Chapter 36

The Seer

The kitchen of number twelve, Grimmauld Place was filled with murmurs when Tonks entered behind Moody, her usual pink hair gleaming under the flickering candlelight.

Her eyes swept the room automatically.

Sirius, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, shot her a conspiratorial look. Further back in the shadows, Remus Lupin looked up at her. Their eyes met for a brief moment, and he smiled at her with that natural shyness Tonks found so charming.

She returned the gesture and looked away, satisfied, turning her attention to Moody, who was already showing signs of impatience.

—As you know, a few weeks ago we spoke with Balthasar Greaves —he began gravely, adopting the weight of the situation—. It seems that Room Fourteen of the Department of Mysteries is not a speaking room, as we first believed. In fact, it contains something called prophecies.

He leaned slightly forward, as though making sure everyone was paying attention.

—Since then, I’ve tried to speak with Dumbledore. Several times. But you know how it is —he has far too many matters on his plate, and this clearly isn’t his priority. So I find myself obliged to continue the investigation without him.

He paused.

—I don’t like it… but if Rookwood is behind this, we can’t simply stand guard because, clearly, even if we caught him red-handed, it wouldn’t do us much good.

He glanced at Tonks before continuing.

—We have to use this information to our advantage: understand why the Death Eaters —or Voldemort himself— are interested in it. And get ahead of them.

He tapped the table lightly with his knuckles, marking each word with quiet emphasis.

—So I ask you now: does anyone know anything more about prophecies?

A murmur rippled along the table, accompanied by puzzled looks.

—But aren’t prophecies just… well, stories? —Molly asked, frowning, remembering the tales of The Tales of Beedle the Bard she used to read to her children—. Like the Deathly Hallows, or the Land Above the Clouds.

Bill frowned as though thinking the same thing. Tonks, too, remembered that book of stories her mother used to read to her every night.

—But… what exactly is a prophecy? —Emmeline asked.

As if he had been waiting for that very question, Dedalus Diggle shifted in his seat with enthusiasm.

—A prophecy is a corporeal prediction made by a seer about a future event. It is an echo of destiny, manifested in words —he explained, looking expectantly at his companions as though waiting for an enthusiastic reaction—. Honestly? No one knew this?

His violet hat, as always tilted over his abundant, frizzy grey hair, gave him an even more eccentric air than usual. Or perhaps it was his wide, shining eyes, as though he could barely contain his delight at being able to contribute some knowledge.

Hestia Jones rolled her eyes patiently.

—Here we go again with Divination —she huffed—. You know what I think, Dedalus. That whole… branch of “knowledge”… is nonsense, isn’t it?

The Auror looked around, expecting support.

—Well, I tell you it isn’t —he shot back, lifting his chin—. I didn’t pass the N.E.W.T., all right, but I learned to respect the art. To understand that there are things that don’t fit into a formula and can’t be measured in a flask.

—Yes, yes —murmured Hestia, folding her arms—. And I suppose someone read your future in tea leaves as well.

—All right, all right —Emmeline interrupted—. Whatever they are, why are they kept in the Department of Mysteries? Why all the secrecy? Are they really that important?

Sirius leaned forward over the table.

—That’s what I want to know. Are they stories or not?

—They are not stories! Not nonsense, not rubbish —Dedalus burst out indignantly—. They are a window into the future.

Those gathered seemed torn between Hestia’s pragmatic scepticism —probably shared by many— and Dedalus’s fervent mysticism.

Lupin, thoughtful as always, spoke up.

—It’s true that prophecies don’t appear only in the tales of Beedle the Bard —he said, looking around at those present—. There are records of them in ancient magical texts. I always assumed they had died out. There aren’t many seers left nowadays.

—That’s because there used to be far too many… and they were all charlatans —Hestia snapped.

Dedalus shot her a murderous look. Sirius turned toward Moody, Lupin and Tonks.

—Are you sure Greaves wasn’t pulling your leg? —he asked.

Tonks folded her arms, frowning.

—Greaves may be many things —she said thoughtfully—, but I’d wager he isn’t mad.

—Tonks is right —said Lupin with complete conviction—. He’s not mad, and he wasn’t pulling our leg.

Sirius looked at him suspiciously.

—And how are you so sure?

—Because I just know. Trust me. I’m not mistaken.

A tension charged with possibilities settled over the room. Too many questions, and no answers. And at the centre of it all, the enigma of the prophecies, hidden behind the doors of the impenetrable Department of Mysteries.

—Then why would a high-ranking official of the Department of Mysteries like Rookwood —Sirius began— have to deal with a former employee of dubious reputation and a friend of the underworld just to obtain information about a room that is supposedly under his control?

—Because that room isn’t under his control —Kingsley explained—. Many years ago, the security of the Department of Mysteries was reinforced. Not even all senior officials can enter every room freely.

—Especially them —Moody added—. It’s meant to protect the secrets those rooms contain, which could easily be abused by the most influential members of magical society. It’s there to prevent temptation. And the people who work there do so under the strictest secrecy, their duties entirely confidential. That’s why, when one of them steps out of line… they’re erased.

—That explains all the censorship around the files on Balthasar Greaves… —Tonks reasoned.

Moody nodded.

Tonks reflected for a moment. During her time in the Department of Mysteries, she had wandered with Booth through five or six rooms. Rooms with specific names, such as the Cosmos Chamber or the Library. But there had also been others which —as her colleague had pointed out— had no names.

Only numbers.

Number Two. Number Eleven… and of course, Number Fourteen.

Its entrance was sealed and jealously protected by a host of alarms, as she herself had discovered.

—From a practical point of view, regardless of what any of us believes —Kingsley said at last, in his deep, measured voice, glancing at Hestia and Dedalus— if only a handful of people even know that prophecies exist, if they are kept secret in the Department of Mysteries and very few have access to them… then there must be a reason for it.

Emmeline Vance and Remus exchanged an inquisitive glance. A dense silence settled over the kitchen until Moody broke it with his rough tone.

—Yes, that’s true —he conceded, folding his arms on the table—, but we don’t have access either. And if even Dumbledore hasn’t spoken to us about them, then we clearly don’t know what they really entail.

—They don’t mean anything —Hestia Jones burst out, exasperated—. They only mean what we choose them to mean. Like all Divination.

—Perhaps Rookwood or You-Know-Who think they can use them to change the future —Arthur Weasley ventured.

Lupin rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

—If prophecies truly contain information about future events, they could be used to manipulate the course of history —Lupin reflected—. Imagine if Voldemort had access to them. He could avoid threats before they happen, or worse, ensure that the prophecies fulfil themselves in his favour.

A reflective silence followed. Molly pressed her lips together uneasily.

—We have no proof they work like that —Kingsley objected, his voice tinged with scepticism—. Perhaps they’re simply records with no real relevance. If they were infallible, why hasn’t anyone changed history with them by now?

—Oh, but perhaps they have.

Everyone turned their heads toward Dedalus Diggle, who watched them with an enigmatic smile and that peculiar sparkle in his eyes, as though he enjoyed seeing them slowly inching closer to his argument.

Moody rolled his eyes… both eyes.

—All right, Diggle… we’re listening —the Auror conceded with resignation, leaning his weight on the table.

The wizard’s expression wavered between fascination and solemnity, as though he were about to reveal a great secret that might change everything.

Hestia snorted and folded her arms, as if she already knew where the conversation was heading.

Tonks, amused, bit her lip to contain a laugh at the sight of Moody’s exasperation, Hestia’s thinning patience, and the excitement on Dedalus’s face, who clearly considered himself the winner of the debate.

—Records about prophecies are scarce —Dedalus said, his voice more serious than usual—, but they exist. There are stories. Stories older than Hogwarts itself. They speak of kings who avoided wars, of wizards who fled their destiny… and of others who faced it.

—That sounds more like legend than evidence —Kingsley interrupted, his tone deep and sceptical.

—Perhaps —Diggle conceded, turning his hat between his hands—. But tell me, Kingsley, how many of us would have believed in the Philosopher’s Stone before Nicolas Flamel brought it to light?

Kingsley did not reply.

—Many believe prophecies are nothing but empty words, of course —Dedalus admitted—, but in the less orthodox circles it is said that some are too dangerous to be known.

—Or perhaps they just contain nonsense and the Ministry doesn’t want people laughing in their faces —Hestia cut in, rolling her eyes.

—If they were nonsense, Voldemort wouldn’t waste his time on them —Lupin pointed out calmly.

The silence that followed his words seemed to settle more heavily over the room.

—Exactly —Emmeline agreed, straightening in her chair—. Perhaps we don’t know how they work, but if He wants them, it’s because they have value. At least to him. And that should worry us.

There was general agreement, though unease still lingered in the air. Sirius drummed his fingers on the table and glanced around at the others.

—There’s something in Room Fourteen. Something Voldemort believes could give him an advantage.

—Or something he fears —Tonks murmured, more to herself than to the rest.

Lupin glanced at her sideways and gave a slight nod.

—Either way, I agree that we need to find out more —Kingsley said at last—. We can’t risk the Death Eaters having information that we don’t.

—And that’s why we need help —Dedalus said, a glint in his eyes—. I know someone who can help us. Someone who has studied prophecies more than any researcher in the Ministry.

Moody grunted.

—Don’t tell me it’s another one of your fanatics.

—Fanatic or not, he may be able to give us answers —Dedalus insisted, lifting his chin slightly—. Because, whether you like it or not, my friends, prophecies are not just stories etched in glass. They are echoes of the future, trapped in time.

As he said this, he turned his head toward Hestia and gave her a look full of satisfaction, raising his eyebrows in triumph. Hestia narrowed her eyes but did not reply.

The silence that followed was tenser than the ones before.

Moody clicked his tongue.

—Then let’s go find some answers.

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Tonks and Dedalus Diggle waited in a little-used alleyway, sheltered from curious eyes.

Moody had summoned them there, on a secret mission.

Tonks had a fair idea what that secret mission might be, and she smiled.

The idea of a seer collaborating with the Order seemed to her as absurd as it was fascinating.

Besides… Alastor believing in seers.

And she had thought she had already seen everything.

Beside her, Dedalus was in an excellent mood, rocking lightly on his heels and humming an incomprehensible tune.

He was clearly excited, and he kept making comments that, despite herself, were beginning to infect her with his enthusiasm.

—Just imagine it, Tonks —he said, lowering his voice with dramatic flair—: an oracle! A real oracle hidden in a forest in the mountains! How many times in a lifetime does one get an opportunity like that?

She snorted, amused.

—Couldn’t we have arranged to meet your oracle on a nice little terrace in Hogsmeade? Just for a change.

—Bah, bah, that would take all the excitement out of it —he replied, as though the answer were obvious—. Oracles feed on the magic of their surroundings… the real ones, at least… and this one isn’t mad. He simply speaks another language. The language of destiny!

Tonks raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Because yes, it was absurd.

And yes, it was madness.

But damn it, she wanted to believe.

The sharp sound of Moody’s staff striking the ground pulled her from her thoughts.

The old Auror appeared from the other end of the alleyway, wrapped in his ragged cloak, and cast them a severe look before speaking.

As if to say, Come on. Focus.

—I’ve been thinking —he growled, folding his arms—. And if there’s one thing I don’t like, it’s wasting my time with frauds.

Tonks raised an eyebrow, and Dedalus clicked his tongue, already anticipating what was coming.

—But —Moody continued reluctantly— any information we can obtain must be considered… even if it comes from a seer.

Dedalus smiled broadly, triumphant.

—I knew you’d see the light, old friend. This man may seem eccentric, but he has known things before they happened.

Moody snorted, clearly unconvinced.

—Who exactly is this seer? —Tonks asked, leaning slightly toward Dedalus, intrigued.

—Oh, a fascinating mind —Diggle replied with an air of mystery—. His name is Alden Peverell, though I doubt that is his real surname. Or even his real name.

He cleared his throat and adjusted his lilac hat.

—He lives in an enchanted forest, a place where magic is older than the Ministry itself.

Tonks could not hide her excitement.

—An enchanted forest? —she asked, her eyes lighting up—. That sounds fantastic.

Moody snorted.

—Sounds like a fairy tale.

Dedalus ignored the scepticism, to which he was already accustomed.

—Alden has a very particular way of seeing prophecies. He knows things that do not appear in books, and he has gathered fragments of predictions that not even the Department of Mysteries has managed to decipher.

—So, an enlightened hermit —Moody grunted.

He looked around as if expecting someone else. Suddenly, his magical eye darted quickly to the side and his mouth twisted into something that might have been a smile.

—Ah. At last.

Tonks turned, and when she recognised the figure approaching, she felt her heart quicken slightly.

Lupin was walking toward them with calm, measured steps, his usual air of quiet serenity.

—I’m sorry —he said gravely—. I was dealing with something that took longer than expected, but I’m ready to leave.

Tonks’s smile appeared before she could stop it, and to her surprise —and delight— Lupin was quick to return it. Though he soon regained his usual seriousness.

—I thought Lupin might be useful. I mean… —Moody looked at Dedalus, then at Lupin, and finally at Tonks—. A believer, an academic, and an Auror. You couldn’t ask for a better team.

—This sounds like the beginning of a bad joke —she remarked with a playful tone, though the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her genuine happiness at finding herself on a mission with Lupin again.

—Less chatter and more movement —Moody interrupted—. If this seer knows anything worth hearing, you’d better get moving before someone else does.

Tonks, Lupin, and Dedalus nodded.

As they prepared to leave, Tonks couldn’t help applauding inwardly.

Any mission with Remus was, without a doubt, far better.

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They apparated on the outskirts of a small mountain village, where the cold air greeted them with an icy slap.

Tonks wrapped her scarf more tightly around her neck and buttoned her cloak up to the collar, feeling the freezing wind trying to slip through the seams.

—Merlin, this place is a freezer —she muttered, rubbing her hands together briskly.

Lupin shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat in silence, while Dedalus, as excited as a child on Christmas Eve, took the lead with lively steps, completely oblivious to the cold.

—Come on, come on, it’s this way —he said enthusiastically, pointing toward a narrow path that disappeared into the trees.

Tonks and Lupin exchanged a brief glance before following him.

The ground crunched beneath their feet, covered with a thin layer of frost that shimmered under the golden light of the sunset. The air smelled of damp wood, pine, and something else —an ancient scent they could not quite place, as though the forest kept secrets among its roots.

Lupin moved closer to Tonks, adjusting his pace to walk beside her.

—What do you know about this seer? —he asked quietly, as though afraid to break the stillness of the forest.

—Dedalus says his name is Alden Peverell. Well, at least that’s the name he uses —Tonks replied, her cheeks reddened by the cold and the excitement—. He lives here, in isolation.

Lupin raised an eyebrow, sceptical.

—And how reliable is he?

—Apparently he has predicted things before they happened —Tonks replied—. Diggle says the Ministry doesn’t take him seriously, but that he has deciphered more fragments of prophecies than anyone else. Not even the Department of Mysteries knows as much as he does.

Before Lupin could reply, the landscape changed.

The forest opened before them with a strange, magical beauty.

They stepped into a clearing surrounded by towering trees whose crowns seemed to brush the sky.

The leaves whispered softly as the wind passed through them.

The light of the setting sun filtered golden tones between the branches, bathing the vegetation in long shadows and warm reflections.

Tonks walked ahead with light steps, turning her head from side to side, completely fascinated.

Her boots crunched over the fallen leaves, and every so often she paused to study a knotted trunk or a vine that seemed to move of its own accord.

—I’ve never seen trees like these before —she said with a mixture of wonder and reverence, resting her hand against the rough bark of a massive oak—. It’s as if… they’re truly alive. As if they had souls.

—They are —Dedalus affirmed with a smile—. In an enchanted forest, everything lives and breathes magic.

Tonks laughed softly, bending down to examine a cluster of bluish mushrooms with whimsical shapes that seemed to emit a faint glow.

She touched one lightly with the tip of her finger, and the mushroom flashed briefly before returning to its original colour.

—Remus, have you seen this? —she asked, turning toward him with eyes bright with excitement.

Lupin stepped closer, curious.

—It’s a kind of luminous fungus —he said quietly—. They only grow in places where ancient magic lingers.

Tonks smiled, satisfied, and continued walking, surrounded by the dense forest. The air grew heavier, filled with a floral, magical fragrance, as though the plants themselves exhaled a sweet enchantment.

Suddenly, something tiny and bright darted through the air before them.

Tonks stopped abruptly.

—What was that?

Lupin frowned, searching the forest with his eyes. It didn’t take long before another fleeting light appeared —a small blue spark that vanished among the leaves.

—Fairies —Dedalus murmured reverently—. Look closely.

A third light appeared, hovering for a moment among the shadows of the trees before vanishing.

Then another. And another.

Tonks let out a light, almost childlike laugh when suddenly dozens of tiny fairies began fluttering around her, emitting bluish flashes of light, tracing fleeting paths through the air like wandering stars.

Their wings vibrated with a barely audible sound, like the whisper of wind in miniature.

—Look at that! —she exclaimed, completely enchanted.

She stepped forward a couple of paces, carefully extending her hand when a tiny fairy briefly landed on the tip of her finger.

It was translucent, fragile as ice, and it gave off a soft glow that pulsed to the rhythm of its wings and the delicate antennae on its head like a butterfly.

Tonks barely had time to smile before the little creature took flight again.

—I’ve never seen so many fairies —she murmured, her eyes shining with pure admiration.

—It’s a sign that this place is well protected —Dedalus commented with his characteristic mysticism—. Powerful wizards often attract magical creatures.

Lupin walked slightly behind them, watching Tonks out of the corner of his eye.

Her way of seeing the world disarmed him. The curious brightness in her eyes, the sincere laugh that seemed to harmonise with the whispers of the forest, the way she blended with her surroundings as though she belonged there.

To a place that felt dreamlike, perfect. And beautiful. A place where anything might come true.

His expression softened without him realising it.

Then she turned and caught him looking at her.

—Isn’t it beautiful? —she asked, the light of the fairies reflected in her pink hair.

Lupin cleared his throat, surprised, and nodded with a faint smile.

—Yes. It is.

But he wasn’t sure whether he was speaking about the fairies, the forest… or her.

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At last, they reached a cabin that stood among the twisted, ancient trees like a refuge forgotten by time.

The structure, built of old wood and stone, was covered in moss and creeping vines. From the roof hung silver chimes that tinkled softly, as if announcing the arrival of those who sought answers. A spiral of blue smoke escaped from the chimney, perfuming the air with spices and something deeper —a fragrance of nostalgia and mystery that evoked memories of distant dreams.

The door, half-open, swayed gently, as though the cabin itself were waiting for them.

Tonks, Lupin and Dedalus approached, feeling a strange mixture of expectation and unease.

—He knew we would come —Lupin murmured, casting a cautious glance inside.

—Seers tend to do that —Tonks remarked, somewhere between sceptical and fascinated.

Without hesitation, Dedalus Diggle pushed the door open and stepped inside with a grand flourish, as though he were a king entering his court.

—Alden, my good friend! I bring you distinguished visitors!

At the heart of the cabin, illuminated by the flickering light of several candles dancing in the breeze, a thin man with grey, unkempt hair watched them with an unreadable expression.

His eyes, a pale blue so light they seemed almost crystalline, shone with an unsettling intensity, fixing upon them in such a way that Tonks felt a shiver run down her spine. He wore a dark robe that seemed to absorb the light, and on the table before him lay a pile of scrolls, divination stones and tarot cards worn with use, as though they were waiting for some revealing destiny.

—I knew you would come —Alden said with an enigmatic smile—. Prophecies always find a way to guide the right people to their truth.

He invited them to sit on a semicircular sofa. Tonks settled between her companions, looking around: glass jars filled with unidentifiable substances, ancient books, half-burnt candles. In the centre of the room, before them, an opalescent crystal sphere pulsed with a faint glow, as though it possessed a heart of its own.

—You come with questions —Alden said, his deep voice echoing softly against the walls—. And I have answers. Though I doubt they are the ones you wish to hear.

Lupin, visibly impatient with the excessive verbosity of the seers’ trade, sat down opposite him, determined to get straight to the point.

—We want to know about prophecies —he said, his voice firm and direct—. Their nature, their history… and how dangerous they truly are.

—Patience, young friend —the seer replied unhurriedly, meeting Lupin’s impatience with an almost supernatural calm.

Lupin rolled his eyes and leaned back in the chair, waiting for Alden to decide the precise moment to begin speaking.

Alden enlaced his fingers and observed them calmly, as though within himself he were weighing the magnitude of the revelations that were about to unfold. The atmosphere thickened with expectation, and the echoes of the unknown began to resonate in the dimness of the cabin, preparing the stage for what was to come.

—Since the moment magic first emerged in the world, there has existed a select group of individuals capable of looking beyond the veil of the present —he began, his tone serene but firm—. They are those who possess the gift of glimpsing what lies ahead, though always in a fragmented and mysterious way. Predictions have accompanied humanity since time immemorial, whispered by those few able to perceive the threads of destiny before they intertwine with reality. At times, the most powerful of these visions take shape and manifest themselves in the form of the object we call a prophecy.

Tonks glanced toward Lupin, who kept his eyes fixed on Alden, as though trying to determine how much of this was wisdom and how much mere charlatanry. Dedalus, meanwhile, seemed completely absorbed in the seer’s words.

—There has always been an intense debate about whether these visions are signs of an inevitable future or merely floating possibilities —Alden continued, as though sharing a long-guarded secret—. Some claim they are nothing more than superstition, while others believe they can indeed shape the destiny of witches and wizards, provided they are known and acted upon.

—And what do you believe? —Remus asked, trying to sound neutral, though it was clear he remained entirely sceptical about all this.

—I do not believe —the seer replied simply—. I know that prophecies have the power to shape destiny.

Tonks, thoughtful, folded her arms as she considered his words. Alden watched her with a faint smile, as though he understood the dilemmas of her restless mind.

—The future is not a straight line drawn with certainty —he continued, his voice soft, almost a whisper— but a mutable path. Every choice, even the most insignificant, can divert the course of events. Prophecies are not certainties, but warnings or promises —revelations of what may come to pass if certain conditions are fulfilled.

Lupin made a sceptical face.

—Then if someone knows their destiny, wouldn’t they try to change it?

Alden let out a low laugh, like the whisper of wind among the trees.

—That is the paradox inherent to prophecies. Sometimes the mere knowledge of a prophecy is what prevents it from coming true. Obsession with a foretold destiny can make it slip away like sand between one’s fingers. Others, in their attempts to avoid it, end up fulfilling it without even realising.

Lupin sighed, as though the seer’s words were distant echoes in an abyss of confusion. Why couldn’t diviners ever give simpler answers, a simple yes or no?

At that moment Dedalus intervened, his enthusiasm contrasting sharply with Lupin’s suspicion.

—That is why they were hidden, isn’t it? So they would not fall into the wrong hands.

Alden inclined his head.

—With time, wizards came to understand the danger of these visions of the future. Knowledge so powerful could twist wills and corrupt hearts. An ambitious wizard might try to alter his destiny at any cost, while another, fearful of what was to come, might trigger the prophecy in his attempt to avoid it.

Tonks frowned, feeling both intrigued and uneasy.

—Is that why they keep them in the Department of Mysteries?

Alden nodded slowly, his gesture calm and deliberate.

—In part. However, many prophecies have been lost over the years, and others have been destroyed.

Dedalus looked at the seer in astonishment.

—Destroyed?

Alden settled back in his seat, observing each of them with penetrating calm before speaking.

—Many prophecies have been deliberately destroyed throughout history. Those considered too dangerous for anyone to hear. Not every truth is meant to be known.

Dedalus looked fascinated, while Lupin shook his head, as though the reality of it irritated him.

—That sounds like manipulation —he said sharply—. Someone decided which futures should be forgotten and which deserved to be preserved.

Alden looked at him with an inscrutable expression, his eyes seeming to hold an ancient wisdom.

—Call it what you will. But words have power. And there are things that, once heard, cannot be forgotten. Sometimes the greatest act of protection is silence. But you, Remus, seem sceptical of Divination. Why does it trouble you that certain possible futures were erased? Would you wish to know your own future, if you were certain it was real?

The seer studied Lupin with interest, as though he sensed something within him —a different note, something not entirely human. Remus shifted uncomfortably, clearing his throat to break the spell of the old man’s attention. Alden withdrew his gaze and turned it toward Tonks and Dedalus.

—It is true that the Department of Mysteries has ordered the destruction of certain prophecies over the years. Some spoke of futures so catastrophic that merely knowing them could bring them about. Others contained dangerous information about certain wizards.

—Wizards like who? —Tonks asked, her brow furrowed.

—Merlin, Gryffindor, Gellert Grindelwald. Oh yes, he attempted to seize them —the seer continued, stroking his beard—. In fact, just after Dumbledore captured him, the Department of Mysteries fell into panic. Some believed the best way to prevent prophecies from being used for dark purposes was to destroy them. For a time, the Department seriously debated whether they should eradicate them entirely. In the end, they chose to remain faithful to history and keep them under custody. Though with considerably reinforced security.

—In fact —the seer continued— one of them, in particular, spoke of the birth of a dark wizard who would be as powerful, if not more so, than Grindelwald himself. And so Voldemort came, a shadow on the horizon of our world.

The silence in the cabin grew even heavier, as though the air itself were holding its breath.

Outside, the wind stirred the silver chimes, as if nature itself were reacting to his ominous words.

Alden turned his gaze toward Lupin, his deep eyes reflecting an abyss of mystery.

—Tell me, Remus —he asked in a tone that seemed to drift upon the breeze—. If you had known that a child would be born destined to become one of the most powerful dark wizards of our time, what would you have done with him?

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AUTHOR’S NOTE:

One element of the wizarding world that has always fascinated me is the idea of prophecies. They appear briefly in the story, yet they hint at a much deeper piece of magical lore. Are they inevitable destinies? Warnings? Or simply possibilities that only become real once someone believes in them?

In both the books and the films, this concept always felt to me like a door that was opened only halfway. So I’m curious: how do you see prophecies in the wizarding world?
Do you think they truly shape fate, or are they only fragments of potential futures?

I’d love to hear your thoughts.

If you enjoyed the chapter, any interaction — a like, a comment, sharing it — means a great deal. It supports me more than you might think and keeps me motivated to continue writing.

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