The Prophecy
Chapter 5-
It dawned bright and cold in Will’s dormitory. The morning had that peculiar chill that only morning contains, like sleep is still clinging inside your mouth. It is too warm on the inside of a person, so the air tries to compensate and bring you to a compromise. Will loves it.
The sheets were still warm and inviting when he climbed out of them, but he shook them off because he knew he must. He tried very hard to not think about what his sheets mean, about where he was, about what he must do. His sheets are yellow. His pillow is black. For a moment, he just sat at the edge of his bed, on the brink of rising, listening to the soft sighing sounds of sleep coming from the beds. He felt empty. He got up.
Running his fingers through his curly blond hair, he risked a glance at all of his roommates. He didn’t know any of them yet. The names on the door had called them Cecil, Frank, Mitchell, and Tyler, but he doesn’t know who is who.
If he sticks to his plan, he’ll never have to know.
***
Will Solace grew up in a small town in the south on England, with his mother and father. His mother, well-known Muggle singer, and his father, respected and jolly Unspeakable at the Ministry of Magic, made for a beautiful couple. They probably met on a beach with the sun shining and the wind flowing through their hair as Apollo, his father, charmed her with his good looks and good nature. Will doesn’t know. He never bothered to ask.
However it was that they met, they fell in love instantly, and got married soon after. Within a few months they found out that Naomi was going to have a child, and they were, of course, overjoyed. Everything seemed perfect. But, like most perfect things, it didn’t last.
Apollo’s job didn’t often interfere with their family life. He would kiss his pregnant wife in the morning, apparate into the Ministry main area, and descend with the rickety elevator as far down as it would go until he reached his destination in the Department of Mysteries. And he would have mysterious and exciting days carefully experimenting or predicting or doing whatever it was that he did in the Department of Mysteries. Will was never allowed to ask about his dad’s days as an Unspeakable, but he was never really curious about them either. Because about a month or so before Will was born, something happened. Something to make Will shiver at the word ‘mystery’, something to make Will flinch at the sight of crystal balls.
Apollo had been carefully moving glass prophecies from one aisle to the next, categorizing them, cleaning them, and setting them back. But he slipped up.
See, the thing about the prophecies in the Department of Mysteries is that any contact with human skin, rupturing of the crystal, or touch of liquid will set it off. Any of these things will cause the prophecy to be ‘used up’, if you will. Whomever had cast the prophecy would begin relaying it, and would continue to repeat it until deactivation. The prophecies, to most, are sacred, and should only be heard by those intended to hear them. Because of this, Unspeakables must wear protective gloves and headgear to protect the glass from their bodies, and to avoid any accidents. But no matter what you try, there is no preventative for human clumsiness. And Apollo was never the most careful person.
When Will was about 5, his father told him about the one prophecy he had broken. This was a highly dangerous and illegal move- Unspeakables, quite obviously, were not allowed to speak of their jobs. Apollo would have only done something as risky as telling it to a child if he truly believed that a.) this child could be trusted b.) that it was important enough to be told and c.) that this child would be in danger if he didn’t know. Well, the situation fit all three criteria.
Will still dreams about that night sometimes. He was young, so young that he just thought his dad was going to read him a bed time story, like he always did. Apollo had been looking uncharacteristically grave. His face, with its smile lines in the corners of its mouth and its crinkles about the eyes was hanging heavy, like someone had tied a brick to his chin. Will, of course, didn’t notice it. He just bounced and giggled and tucked himself under the covers, anticipating a wonderful, lighthearted story to help him get to sleep.
It never came.
Instead Apollo slipped under the covers with him. And told Will that he had some very important grownup things to talk to him about. Will had had no idea at the time, but his life was about to change in a big, big way.
Apollo told the story of accidentally breaking the prophecy that day on work, a day that, when he’d started it, he hadn’t realized would be his last at the Ministry. He had been cleaning the orbs. It was a very delicate, essential, and tedious process, and Unspeakables drew straws to see who’d be on cleaning rotation every day. It was a long, and tiring, and very easy to get distracted.
Apollo had picked up an orb in his gloved hand that looked exactly like all the others. As he tiredly siphoned off the dust with his wand, his fingers, though gentle and slender and skilled enough to perform muggle surgery, slipped. He says he remembers the moment perfectly. It had fallen as though in slow motion, but also not like that at all; as if the whole world suddenly pressed in on him and his heart stopped, watching its graceless descent.
And then it shattered with a tiny tinkling sound, and Apollo’s life shattered with it.
“…… The son of a god will be the catalyst of our destruction…. Born under a twin moon, born to a man of amelioration…. And this child will have power of which the world knows not…. If the child is to realize this power, all hope will be lost…. A child of death born under a twin moon will be a catalyst for our destruction….”
He told Will that at first, the words had meant nothing to him. They meant nothing, but there was something nagging at him every time he thought about them. A bad feeling in his stomach. It pushed and pulled at him until he did the only thing he could think of doing: leaving. And since no one had noticed his blunder and had rushed to obliviate him, he just cleaned up his mess quietly and went to his boss to peacefully resign. He had wanted to try his hand at becoming a Healer at St. Mungos anyway. He shook hands with his boss, and returned home with the prophecy safely tucked into his memory.
And it had still meant nothing to him. Yes, the lines about being the “son of a god”, and “born under a twin moon” bothered him, since he shared the same name as the Greek god of the sun, twin of the moon goddess Artemis, but he managed to push it out of his mind. The other lines cushioned the blow. But he kept the memory tucked in his dinky little pensieve, just in case. It wasn’t until William Anthony Solace, born on March 12, 7 ounces, was pronounced dead upon birth that Apollo began fearing the prophecy. Because even though the doctors were able to revive Will, and Apollo and Naomi had a glowing, healthy baby boy, now all of the lines of the prophecy fit.
He told Will all of this; Will, who was too small to understand, but old enough to recognize the gravity of the situation. From that moment onwards, the dynamic of Will’s life changed. As he started exhibiting signs of magic, Apollo would rush to control it, to conceal it. Apollo pushed Will into the muggle world, to make him fit in, but at every turn would urge for caution, and prevented Will from ever having real freedom.
Apollo probably thought that he had been helping. That he had been preparing Will for the world, wrapping a little bit of mental bubble wrap around him, to protect him. But what Apollo didn’t know was that every “bandage” was a weight, and that every layer of bubble wrap built another wall. And Apollo certainly couldn’t have known that all his effort for preparing Will to go out into the world only made him more afraid of it.
Will began to draw in on himself. He buried himself in books and theory, where he couldn’t hurt anyone. He became quiet, and only allowed himself to laugh and talk freely with his family. He grew anxious, afraid of acting out, of saying the wrong thing, of losing control. He was afraid of the power that the prophecy talked about, afraid of a power he wasn’t even sure he had. Will grew up scared and lonely, with the weight of the prophecy balancing on top of his head, pressing his chin into his chest. He started to walk with his gaze on the floor. His hands would shake when people talked to him, and he was afraid of looking people in the eye. He was afraid of doing magic.
***
Lost in thought, Will wandered down to the Hufflepuff table for breakfast, and sat on the end, alone.
Ever since he realized he had anxiety, he’d started planning his every move, so that he wouldn’t mess anything up. And so that even if something went wrong, he’d have already thought of it, so it wouldn’t be a surprise, and therefore wouldn’t be that bad of a thing to happen! That’s how he rationalized it, anyway. It probably wasn’t the best thing for him, mentally, because it meant he was always dwelling on potential bad happenings, but it comforted him. He couldn’t seem to stop himself.
He finished his breakfast and got up, his intuition telling him he had time before class. He began to wander, and planned out how his day would go. So, he decided, he would get to Transfiguration early, and snag a seat on the side of the room, preferably in the back, because no one ever notices the kids there. He’d sit down, and so he wouldn’t have to interact with anyone, he’d pull his book out of his bag, and—
And.
Oh no. He had forgotten his bag! In his empty headed wanderings, he was killing time prematurely, before it had even gotten the chance to do anything important with its life. Will turned on the spot, hoping for some kind of magical clock, miraculously hanging on a wall. He didn’t find one, but by some fated stroke of luck, a big clock tower bell started ringing. And the chimes told him it was 8:15. Oh jeez. He was outside, in some courtyard, and he didn’t have any idea how to get back to his common room from here, let alone make it to breakfast afterwards, let alone make it to class on time. He cursed under his breath, and ran in what he sincerely hoped was the right direction.
Winded, Will leaned on the wall at the beginning of the kitchen’s hallway. He knew he could make it now. He had enough time. He’d stopped a prefect on the way and gotten his schedule and a pretty primitive map. The prefect was trying to explain something to him, chattering away incessantly and overall being just too friendly and helpful, so Will had tossed her a quick thanks and went back on his way. As soon as he got his breath, he could pop in, grab his bag, and make it to his first Transfiguration lesson without being late.
But. There was a boy in the hallway.
Will ducked back behind the wall a little, so he could see the boy, but the boy couldn’t see him. He watched as the dark haired walked briskly, and then stopped suddenly, like he’d been shocked. And, curiously, he turned directly toward the spot that Will knew concealed his common room.
The thing was, Will knew who this was. It was the boy he’d run into in Flourish and Blotts, and made the mistake of laughing with. Will knew his name was Nico, had heard it called at the boy in the store that day by a flouncing girl who could only be his sister, and had heard it called to the entire school before he was placed in Ravenclaw. Will had watched quietly from his new table, still shaking with the anxious aftershocks of all of those eyes on him at once, and remembered connecting the two cheerful, hopeful, and worried faces as the same boy. The same dark-haired, curious boy who was reaching out a hand to touch a moldy, crusty old barrel that Will knew he didn’t know about.
Will found himself yelling, “WAIT, DON’T TOUCH THAT!” before he could even stop it.
This apparently startled him, because he fell backwards against it when he heard Will yell, and that only started the geyser’s eruption. It was funny. Of course it was funny! Imagine it; a white, pungent wave of disgusting, acidic vinegar bursting from a barrel to douse a small boy head to foot, a boy who was already fairly short for his age.
He muddled through their conversation. He said the first things that came to head, laughing and being genuine, because the surprise and hilarity of the situation had shocked his shyness out of commission for the time being at least. He came back into himself a little bit when he realized that Nico had actually hurt himself. When he crouched down and took Nico’s wrist gingerly into his own it struck him what he’d been doing. Laughing. Socializing. Going against his father’s wishes. Acting like his father. He’d even been dumb enough to mention his dad. For a few moments he froze, staring off into space.
He snapped out of it. He fixed Nico’s wrist, brushed off the praise, and immediately bolted into the common room the second he had an opening.
He had no time for friends at Hogwarts.
***
Will might have been afraid of doing magic, but when his new teacher handed him a match and told him to make a needle, Will was going to make a needle.
The biggest problem was that he was smart- really smart. From the first lesson, in every class he took, without fail the teachers would take an interest in him, praising him for his above average work. He took in information quickly, and easily. And he’d had plenty of time to do so- instead of being out playing or joining sports, or being social in literally any way, he’d stay home and read his dad’s old textbooks. He’d practice wandless magic, because he read in one of them that it was really difficult, and helped aid a wizard in magic with a wand as well. He understood theory.
It’s really, really hard to lie low when you’re the smartest in the class. Teachers took an interest in him all day, no matter how hard he tried to be out of the way, to sneak under the radar. And by the time classes were finished that first day, whispers were already starting to follow him, and glances were starting to be thrown at him, both appreciative and jealous in nature. Will hated it.
He kept his head ducked as he swiftly maneuvered through the masses. The hallways were high and vaulted, but not nearly wide enough to accommodate the stumbling hoard of students. Some were tall and broad, obvious seventh years who laughed boisterously and slung their arms comfortably over their groups of friends. Some were as small and thin as him, meekly clutching their books to their chests, avoiding elbows and fighting the current, making cautious small talk with people they had just met, desperate to find some semblance of comfort. Will made himself turn away from it all.
He decided to take a walk. As he pushed out the side door of the Great Hall, a warm breeze pushed past him, ruffling his hair. It was September, and the leaves on the far off trees were beginning to change, to become a blurred orange and red at the edges. There was an impending chill in the air- nothing that could be felt yet, but a distant tinge of blue in the skyline, like frost waiting to descend. It would be fall soon enough. Will sighed, imagining the clouds of breath that would be visible months from now, and shoved his hands into his pockets. He made his way towards the place the lake met the forest.
It was only his first day of classes, and he was already overwhelmed. Too many faces, too many voices, too many people. After a whole eleven years of distancing himself, of never getting too close to people, it was a little bit of a dramatic turnaround to be suddenly expected to function normally. He kicked a rock and watched it bounce through the tall, swaying grass. He didn’t know what to do.
Making his way to the edge of the lake, he sat down on the rocky shore, tugging his bag in front of him to hug into his lap. The light shone on the lakes surface, making the murky depths reflect brightly. The further he looked, the more it hurt his eyes. In the distance, he could make out a blurred shore opposite him. Sitting here on the other side, it was hard to believe that he’d rowed all the way across it just the previous night.
He had the sudden impulsive urge to jump in, and swim back to the other side.
He stood up.
On the other side he was safe. Warm. Sheltered.
He took one step.
On the other side he didn’t have to face destiny, or even think about it.
He took another.
He could be at home.
He didn’t realize that he’d kept moving moved towards the lake until the chilled water began seeping against his toes. He watched it uncomprehendingly. He also didn’t realize that the area surrounding him had grown darker, like the sun had gone behind a cloud, even though it was still shining blindingly. He pressed on, impulsively, his mind numb with dulled desperation, soaking his pants up to his mid-calf.
Suddenly, two large, rough hands grabbed him under the armpits. Startled, he yelled and kicked, but whoever was holding him only chuckled a bit.
“Well, well, thas not gunna do ya any good, is it?” the warm voice said.
Will kept squirming, but silenced his yells. He recognized the voice as the large hairy man he’d met the night before, the one who’d called himself Hagrid.
Hagrid set him down gently in front of him, and surveyed Will curiously as he absentmindedly attempted to wring out the ends of his robes. Will could feel his face heating up furiously, embarrassed about being caught trying to swim away. He avoided Hagrid’s eyes.
“Whaddaya think you’re doin’, wadin’ out into the lake like that?”
Will stared resolutely at his shoes as he answered meekly, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
There was a bit of seaweed stuck on his shoe. He toed it off distractedly as he continued. “I just...” Will struggled to think of something to say, something that didn’t have to do with the prophecy and its weight on him, his mind curiously blank. He landed on a half-truth. “…miss my family.”
If Will had been watching, he would’ve seen Hagrid’s face melt a little with warmth and a tinge of pity. He knelt down as far as he could go, attempting to see eye to eye with him, but he was still a little too tall.
“Hey,” Hagrid said softly, “It’s alright if ya miss your family. It’s completely normal.”
Will sniffed loudly and rubbed the bottom of his nose. Hagrid surveyed him for a few more moments before smiling softly. “Say, how’d you like a cuppa to take your mind offit before supper? Sometimes talking can help.”
Will raised his eyes and gazed up at him, at this wild, crazy looking man. His hair was curly and frazzled and streaked with gray. He was so large and beefy, 2.5 grown men could stand side by side and make up his mass, lengthwise. He knew that if his mother had seen Hagrid on the street, she would’ve gripped his shoulder tighter and dragged him away. But looking upon Hagrid’s kind face, eyes twinkling with warmth and understanding, and half of the wrinkles on his face made up of smile lines, Will didn’t feel any apprehension. He just felt comfort.
He spared a last longing look across the lake. The shore was smudged and distant, too far to reach. Too far to get back to. There was a panging, empty feeling in his chest, but he knew that he was hopeless to do anything to stop it. He was here now, on this ground, on this side. He turned back and braved a smile.
“Tea would be lovely, thank you.”