort was soon to release before his very eyes. It hurt enough that his two best friends in the world had betrayed him to the Dark Lord, but to be forced now to watch Voldemort's evilness unfold before him, while firmly strapped to a pole, was almost too much. Harry closed his eyes in disgust, trying to remember what exactly had gone wrong.

Chapter 1

"Ron! Hermione!" Harry, a seventh year at Hogwarts cried, charging through the corridor and nearly knocking over Professor Snape.

"Watch it, Potter," Snape sneered, but the boy paid him no mind. He was too busy running smack into one of his best friends as she berated a house elf about accepting its lowly state.

"What is it, Harry," she asked exasperatedly as the house elf hurried away.

"I...made...the Gryffindor Quidditch team..." Harry panted, now exhausted.

"Well, it sounds like you're going to have to get back in shape," Hermione told him pointedly. "But I'm glad they let you back on, congratulations, I'm so very happy for you."

"Thank...you," Harry said, slightly annoyed that she wasn't jumping up and down with pure ecstasy at the news. "So...where's Ron?"

Hermione waved the question away with one hand. "I'm not sure. He went off towards the library somewhere. Now if you'll excuse me..."

Harry was quite taken aback at the way Hermione had abruptly ended their conversation. Pouting and feeling unwanted, he stomped off towards the library to find his real best friend.

When Harry opened his eyes again, dawn had broken over the horizon. He could tell, not because he could actually see daylight, but because it was now scorching hot inside Voldemort's lair. Yes, Voldemort's evil lair. When Harry had first been taken, he had expected Voldemort's evil hideout to be some gloomy and malevolent castle in an eastern-European country. However, he had been sadly mistaken. Voldemort had apparated into a suffocating, arid landscape, filled with cacti and tumbleweeds. Harry would have been confused, had he been conscious. However, Harry was even more shocked at the lair itself than the location.

Voldemort's hideout was a small wooden shack framed by small barrel cacti and termite mounds. Were you to go inside the lair, you would find it filled with indescribable horror. To elaborate, an oaken rocking chair, hideous yellow, cracking paint, several rather poorly crafted carvings of Harry's head (many of which had been deformed by curses and hexes), and piles and piles of dirty magazines, which Voldemort had hastily explained belonged to Lucius. There was also a light switch, something that Muggles used to turn on the electric lights. When you pushed the switch, you were lowered underground to Voldemort's real secret hideout, which was a larger of the house previously described, with more indecent publications. Harry had been oddly taken aback by this lair; it was like the realization that a house that looked like it belonged to a hobo...let me take that back, looked like it belonged to a hobo's whore, could actually contain the most perilous being known to wizard kind, was something he simply could not fathom. Also, the fact that Voldemort would trigger the appearance of his lair by the light switch was also rather idiotic; wouldn't most people pull the light switch when they stepped into the house? Sadly, when Harry tried to reveal this act of stupidity to Voldemort, he had gotten himself tied to a pole.

Harry tried to forget the horrible things he had seen over the last three days, but he had to give up as tears welled up in his emerald eyes. Harry fought back the tears, and the burning sorrow in his heart receded. He was able to think clearly again. Now he could think up a plan of escape.

Over the next three hours, Harry evaluated his current situation and reviewed the few ways he could possibly get out of the Dark Lord's lair. He finally decided upon the simplest plan: curse everyone within reach and then run off screaming. Yes. Yes! It was the perfect plan, one that Voldemort would never expect from him. And he would put it into effect as soon as the opportune moment arose. Unfortunately, the opportune moment was yet to come, as the lair was swarming with Death Eaters, and his wand was hidden away somewhere.

Harry was bored with waiting for the opportune moment, so he decided to close his eyes again and reflect on his memories of the last few days.

Harry dashed into the library and poked Ron in the shoulder.

"Ow, what the bloody 'ell was that for, mate?" Ron yelled.

"Sssshhh," hissed Madam Pince.

"Sorry, Ron" Harry said with a grin. "But guess what, guess what, guess what!"

Ron shook his head and said crossly, "You know, Harry, there are about a million good things that could have happened to you, you being the famous Harry Potter and all, so I'm not even going to attempt to guess what wave of good fortune has washed over you this time."

"Ron," Harry said quietly, quite abashed at Ron's response. "Ron, what's wrong? Did you and Hermione break up again?"

"No," Ron snapped, turning his back. "I was just in the middle of a good book, that's all."

Now Harry was not only worried about Ron, he was frightened for himself as well. When Ron read a book for fun, it was a sign of the apocalypse.

"Ron, being in the library has really gotten to you this time. Come on, let's go play some wizard chess, it'll cheer you up." Harry grabbed Ron's arm and began to walk away, but Ron jerked his hand back out of Harry's grasp.

"Look, Potter, just do us all a favor and leave, all right? Bloody bastard," Ron added in a whisper, putting his book up as a barrier between himself and Harry.

"Yeah," the other library patrons chorused, but when Harry glared at them, they all shut up and went back to their work.

"Fine, I'll go," Harry said hoarsely, feeling surprisingly emotional for someone who had just gotten sworn out by their best friend. "Yes, I'll go," he added more loudly, "but you'll all regret it. You all will wish I hadn't left! You'll cry, saying, 'Where's Harry? Oh, we're all so bored, we miss him so much, if only we'd been nicer to him...'"

Harry was still yelling in that annoying high-pitched voice when the librarian pushed him out the door.

Harry was storming through the hallway when Neville ran up beside him. The observant, timid Neville had noticed Harry's bad mood and was attempting to comfort him with good conversation.

"Harry, I noticed that you were feeling a bit down, there," Neville said lightly, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Oh, it's nothing, Neville," Harry sighed. "Oh, my best friends act like we were never buddies, and they want to make me disappear off the face of the planet, but sure, I'm just fine."

"Harry, I'm sure they're just in a bad mood or something," Neville told him reassuringly.

"A bad mood. A BAD MOOD? Neville, you could practically hear me yelling at Ron from halfway across the bloody frickin' castle!"

Neville knew that telling Harry that you could hear him yelling from the Potions dungeon was not going to improve his disposition. Instead, Neville gave Harry a grim smile. "Harry," Neville said, all seriousness now, "I will always be there for you, okay? I swear it."

Harry grew increasingly red as Neville swore his loyalty to him. "Erm, Neville," Harry said edgily, "aren't you gay?"

"Well, uh, now that you mention it..." Neville trailed off.

Harry stopped dead midstride. He pushed Neville's hand off of his shoulder, and told him in an unnaturally high voice, "I really don't think that will be necessary." Harry walked off as fast as he could, leaving a disappointed Neville behind him.