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!"
My apologies to J.K. Rowling and the estate of Frank Herbert.
Happy April Fool's Day 2007!