Empty Hands, Endless Power
In the cold, abandoned chamber deep beneath the earth, the air grew thick with an ancient magic that had laid dormant for centuries. As the darkened room seemed to stretch and pulse, the floor beneath Harry’s feet trembled with power, and the ground cracked open, revealing an unseen force within.
A voice- low and unearthly - began to chant, carrying words that vibrated through the stone walls. The prophecy poured from the very air itself, as if spoken by the chambers ancient soul.
“The one who stands between Death and Life holds the key to all that is lost.
Chosen not by fate, but by the unseen hands that weave the threads of the universe.”
The words seemed to echo not only in the chamber but across vast distances, their significance rippling through time and space.
At that moment, in some corner of Hogwarts, Tom Riddle felt a strange chill run down his spine. The sensation was fleeting, yet stuck with him. In a room far from the echoes origin, the air around him thickened, and his darkened soul strained to make sense of it. The name Master of Death, whispered in the recesses of his mind.
“They will walk through the shadows, unseen, unheard, until the time comes for the veil to tear. In their hands lies the balance- life, death and the world in between .
Tom’s thoughts raced. The Master of Death? Could it be him? He smirked darkly, for no one else could ever claim such power. Yet, something about the words unsettled him. Who could stand beside him in the shadows? His pulse quickened with an unshakable feeling that the prophecy, however strange, was speaking of him and another - perhaps someone he had yet to defeat. A chosen one.
Meanwhile, far away in the hidden chambers of his own empire, Gellert Grindlewald felt the eerie reverberation of the prophecy in his mind. It pulsed through the air, thick with power. He had always believed that he controlled fate, twisted its threads with his own will, but this- this was something beyond even him.
“But the chosen shall not walk alone; for in their wake follows the serpents hiss, a child of darkness, born of the same soil yet destined to destroy.”
Grindlewald’s dark eyes narrowed as the words seeped into his mind, each syllable a weight on his chest. The chosen? He knew of the power that lay in the balance, the forces that would soon collide. But who was this chosen one? The prophecy spoke of two fates entwined, yet the one bound to darkness had never been fully revealed.
And then the line echoed in his head, a truth both bitter and undeniable.
“In Death’s embrace, the two shall meet, He too, will hold a piece of the thread, but the one that binds him to his doom.”
Grindlewald felt a thrill of excitement- the two shall meet. He had known that fate had a strange way of converging . Could this be the key to everything? Could he be the one to finally control death, to twist the very fabric of time?
The final, weighty line settled into the world like a warning.
“Together they will rise, but only one will fall.”
Albus Dumbledore’s brow furrowed, his fingers tightening around the edges of his half-moon spectacles. The voice faded leaving behind an oppressive silence that lingered long after the echoes had dissipated. His eyes darted around the room, as though trying to pierce through the past to uncover some hidden truth.
Who? The prophecy spoke of someone, someone connected to death- the one who stands between life and death. But who could it be? The words were sharp, almost painful to hear in their resonance, but the identity remained elusive, a mystery too delicate for him to untangle just yet.
He could not be certain if it referred to a person already known to him. Or if this was a being still shrouded in shadows. The idea of a figure standing between life and death resonated deeply with him, but was it a child of destiny? A child that would be both a saviour and a harbinger of doom?
His thoughts turned briefly to Tom Riddle. The mention of darkness - a child of darkness, born of the same soil yet destined to destroy - felt all too familiar. But the prophecy didn’t name him directly, did it? Could it be Riddle, or perhaps someone else entirely? Someone yet to be discovered?
Dumbledore’s eyes narrowed. The mystery of the prophecy was no small matter. It would need to be watched, carefully. But who could this chosen one be? And how would they shape the future of the Wizarding World.
Somewhere in a chamber deep underground you could hear Harry Potter scream.
“SHIT!”