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The next few days blurred.
Meetings bled into drills, drills into meals, and meals into whatever counted as planning now. Harry barely made it back to the Slytherin common room before midnight most nights, usually with Tracey trailing behind him and Daphne already sat waiting with some chart or another.
Classes went on, of course. It wasn't all boring, though. One morning, when Ron arrived late and tried to bluff his way through a missed assignment, Snape didn't even look up, just jerked his thumb at Harry. "Explain it to Potter. He's already graded it."
"Excellent," Harry said dryly. "You are getting a Troll."
Ron groaned. "Unfair. I am at least a Poor."
"Generous," Harry muttered, tossing the essay back with a flick.
Outside class, the Room of Requirement became busier than ever. The usual core crew were always about, rotating through sessions. Tonks had taken to popping in during evenings in the Club, half to train, half to make sure Fred and George hadn't turned the dummy rack into a fireworks rig. Again.
The newer group had started slotting in with less fuss. Harry didn't micromanage. The group could manage even without his constant inputs by now. He stepped in when needed.
As spring slipped into May, the castle settled into its usual rhythm, classes, club meetings, and a steadily increasing pile of OWL prep that even Hermione had started side-eyeing like it was a personal offence. Harry's days were full, always moving between the Room, patrols, and the odd chat with Tonks about the next Hogsmeade round-up.
So when Harry spotted the note on his desk that morning, he froze mid-step.
It wasn't there last night.
His room was sealed tighter than most Gringotts vaults, runed, warded, watched over by both Hogwarts' own defences and Misty's obsessive standards. No one, not even house-elves, could pop in without tripping half a dozen silent alarms.
And this? This little slip of parchment, perched neat as anything beside Glimmer on his desk, hadn't so much as rustled the air.
He scanned the space on instinct, wand out, casting every detection charm he knew. He even stepped into Astral Vision for a moment... no magical residue, no flicker of tracework. Still nothing. Just a quiet, locked-down room that looked exactly as he left it.
Which made the note worse.
He moved closer, keeping his wand drawn, and picked it up with his other hand. No strange pulse, no compulsion magic. Ordinary parchment. Folded once.
He opened it.
"Voldemort will steal the Prophecy from the Hall of Prophecy on June 20."
Harry stared at the line. No signature. No marking. Not even a smudge of ink from a careless hand.
He flipped it over. Blank.
He folded it again, set it on the desk, and exhaled once through his nose. By breakfast, he'd narrowed it down to two possibilities, someone inside the castle with access to top level ward breaking, or someone using Hogwarts' own wards against it. Either way, it wasn't one of the usual suspects.
After breakfast, Harry was already in the Room. The usual crowd had trickled in, shedding cloaks, dropping bags, and settling into their usual corners. The space today had reshaped itself into something like a study hall... wide tables, a low fire crackling near one wall, a few old armchairs tossed about.
He waited until the room had filled... Fred still dragging a chair across the floor, Parvati squeezing onto a cushion next to Daphne, and Neville tipping the last biscuit into his mouth like he was late to breakfast. Once most had found a spot, Harry stood from the low bench near the hearth and held up a small folded parchment between two fingers.
"Alright," he said trying to keep his tone light, "who broke into my room and left me a cryptic warning?"
That earned him a few confused looks. Most of the room had tried sneaking into Harry's quarters at least once. Not seriously... just curiosity, dares, or boredom. It never worked. Some got locked out. Some ended up in the wrong stairwell. Once, Fred swore he got turned around and walked straight into Snape's office.
So, a random note showing up in that space? With no trace magic, no alarms tripped?
That wasn't just odd. That was impossible. Which meant, now, it was everyone's problem.
"Wait," Fred said, straightening in his chair, "you are serious? Someone actually managed to get in?"
"No," Harry replied, waving the note, "but they left this inside. Which is worse."
Padma tilted her head. "How could they leave it without getting in?"
"That," Harry said, "is exactly the problem."
Tracey pulled her legs up onto the bench she was sharing with Daphne. "No signature? No trace? Not even a bloody ink smudge?"
Harry shook his head. "Completely clean."
"Do you think it's a joke?" Megan asked from across the table, frowning.
"Not funny," Pansy muttered. "And not Harry's type of joke either. If he wanted to wind us up, he'd put glitter hexes in our socks."
"Which he has," Tracey added.
"Only once," Harry said. "And Zabini deserved it."
Zabini didn't even look up from the biscuit tin. "You set fire to my entire shoe rack."
"You pranked Luna."
"Yeah that was on me. Never mess with Lovegood," Blaise said, biting into a shortbread.
Daphne reached for the note. "Let me see it."
Harry handed it over. She studied it with narrowed eyes. "June twentieth. That's not far."
"Month and change," Hermione said, already digging through her satchel. "We need a calendar and a Ministry roster."
"You keep a Ministry roster?" Su Li asked, mildly impressed.
"Doesn't everyone?" Hermione replied, pulling out a tiny folded logbook.
"Absolutely not," Tracey said. "I keep chocolate."
Harry leaned against the fireplace mantle. "Look, I don't need us spiralling just yet. It could be true. Or someone's trying to bait us. Either way, we check. Quietly."
Neville shifted forward on his seat. "Where would he even go to take it?"
"The Hall of Prophecy," Harry said. "Department of Mysteries."
Pansy raised an eyebrow. "How is he meant to get in there? Ministry is still locked up tighter than some of Gringotts vault."
Cedric stood up, brow furrowed. "Wait... hold on. What prophecy? Are we talking actual prophecy or Divination nonsense?"
Harry rubbed his temple. Right. New group. They wouldn't know. He waved a hand, motioning for Cedric to sit.
"Yeah, actual prophecy. The Ministry's been sitting on it for years," he said. "Locked in the Department of Mysteries."
Cedric dropped back into his seat. "And what does it say?"
"According to Flamel, and Dumbledore, it is about Voldemort and the one who can beat him." He tapped the side of his head. "The version I was told? 'The Dark Lord shall mark him as his equal, and only the one marked could defeat him. Something like that."
Su Li raised an eyebrow. "You are saying that is about you."
Harry gave a shrug. "Voldemort marked me, didn't he?" He pointed to his scar. "Tried to kill me, didn't manage it. That is the general idea."
Angela looked around, taking in the room again. Her eyes paused on Susan, then Hermione, Luna, and Tracey... all of them calm, not even blinking at Harry's words. "You are destined to kill him?" she asked, voice uncertain like she was checking if she'd misheard.
Harry shrugged, tipping back in his chair. "That is what they say."
There wasn't a ripple of shock from his closer friends. They'd known already. Susan was sipping tea. Luna was fiddling with a quill, drawing circles in the air.
Angela blinked. "That is mental."
"It is," Tracey agreed, "but welcome to Hogwarts."
Lavender leaned forward, her voice low like she was trying not to sound too invested. "So if someone else tries, what... he just... doesn't die?"
Harry gave a short sigh. "Right. No point dancing around it, I suppose. There's a branch of dark magic called Horcruxes. Real nasty work. Basically, you split your soul and stash the bits in objects. Makes you impossible to kill unless every last piece is destroyed."
There was a ripple of discomfort. Even the ones who were used to hearing mad things blinked at that.
Harry kept going. "Voldemort made seven. One stayed in his body. The others? He planted them all over. That's how he survived when the Killing Curse bounced back from the ritual my mum did. His body died, sure. But the soul stuck around. Floated off, waiting for a way back."
Cho frowned. "So he is... anchored?"
"Exactly," Harry said, glancing round the room. "You destroy the anchors, he loses the safety net. If you don't, he just keeps bouncing back."
Cedric leaned forward slightly. "And you know all this how?"
Harry gave a lazy shrug. "Because I've got all six of them already. The ones he made back then, anyway. Unless he's made another since the graveyard, nothing is tying him here."
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