Chapter 35: Ripples of Prophecy

Chapter 35: Ripples of Prophecy

The morning after Sirius Black's attack on Gryffindor Tower dawned cold and grey, matching the sombre mood that had settled over Hogwarts. As Harry made his way down to the Great Hall for breakfast, he could feel the weight of countless eyes upon him. Whispers followed in his wake, a constant reminder of the events of the previous night.

"There he is—the one who predicted the attack!"

"Do you think he saw Black coming?"

"I heard he can see the future as clear as day..."

Harry tried to ignore the murmurs, but it was impossible. As he sat down at the Gryffindor table, he caught sight of Hermione's worried frown and Ron's uneasy glance.

"You alright, mate?" Ron asked, pushing a plate of toast towards him.

"Fine," Harry muttered, though he felt far from it. His mind was racing, trying to process everything that had happened. The attack, his vision, the growing whispers about his abilities—it was all becoming overwhelming.

Hermione leaned in, her voice low. "Harry, people are talking. They're saying you predicted Black's attack. Did you... did you really see it coming?"

Harry hesitated. He had seen something, true, but not in the way everyone seemed to think. "I had a feeling," he said carefully. "But I didn't know it would be Black, or when exactly it would happen."

Hermione's frown deepened, but before she could press further, Dumbledore stood to address the school.

"In light of recent events," the Headmaster began, his voice carrying across the silent hall, "we have implemented new security measures. All students are to return to their common rooms by sunset. No one is to be in the corridors alone. Prefects and staff will conduct regular patrols. And," he paused, his eyes sweeping the room, "I must stress the importance of reporting any unusual occurrences immediately."

As Dumbledore continued outlining the new rules, Harry's thoughts drifted. "The timeline is holding", he mused. "Small changes here and there, but the major events are still unfolding as they should." He felt a mix of relief and apprehension at this realisation.

Throughout the day, Harry found himself at the centre of attention. Students from all houses approached him, some curious, others fearful, all wanting to know more about his supposed prophetic abilities. Even the teachers seemed to be watching him more closely, their gazes a mix of concern and speculation.

By the time evening rolled around, Harry was exhausted. He retreated to a quiet corner of the Gryffindor common room, where Ron and Hermione joined him.

"This is mental," Ron said, shaking his head. "Everyone's gone barmy over your 'prediction.' Even my mum sent an owl asking if you were okay and if you'd seen anything else coming."

Harry winced. He hadn't considered how quickly news would spread beyond Hogwarts. "Great," he muttered. "Just what I need—more attention."

Hermione was watching him closely. "Harry," she began hesitantly, "I've been doing some reading about Seers and prophetic abilities. The kind of specific vision you seem to have had... it's incredibly rare. Are you sure you're not...exaggerating what you saw? From what I am reading, you are like top 10 in the history among the known Seer."

The potion that had been nearly gone now; he could feel it. *Ninety percent digested*, he thought. *And in just two months. I didn't expect it to happen so quickly.*

"I'm not exaggerating," he said finally. "I don't understand it myself, Hermione. I just... see things sometimes."

As the days passed, the atmosphere at Hogwarts remained tense. Students moved in groups, jumping at shadows. The increased security measures were a constant reminder of the danger that had breached their walls. And through it all, the whispers about Harry's abilities continued to grow.

Unbeknownst to the students, the ripples of Harry's supposed prophecy were spreading far beyond the castle walls. In hidden enclaves and shadowy meeting places, dark wizards gathered to discuss this new development.

"The Potter boy," a hooded figure hissed. "They say he foresaw Black's attack. If it's true..."

"We must know for certain," another agreed. "Such power... it could be a threat. Or a tool."

Plans were made in hushed tones. The nearby village of Hogsmeade would provide the perfect opportunity. If they could capture Potter, or even one of his friends, they could test the extent of his abilities. And with Sirius Black reportedly spotted in the area, they might even be able to recruit the notorious escapee to their cause.

Little did they know that their schemes were about to collide with forces they couldn't begin to understand.

Back at Hogwarts, Harry tossed and turned in his bed, caught in the grip of a vivid nightmare. He saw flashes of a battle in Hogsmeade—spells flying, buildings burning. And there, in the midst of the chaos, were Ron and Hermione, surrounded by dark figures in masks.

He jolted awake with a gasp, his heart pounding. The dormitory was quiet, filled only with the sound of his roommates' steady breathing. But the images from his dream lingered, feeling more like a premonition than a simple nightmare.

As he lay there, trying to calm his racing thoughts, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that something big was coming. The potion was almost gone now, its effects fading. Soon, he would have to face the world as just Harry—no previous life knowledge will save him.

But first, he had to figure out how to protect his friends from the danger he knew was approaching. Because one thing was certain: the next Hogsmeade weekend was going to be far more eventful than anyone anticipated.

The following morning, Harry found himself once again at the centre of attention as he entered the Great Hall. The whispers seemed to have grown overnight, and he could feel the weight of expectant gazes from all directions.

"Harry!" Colin Creevey's excited voice cut through the murmurs. "Is it true you're starting a divination club? Can I join?"

Before Harry could respond, Seamus chimed in. "Aye, I heard it's called the Seer's Circle. Bit dramatic, innit?"

Harry felt a flush creeping up his neck. The Seer's Circle was supposed to be a secret, but apparently, word had gotten out. He glanced at Hermione, who looked equally surprised and concerned.

"It's just a study group," Harry said, trying to downplay the situation. "For people interested in advanced divination techniques."

But his words did little to quell the excitement. By lunchtime, it seemed half the school was talking about joining the Seer's Circle, eager to learn from the boy who had "predicted" Sirius Black's attack.

As Harry picked at his food, barely listening to the chatter around him, an owl swooped down, dropping a letter in front of him. They're from newspapers.

With trembling fingers, he opened the letter. Did the newspaper know about his "predictions"? How far had the news spread?

As if in answer to his unspoken question, Professor McGonagall approached the Gryffindor table, her expression serious.

"Mr. Potter," she said quietly, "the Headmaster would like a word with you after your classes today. And... he asked me to tell you that he's particularly fond of Acid Pops at the moment."

Harry nodded, understanding the password for what it was. As McGonagall walked away, he caught Hermione's questioning look.

"Later," he mouthed, not wanting to discuss it in the crowded hall.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of classes and whispered conversations. Harry found it increasingly difficult to concentrate, his mind split between worry over his upcoming meeting with Dumbledore and the lingering images from his nightmare.

As the final bell rang, signalling the end of classes, Harry made his way to the gargoyle guarding the entrance to the Headmaster's office. "Acid Pops," he muttered, and the statue sprang aside.

Dumbledore was waiting for him, his blue eyes twinkling behind half-moon spectacles. "Ah, Harry," he said warmly. "Please, have a seat. Lemon drop?"

Harry declined politely, settling into the chair across from Dumbledore's desk. For a moment, there was silence, broken only by the soft whirring of the various silver instruments scattered around the office.

"I imagine you know why I've called you here," Dumbledore began, his tone gentle but probing. "There has been much talk about your... shall we say, prophetic abilities."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Professor, I—"

Dumbledore held up a hand. "I'm not here to interrogate you, Harry. I merely wish to understand. These visions you've been having—how long have they been occurring?"

Harry hesitated, weighing his words carefully. He couldn't tell Dumbledore everything, but he needed to say something. "It's... hard to explain, sir. Sometimes I just get feelings, or flashes of images. I don't always understand what they mean."

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "The gift of Sight is a rare and often misunderstood talent, Harry. If indeed that is what you possess. I must caution you—such abilities, whether real or perceived, can be both a blessing and a curse. There are those who would seek to use you for their own ends."

"Like Voldemort?" Harry asked, thinking of his nightmare and the sense of impending danger.

A shadow passed over Dumbledore's face. "Yes, like Voldemort. But also others who might see your supposed abilities as a threat or an opportunity. You must be vigilant, Harry. And you must be careful about how you use this... gift."

As Harry left Dumbledore's office, his mind was whirling with thoughts and questions. He knew he needed to be more careful, but how could he balance that with his desire to protect his friends and prepare for what was coming?

That night, as he lay in bed, Harry felt the last vestiges of the potion finally fade away. His two sets of memories, once distinct, now merged seamlessly. He was Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, but he was also the young man who had lived another life, who carried the knowledge of what was to come.

As sleep claimed him, one thought lingered: The next Hogsmeade weekend was approaching, and with it, a danger that could change everything. He had to be ready.

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