Subject: [FFML] [HP] [FIC] The Fulfillment of Prophecy

From: "Bob Schroeck" <[email-masked]>
Date: Thu, 12 Apr 2007 08:06:18 -0400 (EDT)

This is a short short that I posted in my discussion forums back
at the start of the month.  I would have simulposted it on the
FFML, save for the unfortunate events occurring at the same time.

-- Bob

===========================================================================
Bob Schroeck          http://www.eclipse.net/~rms           [email-masked]
===========================================================================
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.
===========================================================================

                   The Fulfillment of Prophecy

                      by Robert M. Schroeck

Harry Potter stood in a pool of Voldemort's cooling blood,
staring intently at the Minister of Magic.  In his left hand he
still held his broomstick like a scepter, a faint haze of golden
energy still wafting from the upraised bristles.  Over his open
right hand a quaffle floated, cloaked in a faint white glow.  A
golden snitch and a pair of bludgers obediently orbited his body.

At his feet lay the twisted, broken corpse of the so-called Dark
Lord.  Its eyes were still wide with the terror Tom Riddle had
felt as death finally took him.  To the side, Severus Snape lay
on the floor curled into a foetal ball, gibbering mindlessly.

Behind Harry stood the forces of Potter's Army, a hundred and
more young witches and wizards in their invisibility cloaks, all
taught by him, all wielding magicks the like of which none had
ever seen before.  Each one was blooded in battle.  Each one was
a fanatic.  At their head stood the most fanatic of all, Harry's
five lieutenants -- Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley,
Neville Longbottom, and Luna Lovegood -- their eyes all aglow
with the devotion they held for the man who now faced the
government of Wizarding England with a confidence and power that
was palpable.

In the moment of silence, one could hear the roars of the great
wyrms that had carried them to battle and which now circled the
building.

"Now, see here, Potter..." the Minister began, his blustering
tone at odds with the half-cower his body kept trying to slip
into.

"No," Harry interrupted, and his voice held the force of a
stunning charm, all but knocking the Minister off his feet.
"*You* will see."  He turned slowly in place, his implacable gaze
sweeping the gathered members of the Wizangamot, the few
surviving Death Eaters, and those of the press who had forced
their way in to the scene of his final triumph.  "You will *all*
see."

He turned back to the Minister, and raised the broomstick to
point at him with its bristles.  "I am taking control now.  You
will cede all governance to me."

*So this is what it has come to,* Minerva McGonagall thought
despondently as Potter's Army began a chant of "Boy-Who-Lived!
Boy-Who-Lived!"  *Fifty generations and more we have guided the
Wizarding World, urging the strong to breed with the strong,
culling and training them with the Game, in the hopes of creating
the ultimate wizard.  But all our seers agreed -- he was not to
be born for another century!  Damn Lily Evans for her
disobedience!*

Minerva was snapped back to awareness of the events around her by
a sudden silence, and upbraided herself for woolgathering.  She
must have missed something critical in her distraction -- the
Minister and the assembled members of the Wizengamot were now
kneeling to Harry, who stood unharmed in a pillar of golden fire.

Outrage filled her, and for a moment she forgot the danger as
old reflexes took hold.  "Mister Potter!" she snapped before
she regained control of herself.

He turned his eyes, themselves blazing with golden light, upon
her.  "You object, Professor?  He who can destroy a thing,
controls a thing.  And with one word, I can destroy all of
England's magic.  Who better to rule these sheep and
incompetents?"  She tore her eyes away from his, and he smiled,
shifting his attention again to the room at large. "I am tired of
the petty conflicts that wrack our world, and I say, No more!  No
more pureblood, no more half-blood, no more muggle-born!  We are
all *wizards,* no more, no less.  The prejudices of the old days
will be dispensed with.  This I decree, this I *will* make so."
His blazing eyes narrowed as he smiled slyly.  "Starting with
those who supported the corpse at my feet."

He raised the broom, then slammed the end of its handle upon the
stone floor.  A ripple of crimson light erupted from the point
where it struck and expanded to race outward across the room and
through the walls.  Minerva flinched and cringed, humiliated and
angry at herself for her reaction, as it flowed over and through
her.

Where the red light passed, witches and wizards died.  The
surviving Death Eaters screamed and burst into flame to a man, as
did Snape and far more members of the Wizengamot and the press
than Minerva had expected.  *The Arcane Mother will be furious to
learn how poor our intelligence was after all,* she mused
absently as she felt the beginnings of a compulsion spell
creeping over her.  *We had thought that we controlled the...
the...*

To her sudden horror, she realized that there was something
there, some concept that she had been familiar with, had
discussed and mused over on a daily basis, that she could no
longer even *think*.  She desperately wracked her brains, for she
knew in her bones that it was important to the Sisterhood, this
concept which eluded her.  What was it about those who had died?
The only thing that they had in common was that they had all been
members of families of long standing in the Wizarding World,
families who had produced continuous lines of wizards for
centuries.  But there was nothing special about that...

"And so it is done," Potter announced imperiously.  "The old
prejudices are gone."

*What *is* he babbling about?* Minerva thought angrily as she
grasped vainly for a concept she was certain she had known only
minutes before, but whose very *existence* had been purged from
her mind and the mind of every witch and wizard in England.

So distracted was she that Minerva barely noticed as Ginny
Weasley stepped forward from the rank of Lieutenants.

"And how can he do this?" Ginny asked rhetorically, her clear
soprano voice echoing throughout the Great Hall and somehow
overwhelming the panicked murmurs of the onlookers.  "Because he
*is* the Quidditch Haderach!"

FIN

My apologies to J.K. Rowling and the estate of Frank Herbert.

Happy (belated) April Fool's Day!

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---

From: Bert Miller <[email-masked]>
Date: Thu, 12 Apr 2007 09:10:54 -0400

Groan!  Bad Bob!  Very bad!

> wyrms that had carried them to battle and which now circled the
Our first clue...

> be born for another century!  Damn Lily Evans for her
Heh.  For those who remember, this gives it away; your language is 
identical.

> controls a thing.
Heh.  And again, repeating Maud'dib's words...

> *is* the Quidditch Haderach!
And as I said, "GROAN!"

Nice adaptation!

---

From: "Bob Schroeck" <[email-masked]>
Date: Thu, 12 Apr 2007 12:36:33 -0400 (EDT)

> Groan!  Bad Bob!  Very bad!

<grins, bows>

>> wyrms that had carried them to battle and which now circled the

Oddly, you're the first to notice the "wyrms"/"worms" bit.

> Heh.  For those who remember, this gives it away; your language is

I thought I might have overdone it there...

>> *is* the Quidditch Haderach!

Precisely the reaction I wanted, of course!

> Nice adaptation!

Thank you!  There are even more points of correspondence, by the
way -- no one who's read it has counted them all off to me, but
some are kind of subtle (like the vague phonetic/prosodic
resemblance between "Muad'dib" and "Boy-Who-Lived").  On the
other hand, some are actually quite blatant (short redhead in
black robes gives the final line).

-- Bob

---

From: Paul Tram <[email-masked]>
Date: Thu, 12 Apr 2007 13:17:31 -0400 (EDT)

>> wyrms that had carried them to battle and which now circled the

Actually, I thought the first clue was in the previous paragraph, which 
talked about Harry's fanatical followers and their glowing eyes.

I was groaning throughout the whole thing.  Enjoying it, but groaning 
none-the-less.

Or, more appropriately...

THE PAIN!

Phuc Tram
Master Pivot - Wielder of the Coherent Light Bokken
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