Chapter 474: The Prophecy
At least half the Dementors instantly drifted toward Little Barty Crouch, while the rest merely stirred slightly, as if sensing they couldn’t outcompete their kin. The Ministry of Magic’s Auror didn’t notice the towering, black figures, for merely approaching them filled one with overwhelming sorrow. So he kept his distance.
He glanced once, confirmed the Dementors hadn’t breached the designated boundary, then returned to studying a palm-sized Streaming Mirror in his hands.
With no one else around, the Auror dared to turn up the volume on the Streaming Mirror’s voice until it blared through the air. A goofy grin spread across his face as he watched the image of a Blonde Girl fumble her Wand, clumsily waving it over a basin—sparks erupting in a shower of crackling pops.
“What are you doing?!” the Companion of the Blonde Girl shrieked. “We’re supposed to cast an Invisibility Charm, not an Explosion Spell!”
“You idiot!” the Blonde Girl wailed. “There’s no explosion! This is fireworks!”
“We need to vanish! Vanish! And you’re setting off fireworks? You’re trying to get us caught by Filch, aren’t you?!”
The Auror burst into laughter, watching the video.
This was a homemade wizarding sitcom—crude acting, but the real magic and hilarious spell mishaps made it endlessly entertaining.
As the Auror laughed, the Dementors had formed a tight ring around the wizard, drawn by the overwhelming magic radiating from him, yet held back—not yet ready to devour him.
“Wait! Wait!” Little Barty Crouch raised his Wand in a blocking gesture. “Who’s in charge here? I’ve come with a deal!”
The Dementors didn’t seem to understand. They kept advancing, but suddenly—stopped.
In his empty hand, Little Barty now held a transparent, spherical Crystal Vial. Inside, a swirling, silvery-white substance pulsed like a captured galaxy, glowing like the Milky Way trapped in glass.
He lifted the vial higher, ensuring every Dementor could see it. Then slowly, deliberately, he lowered it and placed it on the ground.
Stepping back two paces, he said, “This is my诚意—twelve Muggle lives, their purest moment of happiness, extracted and preserved.”
These magically harvested memories were infinitely more potent than the stray emotions floating in the air. The Dementors’ hunger and greed surged to a fever pitch—but they remained still.
A single Dementor stepped forward from the group, indistinguishable at first, except its Cloak was darker, its form more spectral. It extended a long, skeletal, rotting hand, and the vial shot into its grip with a blur.
Little Barty Crouch flinched, forcing himself not to recoil in disgust or fear.
He had spent nearly a year in Azkaban. He knew firsthand how terrifying these creatures were—how the agony of every memory of pain would flood back in a crushing wave.
He couldn’t cast a Patronus Charm. But Voldemort had taught him a Dark Magic tied to the soul, which dampened the Dementors’ influence to almost nothing.
Lowering his gaze, he noticed a faint, dull glow emanating from the Dementor’s hand—its finger bore a silver Ring, its band sunken so deep into the flesh it was nearly fused with the body.
Sensing his stare, the hand snapped back into the Cloak.
The cork flew off. The Dementor inhaled slowly, deeply, its breath a long, mournful draw—like a sigh of pure satisfaction. The silvery memory poured from the vial, spiraling into a deep, dark hole in its face.
That was its mouth.
The upper lip was a mass of cracked, gray skin, with no eyes, nose, or ears—just a nightmare face from the deepest, most twisted dreams.
The silver light vanished into the void. The Dementor exhaled again, a long, echoing breath—contentment… or perhaps a hunger for more.
“I suppose you’ve seen it,” Little Barty said, forcing calm into his voice. “My Master—the Dark Lord—approaches differently than Dumbledore or the Ministry of Magic.”
“Join us willingly, and he’ll allow you free access to happiness… even feast on souls, if you wish.”
“So? Willing to trade?” He smiled. “Or do you really find the Ministry’s scraps satisfying? They don’t even let you breed, do they?”
After a long silence, the Dementor extended one of its clawed fingers. Black mist coiled in the air, forming a thin, elongated line of text.
[Voldemort still alive?]
…
Kariel’s message had caused barely a ripple. Students discussed it for a few days, then quickly moved on to other incidents.
The Ministry of Magic didn’t want anyone to know. Kariel had used a Time-Turner to alter his mother’s fate—her death was averted, but he himself died a year earlier. His crimes, his death… all buried as secrets.
The story the students heard was simply that Kariel had left Hogwarts due to family reasons, having already departed Britain.
His abrupt departure left some friends feeling abandoned and hurt—but soon, the mounting pressure of coursework erased those teenage wounds.
Final Exams loomed.
Not even the Resurrection Festival offered a break. Professors piled on assignments across every subject. Even the usually carefree Weasley Twins were forced to study hard, preparing for their Ordinary Wizarding Level exams.
Time, like a girl dashing with her dress lifted, vanished before anyone could catch up. The moment the glass slipper was dropped, the dreamy silhouette had already disappeared. Exam Week arrived, heavy and gray.
Wade received an unusual timetable. On the first day, he had Arithmancy and Transfiguration exams scheduled simultaneously in the morning, then Spells and Ancient Runes in the afternoon.
But for Wade, passing exams was never a challenge. These days, academic performance meant little to him anyway.
The final exam was Divination and Muggle Studies—two subjects held at the same time, but even without a Time-Turner, students could attend on time.
Divination exams were conducted one by one. Wade headed to the Muggle Studies classroom first.
The test was simple: a paper full of multiple-choice questions, identification of Muggle items—mobile phones, power strips, lamps—and finally, assembling a proper outfit for Muggle society.
To Wade, it was beneath contempt. Even a trained monkey could ace it.
But when he saw a classmate pairing a flannel nightgown with green leather pants, he realized he’d underestimated the challenge.
“Utterly pointless, right?” Hermione, who’d just arrived, said as they stepped out of the room. “Sure, Muggle society is interesting from a wizard’s perspective—but for us? It’s just wasted time.”
“You’ve already abandoned this course, haven’t you?” Wade asked casually.
“Yeah, I told Professor Bubagi I was dropping it. Haven’t attended in weeks,” Hermione said. “But I’ve studied it for months. I want to finish it properly.”
Wade glanced back at the student, still frowning at his bizarre outfit. The man seemed convinced it was fine—his eyes, however, screamed otherwise.
The student hesitated, then grabbed a wide-brimmed lady’s hat with long feathers and tentatively placed it on a mannequin’s head.
Wade stared at Hermione. “Even if he’s never seen Muggles, couldn’t he have some sense of style?”
“Maybe he’s got too much ‘style’,” Hermione said, barely suppressing a laugh. “Trying to boost his score with a fashion statement.”
Wade frowned. “Fashion?”
“You’ve never seen a Fashion Show on Television, Wade?” Hermione gestured. “You know—those wild, creative ones?”
Wade suddenly understood.
By the second floor, he turned toward the North Tower—Divination’s location—while Hermione headed toward the Library.
“Not taking the Divination exam?” Wade asked.
“I’d rather not see Sybill Trelawney,” Hermione said, wrinkling her nose. “She’s a complete fraud.”
Wade raised an eyebrow. “What about your ‘finish what you start’ rule?”
“Divination doesn’t count,” Hermione waved dismissively, backing away. “Honestly, Wade, you don’t need to suffer through her nonsense just for twelve OWLs.”
“Fair enough,” Wade said. “But I find Divination… interesting.”
He waved goodbye and climbed the Spinning Staircase toward the Divination classroom. Outside, several students waited in line. At the back were Ron and Harry, pulling a student down the stairs, whispering urgently:
“How’d it go?”
“Professor Trelawney won’t let us talk,” the student said. “But… it was Crystal Ball Divination.”
“You’re joking!” Lisha yelped, tugging Padma’s arm. “She said revealing exam content brings disaster!”
“Come on, don’t be like my sister,” Padma shrugged. “I’m not going to die just because I talk. Unless Professor Trelawney curses me herself.”
She spotted Wade and waved. “Hi, Wade!”
The two girls laughed as they headed downstairs, already planning to buy something during the last Hogsmeade weekend to bring back home.
“Crystal Ball Divination?” Ron muttered, pale. “I couldn’t see anything from inside!”
“Me neither,” Harry encouraged. “Use your imagination, Ron! Last time, you saw a special image, right?”
“Yeah,” Ron said. “A spider with eight eyes pulling a Chocolate Frog rope. I think Professor Trelawney didn’t like that.”
Lavender Brown snorted. “And then?”
“I said I saw myself being chased by a giant spider,” Ron admitted, face ashen. “She gave me an ‘Outstanding’ for the first time.”
Harry clapped his shoulder. “See? Making things up isn’t hard at all.”
Ron sighed heavily.
This year, Harry had rarely been plagued by Sybill Trelawney’s apocalyptic predictions—especially in the second term, when his Divination had finally settled into something normal. He actually found the class tolerable.
Compared to Hermione’s subjects—filled with memorization and calculations—Divination felt like a breeze. He turned to Wade and asked, “What did you see in the Crystal Ball?”
Wade paused, then said, “Like Ron. Observe the fog patterns, imagine a shape—usually animals, sometimes household items. Then add a bit of interpretation from the textbooks.”
“Oh… interpretation…” Harry mused. He pulled out Seeing Through the Veil from his backpack and frantically flipped through it, Ron leaning in beside him.
Wade smiled, looking up at the hatch of the Divination classroom.
One by one, students exited—some elated, others devastated.
When Ron came down, he said, “I don’t know if she liked it… but maybe I’ll pass. Just passing is enough.”
Then Harry.
Wade leaned against the wall, waiting.
In the original timeline, Harry would hear a real prophecy in this exam—Professor Trelawney’s wild prediction of Voldemort and Wormtail’s reunion, foretelling the Dark Lord’s return.
But now, the “Wormtail” at large was Wade’s magical puppet. Voldemort’s resurrection would take far longer.
Wade didn’t go eavesdropping. Even if Trelawney made a startling prophecy, Harry wouldn’t be able to hide it from others.
Nearly half an hour passed before Harry descended, dazed and distant.
“Harry?” Wade asked. “What’s wrong?”
“The loyal servant helps the Dark Lord rise… darkness and mist will blanket the land…” Harry repeated softly, lifting his eyes to Wade. “What does that mean?”
“Professor Trelawney said that?” Wade straightened. “She made a real prophecy?”
“I think so,” Harry said. “She… she wasn’t acting. She looked different. It wasn’t just nonsense.”
“Wade Gray?” Professor Trelawney’s voice called from above.
“Don’t worry,” Wade said, clapping Harry on the shoulder. “What’s meant to happen will. Tell Dumbledore everything you heard. If it’s real, he’ll act. As for the rest… we can’t change it.”
He stepped past Harry and climbed the stairs.
(End of Chapter)
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