Author's Note:

This will be a repository of Harry Potter story concepts that I enjoy enough to have started, but aren't going to be worked on actively for awhile. One shots and anything that I think I'm going to work on in the near future (or for which I have 2 or more chapters) will typically be published on their own. I do plan to pick up these stories eventually and move them out of here, they just aren't on the active docket for the time being.

Harry Potter and the Perils of Prophecy

Chapter 1: The Triumvirate

Rushing between the shelves filled with glass balls, Harry didn't notice the small fold in the carpet until it was too late. His foot caught on the obstruction and he went down with a woof, his breath knocked out of him, but making surprisingly little sound. As his friends rushed ahead, Harry rolled over, trying to catch his breath and then stopped for a moment as he made out the little yellowing label directly in front of him:

A.A.M. to T.M.R.

XXXXX Boy Who Lived

and (?) Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

Blinking, he reached out hesitantly and let his hand hover over the orb. This label was particularly old, but the Boy Who Lived was more recent than the rest- something else was written next to it and scratched out. The text was still aged, but not nearly to the extent of the rest.

"Psst. Harry, where are you?" Hermione's voice shook him out of his daze and he recalled Sirius abruptly. Hesitating only a moment, he grabbed the orb and shoved it into his robes. Putting it out of his mind, he ran off after his friends.


"...WILL BE BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES..." The prophecy echoed in Harry's mind long after Dumbledore had left and Harry had been taken to the Hospital Wing to be checked for any lasting damage from the battle. Ron and Hermione were both asleep on adjacent beds, though Ginny, Neville, and Luna had all been released already and sent back to their dorms. He was supposed to be going back himself in fact.

Pulling his glasses off, Harry rubbed his eyes briefly and let himself fall back across the foot of Hermione's bed. Letting his arm flop over his chest, he paused for a moment as he felt something hard in his robes and abruptly recalled the orb he had taken from the Department of Mysteries.

Reaching into his robes, Harry was about to pull out the odd sphere, when he realized that he didn't want to do it out in the open. Not where Dumbledore or another Professor could see it. He wanted this for himself for now. He could decide what to do with it later.

Instead, he sat up, put his glasses on and left the room. The large double doors to the hospital wing were only unlocked on one side and he headed up the first set of stairs beyond that without any hesitation. He was heading for his dorm room, but as he passed the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy he hesitated.

He hadn't been back in the Room of Requirement since the D.A. was disbanded, but if he wanted privacy there was no place better. His dorm wasn't terribly secure given that Seamus or Dean could walk in at any time. Neville was probably already there in fact, and while he trusted him, he wasn't quite ready to share this with anyone. Not even Ron and Hermione really.

Mind made up, he quickly paced back and forth in front of the chamber. *I need a private room. I need a private room. I need a private room.*

As soon as the door showed, he grabbed the handle, pulled it open and dashed inside. The Room had provided a fairly small chamber with a couch to one side, two small tables, a merrily burning fireplace heating the air, and deep plush carpeting in a pale cream color. The circular walls were a muted blue-gray color and he could see the support beams criss-crossing the rooms with candelabra betwixt the joists.

Glancing back at the door, he muttered, "Colloportus," under his breath and then walked to the center of the chamber, pulling out the orb as he did so.

He wasn't really sure how the thing worked, but he didn't really want to start by breaking it. Eventually, he settled for rubbing it like a genie's lamp to start and that seemed to work well enough, as the silvery gray smoke he had seen in the Ministry streamed out of the orb and he was left watching two figures.

He didn't recognize the older of the two, but he was very startled to recognize Tom Riddle as the second. Immediately dropping the orb, he seized his wand and pointed it at the figure only to watch as it faded away to nothing. Blinking he looked around warily, then glanced down at the orb again.

"Oh, duh. It's an image or memory." Still, that meant what... Tom had given or received the prophecy? A.A.M. to T.M.R. it had said. He wasn't sure why he hadn't spotted that before- Tom Marvolo Riddle. He had certainly had enough trouble with those initials his second year.

Leaning down, he hesitated for a moment, then picked up the sphere again. Rubbing it, the same silvery-gray smoke poured out and formed Tom Riddle and the other man re-appeared.

Tom was apparently asking a question when A.A.M stiffened. The boy, or perhaps man at this point, since he appeared to be slightly older than the Tom Riddle that Harry had seen in the diary appeared startled, but he hid it quickly. He couldn't keep the look of fascination off of his face as the man who appeared to be a professor began speaking though.


Even as the figures were fading, Harry caught A.A.M. giving Tom a warm smile to the boy apparently asking questions that weren't recorded as he came out of his trance- before pulling his wand and saying, "Obli-".

The recording ended before the incantation was finished, but Harry could figure out what the Seer in question was doing. Again based on his second year experiences. He was surprised that Tom was caught by surprise like that, but he hadn't even seen him reaching for his wand.

As the Prophecy faded away into the air, its ringing tones having echoed around the chamber in a way the later spell didn't, Harry frowned to himself. He wasn't sure what that meant exactly, but... hearing two prophecies in one night was triggering an odd sense of deja vu. A nagging memory of something from his early childhood that wouldn't leave him alone.

Given the yellowing label on the prophecy, he supposed that meant that the one "courted by darkness, seduced by light, and claiming glory" was Dumbledore, but the rest didn't make a lot of sense. And assuming he was the "Boy Who Will Live" he didn't particularly like the sound of being "extinguished".

Carefully putting the orb on one of the tables, he tried to think about this, but that sensation that he was missing a piece of the puzzle wouldn't leave him alone.

Sitting on one of the couch cushions that the Room of Requirement had provided, he poked and prodded at the memory that was just on edge of recall with little luck. The clearest memories he had from when he was young were the ones that Snape had stirred up in their Occlumency lessons, and he was sure those weren't what was bugging him.

Grimacing, his hands clenched as he realized what he needed to do though. As terrible as his instructions were, as useless as they seemed, he needed to make use of what the Potions Professor had taught him in those lessons. Circling the wary memory that was trying to surface and thinking about what it might be wasn't working, so he would need to try and empty his mind. Release the emotions that were still causing his heart to race, his chest to clench, and his hands to tremble.

Snape seemed to think that you just thought it and emotions disappeared, but it had never worked like that for Harry. At home with the Dursley's, stuck in the closet, he had kept his sadness, anger, and fear bundled up until he found someplace to release them. The rumors about him being a mental case hadn't entirely been from rumors released by the Dursleys. When he was little, he would run away to the park, or a backyard where someone wasn't home and he would just... let it out. Scream, yell, and throw the tantrums that he wasn't allowed at home.

Eventually, Petunia had gotten word though, one too many neighbors having seen him and he found himself grounded for the better part of a month with nothing to eat but brussel sprouts, tofu, and all the other foods he had most despised at that age. Ones that Dudley and Vernon wouldn't touch with a three foot stick.

It had become a favorite punishment when he was younger, though he sometimes wondered later on if it was just Aunt Petunia trying to find an excuse to buy and eat the foods that she liked instead of the heavy meals that her husband and son favored.

After that, he just... bundled up the emotions and hid them deep down. They were never completely gone and over the years they had gotten pretty close to the surface, but... Ok, no point lying to himself, this year they hadn't just been near the surface. He had been lashing out with them routinely, but it wasn't like when he had just let go as a child. Dumbledore wasn't far off when he said that Harry couldn't stop caring, and letting those emotions out on others just generated more guilt, anger, and had the added benefit of making him disgusted with himself.

Still, if there was anyplace that was safe to get some release, it was here.

Glancing at the door and feeling a bit self-conscious, he layered a silencing charm on top of whatever the Room of Requirement did when you asked for privacy and then took a deep breath. He wasn't five anymore and this, well, even without an audience he thought this was going to be a little embarrassing, but it was worth trying.

Standing up, he walked to the center of the chamber, finally letting himself acknowledge the swirling morass of grief, anger, and other negative emotions again for the first time since his argument with Dumbledore. He layered the gut-wrenching fear that had been sparked by finding out about the prophecy on top of that and he yelled.

It didn't do much. Though truth be told, it had been a pretty sad attempt. He had been louder when he was yelling at Dumbledore. Taking a deep breath, he let it out, closed his eyes, and tried to remember the feeling of release from when he was a child.

Tilting his head back, he screamed this time. It was loud, his throat hurt after it was done, but it felt good, so he did it again. He didn't go for his wand, he didn't blow anything up or release his magic accidentally, he just let all of his feelings out. He ranted to the air about meddling Headmasters, sadistic Professors, scummy Dark Lords, absentee godfathers, jealous friends, and the fact that it wasn't fair. He screamed some more and in between and gradually it drained away and he eventually found himself on his knees in front of an obnoxiously cheerful fire.

Wiping his eyes, which certainly were not wet, just watering a little from the smoke in the air, he let out a deep, shuddering breath and let himself drift. He stared into the flickering flames, listened to the pops and cracks of the wood being consumed and thought of... nothing.

He let himself stay like that for an indeterminate length of time, then he carefully thought back, tried to bring up his oldest memories. They were... fuzzy. A familiar barking laugh, a flash of red, and warmth and... he felt a sense of wonder even as he drew back from the memories. Too far, though he would be be trying that again- if there was any chance of Occlumency letting him replace the single memory he had of his parents, he would study all summer. It wasn't like it required a wand.

For now though, he didn't want to lose that little niggling thought that had somehow survived the fierce maelstrom of emotion that he had just released. So he tried again, this time as he let himself drift back he kept the booming tones of the prophecies in his mind, guide posts to try and help him navigate what his subconscious was telling him.

He wasn't sure how long it took, but he finally thought he caught the memory. Not details, but... an outline of it anyway, almost as fuzzy as his parents, but it triggered that feeling of relief you get when you finally recall a word that is just on the tip of your tongue. It had been on a trip to London, one of the times those funny people in the weird clothes cornered him and fell all over themselves thanking him for something he was never quite able to get out of them.

This one had been more insistent than most and had found him playing by himself near a hedge while Dudders had his picture taken by the statues, fountains, and sculptures. While the odd little lady was thanking him for something she said he knew... No, he grinned to himself, for "You-Know-Who" he realized now, she had abruptly started talking in an entirely different voice.

The booming tones had attracted his Aunt and she had rushed over to pull him away. He frowned. He couldn't recall what the woman had said, but he was now certain it was a prophecy. Even if he recovered the memory in full he wasn't sure he had the full thing due to Petunia though.

It was probably worth trying to find it at least. Because after the damage that he and his friends had caused in the Hall of Prophecy, he couldn't be certain there was a sphere with a little label saying "little old ladies initials to H.J.P." left for him to review.

Author's Notes:

So the basic concept behind this idea is that Dumbledore wasn't actually working with all the pieces of the puzzle when he made his plans based off of the prophecy that he heard. There are actually three inter-locking prophecies that were delivered to each of the main participants and essentially prophecy the doom of the other two: Harry Potter dooms Voldemort, Voldemort dooms Albus, and Albus dooms Harry Potter.

The end game? The prophecies are all about creating a single bearer of the Deathly Hallows and the reason Harry, Voldemort, and Albus were chosen was because they were destined to own (or already owned) the Cloak, Stone, and Wand and at least touch each of the other two.

This story is one of those where I have an idea of where I'd like it to end (though there are certainly other options) and a few concepts for how the middle will take place. When I next post in it, it may well be to finish it off entirely as I could see it only being two to three chapters long if I turn it into something a bit more along the lines of an extended one shot.