Chapter 59: Visions and Opportunities
While Elian and Dumbledore conversed in the tower, a crisis unfolded miles away at the Ministry of Magic.
Arthur Weasley was on duty, guarding the Hall of Prophecy alongside other trusted members of the Order of the Phoenix. Their task was simple and deadly: prevent Voldemort from seizing the glass orb containing the prophecy about him and Harry. The air in the dark, silent hall was thick with tension.
At Hogwarts, most students slept. Harry Potter did not. He fell into a fitful sleep, only to find himself back in the now-familiar nightmare corridor. It was longer, darker, colder than ever before. This time, the sensation was horrifyingly vivid. He wasn't walking; he was slithering, his body powerful and smooth against cold stone.
He was not himself.
He turned a spectral head (did he have a head?) and saw a man slumped against a wall ahead, asleep. A primal, vicious hunger surged through Harry—a desire to strike, to bite. He fought it down. He had to reach the end of the corridor.
The man jerked awake, drew his wand. Light flared. Instinct took over. Harry—or the thing he was—attacked. Not with a spell, but with terrifying physical force. He felt the crunch of ribs, the hot rush of blood filling a mouth that wasn't his own. The man screamed, then fell silent.
Agony, sharp and blinding, exploded in Harry's forehead. He woke up screaming, drenched in cold sweat, Ron shaking him violently.
"Your dad!" Harry gasped, clutching his scar. "Ron—your dad! He's been attacked! Bitten! There was so much blood! It wasn't a dream—I was there!"
He retched over the side of the bed, the metallic taste of blood lingering in his mouth.
Minutes later, a stern-faced Professor McGonagall ushered a trembling Harry and a terrified Ron through the silent castle to the Headmaster's office. She gave the password, and the gargoyle leapt aside.
Inside, the scene was unexpected. Dumbledore sat at his desk, his head in his hands as if bearing a great weight. And on a sofa nearby, looking perfectly calm, sat Elian Thorne, finishing a biscuit.
McGonagall's eyes widened. "Headmaster, this is a matter for the Order—"
"It's alright, Minerva," Dumbledore said, lifting his head. His face was grave, but his eyes held a strange resolve. "Mr. Thorne may stay. Please, continue."
Harry and Ron stared, shocked. McGonagall hesitated, then, trusting Dumbledore implicitly, she launched into a hurried account of Harry's vision.
Elian listened, his earlier lethargy gone. His mind, honed by the Supreme Mage System, connected the dots instantly. Harry's scar. The psychic link with Voldemort. Arthur Weasley guarding the prophecy.
This was it. A chance to demonstrate the true scope of his power to Dumbledore, to prove he was more than just a student with odd tricks. And perhaps, to sever or expose the sinister connection between Harry and the Dark Lord.
(End of Chapter)
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