The Double Voice of the Oracle
Percy and Harry were standing in the hallway that led to a staircase. The only staircase that went up to the highest point of the Big House; well, more specifically, the attic. Even before stepping inside, there was a slightly chilling air to the place. But to be honest, most attics tend to give off that kind of feeling.
Especially if you know that, in the magical world, ghosts exist. And it is quite common to find one or two in the attic of an old house. Well, at least that was what the two boys currently standing in front of the trapdoor preferred to believe. After all, they had lived in a castle filled with those kinds of beings.
"So…" Percy spoke first while he and Harry stared at the hatch that led up to the attic. "Do you think they might have a ghoul too? Like Ron said lived in his basement or something?" he asked.
"Don't be ridiculous. Why would they even have a ghoul up there? Ron's case is… special," Harry said.
"Oh yeah? How?" Percy asked.
"His family seems extremely tolerant. Do you really think Mr. D would be?" Harry replied, as if the answer were obvious.
"Fair point," Percy admitted. "So… should we leave it to chance?" he asked, meaning who would go first.
"Actually… I'd like to go first," Harry said.
For some reason, he could feel something strange about being that close. It was the same feeling he had when they visited the zoo and he had stared at the snakes without understanding why. But much stronger. And somehow, it felt like it was quietly calling to him.
"Alright. If anything happens, just scream," Percy said with a nod.
Harry let out a small laugh before climbing the stairs and pushing the trapdoor open.
Once inside, he noticed a pile of clutter arranged as if it were an ordinary attic. Though the air felt slightly suffocating, as if it hadn't been renewed in years.
He moved along the narrow passage that barely left space between the stacked objects. The place was filled with ancient relics, dusty boxes, and furniture covered in gray sheets. Without meaning to, he bumped into an old Greek suit of armor, causing a loud metallic crash that echoed throughout the attic.
He quickly grabbed it before it could fall completely. After awkwardly setting it back into place, he turned around.
And right in front of his face, a mummy was sitting on a chair, staring directly at him.
He froze completely.
Thankfully, he managed not to scream; because that would have sent Percy charging up the stairs with his sword, swinging at anything that moved.
"A new hero knocks upon my door," the mummy said in a slightly ominous voice, its body shifting with small, dry cracking sounds. "What is your question?"
Harry shook his head, snapping back to reality as he realized the Oracle appeared to be the mummy sitting in front of him.
"Uh… Chiron told me to ask about my quest," Harry said, not entirely sure what he was supposed to say.
The mummy stared straight into his eyes in silence.
And suddenly, its head tilted to the side, mouth open, eyes wide. Well, saying "eyes" was generous, since there were no actual eye sockets; just two deep, dark holes.
Abruptly, green smoke began pouring out of the mummy. And when it did, a sharp screech pierced Harry's ears, forcing him to clutch them for a moment.
As it all happened, he watched, unable to look away, as the green smoke started taking on a shape that felt disturbingly familiar.
It was unmistakably Quirrell.
Standing right in front of him, with that cold expression. Just like the last time Harry had seen him. The difference was that there was no grotesque presence on the back of his head; instead, it was completely blacked out, as if censored, covered by a shadow that could not be pierced.
But the ringing in his ears seemed to intensify.
And this time, black smoke poured out of the mummy, beginning to coil around Quirrell like a serpent. It had no defined shape, yet it unmistakably felt like one.
Quirrell appeared to be crushed by that smoke. And yet, there was no sign of pain on his face. He even opened his mouth to speak.
But at the same time, the shadow twisting around him released a voice of its own. In a language only Harry could hear.
And the two voices overlapped.
The first voice spoke with deep solemnity:
"In deepest shadow lies the hidden object,
not stolen by death, but by war and pride.
You shall travel west, where rivers do not seek the sea,
and the throne of the unseen shall not bar your way.
Your road shall climb to light and fall into shadow,
for what you seek will not be found only once.
You shall lose what you have not yet claimed,
and you will enter where the echo of the dead whispers twice.
An old friend you have never known
waits in chains beneath a broken moon;
and a new friend shall decide his fate.
Freeing him will not be your purpose,
yet your hand will break his prison.
When your brother's heart is wounded by betrayal,
your shadow will stand as the wall that keeps him from falling."
Then the other voice slid over it.
Lower. Rougher. Closer.
"The ssssplit blood is not your blood…
yet it lives within you.
Ancient sssshadows watch you from beyond the veil…
The power that binds you is not a chain.
It is a door.
He who does not understand love
will learn to fear what he cannot comprehend.
The bodiless enemy shall glimpse worlds not meant for him
as he crosses the river of those who no longer breathe.
The marked…
and the one who marked him…
are bound by a power neither understands."
The first voice pushed forward again, though no longer alone:
"And when the lightning returns to the sky,
you will still walk among ashes…"
The second slipped between the words:
"When you gaze into the abyss…"
The first did not falter:
"for not all that is hidden returns in a single journey."
The second finished, barely more than a whisper:
"…the abyss will already have looked back."
Both voices merged one final time:
"Two worlds shall unite,
and a war's fate shall rest in the hands of those between.
If the destruction of magic is not your choice…
you must choose.
And if you choose wrongly…
you shall conquer.
To…
ge…
ther…
they shall…
pre…
vail…
or…
fall…
and bring…
peace…"
The second voice seemed to weaken as it spoke. It became harder to understand, especially when it overlapped with Quirrell's. The ringing in Harry's ears became unbearable; a sharp pressure tore through his head as if something were pushing from the inside. For a brief moment, he felt his balance slip and had to steady himself against something nearby to avoid falling.
Even so, he forced himself to remember every word. It was like listening to two songs at once while someone tightened a vice around his skull.
The green mist and the black mist withdrew back into the mummy without giving him the chance to fully grasp the strange prophecy.
Meanwhile, deep within the Ministry, in a place whose existence he did not know, shelves rose in endless, numbered rows. Each one held what must have been hundreds of glass spheres, a pale mist swirling gently inside them, as if breathing.
But one in particular—bearing the name Harry Potter—began to change color. The pale glow darkened into complete blackness, spinning like a vortex, devouring the lighter mist from within.
Until it vanished entirely.
Leaving the sphere empty, as though it had never contained anything at all.
Harry descended the stairs pale-faced. The ringing had not fully faded, and a faint stab of pain pulsed across his scar. Even so, he tried to process the Oracle's words, determined not to forget a single one. Percy was waiting below, leaning against the wall.
"So… what did it say?" Percy asked quickly, curiosity written all over him.
"Well… uh… honestly, I have no idea right now. I'd better write it down before I try to make sense of it," Harry said, shaking his head.
"Write it down? Seriously? Is getting a prophecy supposed to be that complicated?" Percy asked, frowning as if he fundamentally disagreed with the entire concept.
"Well… good luck with that," Harry replied dryly.
Percy narrowed his eyes.
There was a brief silence.
Before Harry spoke again.
"Oh, and about the ghoul…" he added, offering a small smile that did not quite match the look in his eyes. "Yeah… you might want to see for yourself."
Percy glanced toward the staircase, now far more suspicious than before.
And with a resigned sigh, he gathered what little courage he could and started climbing.
Meanwhile, Harry remained below, replaying the words in his mind, trying to keep them from tangling together.