Chapter - 66 : Greetings Part - 3

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Harry nodded thoughtfully. "First of all, a Seer's talent does not directly influence a Seer's behaviour. If Brian has such a talent" - he nodded at the boy - "it would not force him to speak. From what you're saying, however, it sounds like he might be a Prophet or maybe even an Oracle."

"And that's different?"

"Very much so. What you called gibberish might have been a genuine prophecy."

"Like the Potter one?"

Harry frowned. "Yes and no. The one in the news is also a genuine prophecy, channelled by a Prophet. However, there exist all kinds of prophecies and not all of them are important. It is quite possible that Brian predicted what a complete stranger would have for dinner in a roundabout way and we would never know until it came true."

He paused "We're getting ahead of ourselves, however. Brian might not be a Prophet."

"Is there a way to prove if he is a Seer, or a Prophet, or whatever?" Mortimer asked anxiously

"Not a straightforward way, I'm afraid." Harry sighed and took a sip of pumpkin juice, thinking as the tangy liquid trickled down his throat. "There exist no spells to prove such a talent one way or the other. It is one of the many reasons why there exists such scepticism towards Divination as a whole. However, if you would consent to share the memory with me maybe I can..." He trailed off as a shudder rippled through his body, followed by an unpleasant tingling from his toes to his ears.

"I can't move my legs," he said, taken aback. He tried to buck in his chair, but none of his limbs would respond to his demands. Everything below his head was paralysed!

"Finally!" Mortimer exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. "I thought you were never going to drink that swill."

Brian stayed in his seat, staring blankly ahead as if he wasn't even there.

"What did you do?" Harry growled out, his eyes shooting daggers at Mortimer. "Release me!"

The man rolled his eyes. "I don't think so." Flicking his wrist his wand appeared in his hand and he cast a trio of spells. "Accio wand. Accio portkeys. Accio potions."

Harry's wand zoomed out of his sleeve but Mortimer negligently swatted it out of the air so that it landed on the floor, out of sight.

"That's it?" Mortimer said in disappointment when nothing else flew at him. "If your goal is to be underestimated because of your pitiful precautions you're doing a marvellous job."

He turned to his son. "Imperio. Hold the Professor at wandpoint. If he moves anything but his face, curse him."

Brian fetched his own wand from his pocket and pointed it at Harry over the table, going stock-still like a statue.

Harry watched the events with growing alarm. Desperately he tried to strain his non-existent bonds, but nothing happened. "What did you poison me with?"

"A three-part cocktail," Mortimer replied absently as he rummaged in his robes, producing a sheaf of parchment and a self-inking quill. "I'm sure you've figured out that the first part is a fast-acting mild paralytic for everything below the neck."

"And the rest?" Harry growled.

"I'm sure you'll figure it out."

Mortimer sat down once again and his face took on a businesslike cast as he prepared himself to take notes before reading off a question from the parchment in front of him. "What are your plans for the Dark Lord?"

Harry wanted to spit at him, curse and call him names but to his dismay he felt an unassailable urge well up to answer the question and answer it honestly. A sweat broke out on his forehead as he steadily lost the fight with the compulsion.

"No. Concrete. Plans," he ground out before breathing easier as the compulsion lifted. The cloud that had come over his mind stayed, however, making it hard to think clearly. Even in that state what was happening was rather obvious, though.

"Bloody truth serum!" he spat.

"Oh well done," Mortimer said, not even deigning to look up from writing down the answer. "The Dark Lord was right to be wary of someone with wit like yours." He rolled his eyes. "Do you know the Potter prophecy?"

Harry delayed answering as long as possible, all the while shooting daggers with his eyes. When he was finally forced to give in he made it a point to be as terse as possible. "Yes."

"Do you know what it means?"

Another lengthy pause. "Yes."

Mortimer sighed. "What does it mean?"

Harry tried for a short nonsensical answer, but the compulsion just built and built until he blurted out the best truthful answer he could come up with under the strain. "Iris Potter has to kill the Dark Lord and vice versa."

The Death Eater – because what else could he be – raised an eyebrow. "That sounds unlikely."

"Yes."

Mortimer hummed, but moved on to the next question on his list. "Do you know a way to circumvent the prophecy?"

Harry scowled. "No."

The man wrote that down and then looked at Harry in confusion. "Why were you summoned, then?"

Harry flinched as cold fingers clawed up his spine. He'd thought the Death Eater was interrogating him because of the job he took, but that question proved he knew about the summoning ritual, though apparently not all the details. Unfortunately the serum forced him to answer. "Dumbledore wanted me to kill Voldemort for him."

This time both eyebrows shot up. "Can you?"

"No."

Mortimer blinked and sat back, thinking, before sighing and flinging his quill at the table. "Useless."

He looked at his watch. "Would you rather join the Dark Lord or die?"

Gritting his teeth Harry held out as long as he could before spitting, "Die."

"Fabulous!" Mortimer said, mock-cheering. "I'm glad everybody gets a happy ending."

Shaking his head he turned to the boy by his side, completely dismissing Harry as irrelevant and ordered, "Take a drink of the juice."

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