After the Rain

Chapter 3

Revelations

"Your arrival has been highly anticipated, and for quite some time now."

The words kept ringing in Cass's head, as if her brain simply refused to process what she'd heard. Surely he hadn't brought them here? He had been the one to all but tell her it was her destiny to come here... where ever 'here' was. She hadn't dreamed it, had she?

The old man, whom Cass had learned was Albus Dumbledore, (another fact her mind simply wouldn't absorb), was standing up. He hadn't explained himself, opting to remain mysterious after his jaw-dropping proclamation, but now he was speaking again.

"Mister Malfoy, Miss Granger, Mister Potter and Mister Weasley," he said, getting their attention, "Would you be so kind as to accompany me down to the kitchens for a bite to eat? I am astonishingly hungry, and I daresay we've missed dinner." Eyebrows raised, this was obviously his way of asking for them to leave without being rude. Ron started to protest, but Hermione elbowed him and hissed something Cass couldn't hear in his ear. "We'll be back later, Mr. Weasley, after Madam Pomfrey has finished," he said to Ron, eyes twinkling.

"Professor?" came Draco's voice from the shadows, where he had been watching.

"Yes Draco?" Dumbledore asked brightly.

"I'm not hungry. May I stay here?"

Dumbledore considered this for a moment. "No, Mister Malfoy, I believe it would be best if you came with us. Normally, I'd let you, but Madam Pomfrey needs to be alone to do the things she's going to. Even the other patients will be temporarily moved."

Ron gave a loud snort and Hermione elbowed him again.

Dumbledore picked up his cloak and said, "Now, if you four will follow me, I believe we can still make it for --"

Whatever Dumbledore had wanted to say was cut off as the door to the Infirmary burst open. Standing in the doorway, was --

"Ginny!" Ron exclaimed, seeing his sister holding up a boy that was pale as death.

~

Everyone reacted - Cass shot straight up in her hospital bed, momentarily forgot that her voice was gone and tried to yell, "Alex!" Cary's eyes became even wider, if that was possible, at the sight of his best friend; Hermione slipped off her chair, landing in a most unflattering position, and Madam Pomfrey nearly dropped the nasty looking vial of green liquid she was holding.

Alex's head was bleeding heavily and she could see beneath the remains of his tattered shirt a violently purple bruise was blossoming over the right side of his abdomen. His right elbow was hanging at a sickening angle and one of his eyes was swollen shut. He looked like he had just been through Hell and come back, but he was walking, Cass reminded herself, and that was more than either she or Cary could say at the moment.

"Ah, Virginia. I wondered when you might be joining us," Dumbledore said mildly, not a whit surprised to be seeing the youngest Weasley.

"Miss Weasley, would you mind bringing him in here instead of just standing there?" Madam Pomfrey said, looking up from her cauldron and frowning.

"Yes, Virginia, why don't you bring Mister Browning in and set him down?" Dumbledore asked calmly, in a voice that you expected him to use when talking about the weather.

Cass didn't like the dangerous way Alex was leaning on the girl. She was only a few inches shorter than him, but was obviously struggling to hold him up. Cass wondered if he was even conscious - from the glazed look his eyes held, she didn't think he was.

"I'm fine Cass, don't worry so much," he mumbled, from where his head was resting on the girl's shoulder.

This time, the nurse did succeed in dropping the vial she was holding.

"You can talk?" Ron asked, flabbergasted.

"And why wouldn't I be able to?" he asked, still not lifting his head and sounding curious.

"Miss Weasley, would you please bring him in here now? I need to attend to his head!" Madam Pomfrey was looking very harassed at the moment.

"But I can't! I could barely get him here in the first place! It's all I can do to keep him standing!" she wailed.

In only a couple very long strides, Dumbledore crossed the room to Ginny and lifted the boy very gently from her, laying him on the bed to Cass's right, ignoring the curious stares Cass and Cary sent his way. But he's so old...

"Now, if you four would follow me, I am in particular want of one of the elves' exquisite chocolate éclairs. Yes, I know you don't agree with the use of house elves for labour purposes, Miss Granger, but you must admit they make a mean pastry. And perhaps, Virginia, you would like to join us?" It wasn't a question. Turning to face Ginny, eyebrows raised, he didn't seem to notice that she looked for all the world as if she were about to fall over herself. Weakly, she nodded.

"Excellent!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands together and bouncing on the balls of his feet, looking for a fleeting moment like an excited four year old with a beard. "Poppy, I believe you have everything under control, and Severus will be here to assist you, if the need should arise, so we will leave this in your capable hands and return in, say, an hour?" He looked up at the nurse, who was busy running her wand - her wand Cass realized with a shock - over Alex's body.

"Actually, better make that two hours, Albus," she said distractedly, gazing into Alex's eyes steadily. "And if the door is still closed, come back later."

"Will do, Poppy," he said amicably, ushering them out the door. "Oh, and Poppy?" Dumbledore added, his head sticking through the Infirmary door. "You are to never, under any circumstances, remove that book from Mister Stratton's control, or to look at the contents."

~

Draco walked behind the rest of them, his usual arrogant swagger missing for the first time in his life. The Golden Trio (the name he mentally used for the three best friends) were walking ahead of him, heads bent together in conference, and in front of them, walked Dumbledore, supporting Ginny, who was threatening to fall over with exhaustion. Dumbledore led them down to the kitchen (which Draco knew the location of, even if he'd never been there), tickled the painted pear, and walked down the stairs, managing to not look at all awkward, even though he had to duck and was half-carrying Ginny, not unlike the way she had held the boy, only a short while ago.

Merlin, there were the house-elves. Dozens of them, crowding around Dumbledore as if he were a god. Draco was strongly reminded of why he had never before set foot in the kitchens of Hogwarts before - he detested house-elves. Once more, his face regained his trademark sneer as he noticed the way they were swarming around Potter as well.

"Taking your friends where you can find them, Potty?" he drawled, gazing at the copper pots that hung from the large ceiling, looking exceedingly bored.

"Bugger off, Malfoy," Harry shot back, not missing a beat.

Dumbledore was laying Ginny out on a soft, plush bed he had procured from thin air, and Draco was reminded suddenly of the way he had conjured several hundred purple sleeping bags during third year, when Sirius Black had broken into the Gryffindor dormitory. He remembered how disappointed he had been that the escapee hadn't managed to kill Weasley before he had woken up and smiled at the memory.

"Blinky, could you please get us some food? We missed dinner," Dumbledore said, addressing a tall elf near him, who instantly vanished to carry out the task.

"Gentlemen, and lady, I have a lot of explaining to do," he said heavily, sitting down and looking extremely weary all of a sudden. "First of all, you should all eat, and then get as much sleep as you possibly can, before we go back, for all of us will be returning, and we will not have a chance to rest for several hours, at the very least.

"The three people you saw today are very important to all we know and take for granted. More will be revealed in time, but for now I am just going to tell you that you will do everything you can to make these three people feel welcome, and at home, or you will deal with me. They have gone through enough, and will go through more yet undoubtedly, so if you do something to make them feel unwelcome, I will see to your expulsion personally. This is your warning. They are not from here, or now, which will be explained later, but just know this: everything you think of as your own hinges on these three people--"

"They're from the future?" Hermione asked, eyes bulging. "How is that possible? Everyone with half of a brain knows it is far too dangerous to travel back in time more than a few weeks, months at the most --"

"Miss Granger, calm yourself. These are not ordinary circumstances we are dealing with, first of all. I cannot go into detail here, you will get a more satisfying explanation later, but I will tell you this: these people are from a far different time than ours, a future so bleak they came back to learn to rectify it." He looked at all of them, an immeasurable wisdom in his eyes.

"How do you know all this?" demanded Draco.

Dumbledore blinked benignly at him. "You would not believe me if I told you," he said simply, an undercurrent of amusement running through his voice.

"Try me," Draco growled.

"Professor Trelawney made a prophesy last summer. One that was completely accurate, and that will be more important than any before it. Satisfied?" He was looking at Draco through his half-moon spectacles with bemusement.

"You're right, I don't believe you."

Dumbledore ignored him. "Now, I will not tell you any more right now, partly because Miss Weasley has fallen asleep and needs to hear it as much as any of you. Yes, like it or not, Ronald, your sister will be thrown into this struggle as ruthlessly as any of you. Now, who wants a butterscotch-toffee éclair? I have them special made for myself, but I am most willing to share." He smiled suddenly, picking up a pastry from the tray floating next to him.

"But - Professor --" Ron tried, protesting.

"I am sorry you are going to see your sister suffer so much in the coming days Mister Weasley. I know how desperately you try to protect her from any type of pain or discomfort, especially since what happened in her first year, but you cannot stop this. There is no stopping this. Don't fight the current, flow with it. You will be much happier if you do." He looked solemnly at Ron, who still looked as if he wanted to argue, but didn't. There was something grim and foreboding about the wizened headmaster's words.

~

Draco looked around in disgust. How could they sleep here? Among servants? There was Potter, in the corner, curled up on another of Dumbledore's beds, and Granger was near the far wall, her bushy head under a fluffy pillow. Weasley wasn't far from her, snoring softly. Dumbledore wasn't asleep, instead he was having a conversation with the tall elf he'd addressed earlier, the name of which he couldn't remember (nor did he care). He wasn't as disgusted with Ginny, since she really hadn't had a choice in the matter, but the others... He cringed.

"Mister Malfoy, it really would be in your best interest to take a nap," Dumbledore said, suddenly standing at his elbow.

Draco looked scandalized. "I beg to differ," he scoffed.

"As you wish, Mister Malfoy," Dumbledore sighed, shaking his head tiredly. "Would you care for a game of chess, then?"

Draco looked up at him, shocked. Chess? He marvelled at the headmaster's ability to always say what he least expected. "I suppose," he said slowly.

Dumbledore waved his hand, and instantly a chess table appeared, plush purple chairs on either side. It was a hideous shade of fuchsia, but Draco sat down anyway.

"So, how are dealings with your father going, Draco?" Dumbledore asked curiously, as he moved out a white pawn. That was a brave question.

"Not very well," Draco replied truthfully, countering Dumbledore's opening move.

"Oh? How so?" He seemed genuinely curious, and Draco wanted to tell him the truth, but he knew what could happen to him if he was completely honest.

"Headmaster, may I speak to you frankly? Without the fear that you will use what I tell you? I could get into serious trouble if what I said got back to... certain people."

The headmaster looked at him searchingly. Finally, he said, "Yes, I believe I could manage that." He took out a long wand and murmured, "Occultus." Immediately, a silvery bubble enveloped them, making Draco's jaw drop.

"A complicated concealing charm," he said, by way of an explanation. "It allows us to talk freely, and no one outside the bubble is able to see, hear or detect us. Not very well known, it was created by the wizard Plato, so when he wanted to concentrate, no one could interrupt him. Fortunately, so much of his writing has been lost, it's known to about three people on the earth total: myself, the Dalai Lama, and the Muggle Prime Minister, whom I am very good friends with, and cannot use it anyway. It works well, no?"

"Was that intended to be a history lesson? Because if so, I really think you could do Binns' job better than Binns."

"Ah, once more I am treated to a taste of the famous Malfoy tongue." Dumbledore's eyes were sparkling. "Now, how are things with your father?"

Draco immediately sobered. He liked the Headmaster, as much as he didn't want to, but his father never had. He wondered how much he could tell the old man, the only confidante he seemingly had. "My father is becoming more and more...erratic, behaviour wise. He is, of course, the Dark Lord's right hand man, though you didn't hear that from me," Draco began, somewhat reluctantly. "He is also starting to be less than sure about me. Since the end of last year, when Potter's godfather vanished in the veil and the battle in the Department of Mysteries happened, I've been less than sure about my future among the Death Eaters. My father, of course, told me everything that had happened in minute detail, even what had been going on behind the lines of the Death Eaters' side, telling me to remember everything, as I would someday be in his place. Right hand to the Dark Lord. And it scared me. I admit, I do love picking on Potter and his flunkies, and Longbottom and Finnegan, and all the rest of those pathetic Gryffindors, but I don't think I could handle that.

"So my father has become suspicious of me, he isn't as sure about my loyalty, but I'm still his son, and he knows that. He knows that however rebellious I get, I will still remain loyal to the Malfoy chain. Or he thinks he knows, more to the point. Myself, I'm not so sure."

"And your brief fling with Ms. Weasley last year?"

"He thought it funny. It's his opinion that I only did it to get him angry, so he didn't. In all actuality, I did, too, though it wasn't just about him when it came down to it."

"Ah," was all Dumbledore said.

"At any rate, he's been writing me letters all this year. At first, they were normal. They were of the usual sort - boring and tedious, filled with instructions and lectures and the like. But around the end of September, they began to get... stranger, instead of the usual, cool manner his letters used to have. He would start raving about the oddest subjects: the Northern Lights, global warming, Sherlock Holmes, the Beatles, the Cold War, Monty Python, the list never ends. Sometimes they were written this way, other times they were normal. It's almost like he's on some sort of Muggle drug...cocaine, or something. And it's starting to worry me. Not because I'm afraid for Father, but because of what it might mean. What they might be planning. Nothing like this was ever mentioned in my fathers' stories, nothing even remotely similar." He looked up from his hands, which he had been studying intensely during his speech.

"Well, Mister Malfoy, it seems you have just proven my instincts about you to be correct this entire time. I could have expelled you years ago, but I did not because my gut told me you were not like you father, not completely rotten. It seems my intuition was right once again. You are not an innocent person, but you are certainly not an evil one, either. I'm glad this prophesy included you after all. I was starting to wonder."

Draco gaped at Dumbledore. "That's all you have to say? You're not going to go off and send Snape to go find out why Voldemort is using narcotics? You're not going to tell me I'm a liar, or that you don't believe that I would admit I was afraid? You're just going to say, "I'm glad I decided to believe in you, why don't we go eat a lemon drop?'"

"And what, precisely, do you want me to say? I'm sure that felt good to get off your chest, but what could I do? I told you I wouldn't exploit what you told me, I agreed not to. That's a binding magical contract, that is. Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't be able to. It's ancient magic."

Draco seemed to realize he was staring and blinked repeatedly. "Well, alright then. Check." He moved his knight.

"Ah, very good move. By the way, would you like a lemon drop? They really are quite delightful for Muggle candy."

Draco threw up his hands in exasperation. There he went again, saying the last thing in the world he expected. "Sure, what the hell. I've been completely baffled by this conversation anyway, might as well get something out of it." He took a yellow candy from the tin Dumbledore held out to him.

~

"I can talk again!" Cass exclaimed, running her hands over her throat in amazement. "Why did I lose my voice in the first place?" she asked the nurse, who was putting something back on a shelf.

"Your questions will be answered when the Headmaster returns. Until then, brace yourself. The potion I'm about to give you for your legs and back is not pleasant." She turned back to her, a grim expression on her face.

"Potion?" Cass squeaked.

"What else would I use? I know you're not a Muggle, my wand told me so, but you are the strangest child I have ever seen. Don't they use potions where you come from?" Madam Pomfrey asked curiously.

Cass just stared. "I - we - impossible --"

"Shhh," she murmured, laying a gentle hand on her arm. "It's okay, it's actually better that I don't know." She moved away, toward the bubbling cauldron where the dark man with a hooked nose was stirring it.

"Can you tell me one thing at least?"

The nurse turned back to her, considering. "I imagine that would depend on what you want to know."

"Who were the people that brought us in?"

"You mean the students? Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Draco Malfoy. I can tell you right now, I have never seen Mister Potter and Mister Malfoy together that long without throwing a punch at each other, not to mention Mister Weasley." She shook her head in amazement.

"What about the girl? The one that came in carrying Alex?"

"Oh, Virginia Weasley. Yes, that was little Ginny. Amazing how she's grown up. It seems just yesterday she was being carried in here by Mister Potter, after the Chamber of Secrets incident..."

Madam Pomfrey kept talking, but Cass didn't hear it anymore. Ginny Weasley.

She had to be dreaming. She just had to be.

~

"Harry, what do you suppose this is about? I mean, three people show up out of the middle of no where, and suddenly we're told, Malfoy included I might add, that they're from the future. We don't even know their names!" Ron hissed in his ear as they walked back to the hospital wing, Dumbledore leading the way once more.

"Why do you assume I know what the hell is going on? I'm as lost as you are, mate. I don't understand it a whit, or why that bugger Malfoy is involved. Most likely, he'll go and report everything back to his Daddy as soon as possible."

"Would you two shut up already?" Hermione hissed at the both of them. "Malfoy can hear every word you two are saying. Bloody hell, they can probably hear you in bleeding America for Circe's sake! Now shut your mouths!" The look she gave them both make shivers run down Harry's back. Ahead of them a ways, Draco turned around and raised his eyebrows at Hermione sardonically.

"Told you," she said in a superior tone. Ron muttered something back, but fortunately enough for him, she didn't hear it.

"Ron, can you tell me what the bloody hell Dumbledore keeps going on about? He explained something to me earlier, but all I caught was something about time."

"Ginny, watch your mouth."

Ginny rolled her eyes and turned to Harry and Hermione. "Any clue at all?"

Harry shook his head and Hermione shrugged. "What happened before? When you came into the infirmary with that boy?" the latter asked.

"Well, to tell you the truth, I'm a bit confused about it myself."

"Just tell us what you know then," Hermione suggested.

"Well, I suppose... Okay, so I was standing in front of one of the bookstores, waiting for Courtney," she began, naming her best friend, Courtney Wirth, who was a Ravenclaw. "She was late, as usual, so I sat down against a tree at the corner - you know, the old oak - deciding to give her a few more minutes before going to find Rachel or someone else. Courtney isn't the most dependable person, even if she is my best friend. So, I waited, and all of a sudden, a voice came from behind me, up in the tree. It was a boy's voice, asking me to please help him down.

"You can imagine how weird that kind of situation would be. There was a boy, a little older than me, stuck up in a tree I had been leaning against, and yet, I hadn't heard him climb up at all. So, I just supposed he'd just been up there the entire time. He wasn't wearing school robes, but not everyone does on Hogsmeade trips. And he was our age, so I guessed that he was a student, just one I hadn't met before. A Hufflepuff probably, they seem to remain the background more often than not --"

"Get to the point, Gin," Ron complained.

"Do you want to hear this or not?" she snapped at her older brother. "So I asked him how he had managed to get up there in the first place, because he was really high, and he just sighed and said he'd rather not go into the details. So, I laughed, and started climbing the tree after him. Before I could get to him though, the branch he was perched on snapped and he came crashing down, taking me with him. The wind was knocked out of me, and by the time I caught me breath, he was sitting beside me, holding his side.

"He apologized repeatedly, then blacked out. He had broken a few ribs, and hit his head too, and broke his arm, I think. He was really looking bad. So I woke him up, and brought him here, supporting him the entire way, because he was off bad enough without having to walk by himself."

"Well, that was odd," remarked Ron.

"Did you find anything out from him?" Hermione asked her, ignoring Ron.

"Yes, actually. We talked the entire way back to the castle. His name is Alex Browning and he's just turned sixteen. He claimed to be originally from Dover, but his accent seemed a bit off to me. He said his best friends were named Cass and Cary, Stratford, or something sounding like that, but I've never heard of them before..."

"Cass?" Harry asked sharply.

"That's what he said," Ginny replied.

"That's what the girl's name was, remember?" he said, turning to Ron.

"So does that mean the other boy, the one we found, he's this Cary fellow?"

"Must be..." Harry murmured, thinking with lightning speed thoughts.

"GINNY!"

Harry, Hermione, and Ron all cringed simultaneously. There was Ginny's best friend herself, pelting down the stairs behind them, attempting to catch up. Ginny, who was used to Courtney's shouting, just turned around and stood still.

"Why didn't you wait for me?" Courtney demanded, once she had caught up to them, punching Ginny lightly on the arm.

"You weren't there, and something came up --"

"Hello, Miss Wirth. How are you doing this evening?" Dumbledore was suddenly standing at Ginny's elbow, looking at Courtney with amusement.

Courtney smiled at him brightly. "Just fine Professor. How're you doing?"

"Oh, I'm doing just fine. I read your essay about the theoretical origins of human magic for your Ancient Runes class. Absolutely brilliant. Are you positive you want to pursue Quidditch as a profession?" It was a well known fact that Courtney was a brilliant student when she applied herself. In fact, she was the Hermione Granger of Ginny's year in terms of intellect, but she had none of Hermione's drive. She only got average grades most of the time, because she was far from concerned about them. At exam time, she didn't study a single moment before the week of tests. And she was never on time. As a matter of fact, the only class she never slept through was Potions, because she actually liked it (and it showed too, since she was the only student outside of Slytherin House who Snape ever awarded points to, something Hermione found extremely irritating). Hermione had attempted to get her to apply herself to her studies during Courtney's third year, but had become frustrated with the hopeless task soon after and had given up. All Courtney wanted to do was play Quidditch for England - she was a brilliant Chaser. But Dumbledore adored her anyway (it was an informal tradition for him to give her a lemon drop every time he spoke with her).

She smiled sweetly at the headmaster. "Thanks Professor. I've found lately that actually doing the essays assigned to me is a lot easier than talking my way out of detention for not getting them done. Go figure, huh? But please, I've still got more than two years here. I haven't any more idea of what I'm going to do for the rest of my life than when I'm going to get started on that assignment McGonagall gave us today. May I have a lemon drop please?"

Dumbledore chuckled and dug into his pockets for the famous tin. "Miss Wirth, I was wondering if you might do me a favour. There's a shop in Hogsmeade that sells specialty items. It's owned by an elderly witch named Madam Keipper, a dear friend of mine, and it's on Griffin Street, next to the Dragon's Wing Pub. It's not a shop you walk just walk into, however. You will need a note from me to purchase anything, which you will be doing." At this point, he drew Courtney aside as spoke for a few moments with her in a quiet tone no one was able to overhear. Presently, he waved his wand and a scrap of parchment appeared in Courtney's hand. He handed her a small bag of money next, and then she was gone, grinning at Ginny impishly as she ran out of the Great Hall.

"Now, if you four will follow me once again, I believe Madam Pomfrey will be done by now."

"What the hell was that about?" Ron asked, his face twisting in bewilderment.

"Damned if I know," Harry said, frowning. He was really starting to hate the confusion he'd had all day.

~

"Are you really Albus Dumbledore?"

"What happened?"

"How did it happen?"

"Who's with you? Surely it's not Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy? It can't be."

The party was attacked with questions as soon as they entered the white and antiseptic-smelling Hospital Wing.

"Please calm yourselves," Dumbledore said gently, holding up his hands. "I can only hear one person at a time."

Waving his wand, the space in front of the beds was instantly taken up by several large, overstuffed, purple chairs, not unlike the ones in the Gryffindor common room, discounting the colour. "Now. Sit down," he said, gesturing at the group vaguely.

"Mister Stratton, perhaps you should begin explaining some history. Start from the end of the Great War, but say nothing of what happens to the people in front of you." Dumbledore looked calmly at the tall, blonde boy that hadn't let anyone near his book. "And please, no one outside this room is to know what is said in here, understood?" He looked sternly at the teenagers assembled around him.

"Perhaps you might like to introduce everyone first, Professor?" Cary replied, just as calmly.

"Oh, yes! How could I have forgotten? Harry, Ron, Draco, Hermione, Ginny, this is Cassandra and Cary Stratton, and Alex Browning." he said, gesturing at the three in the beds. "And these, my friends, are Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Virginia Weasley. Yes, shocking, isn't it?" There was nothing joking about the way he responded to Cass's jaw dropping.

"W-what kind of joke is this?" she asked shrilly, struggling to find the words. She started to get out of her bed, looking both very angry and very bewildered.

"My dear Cassandra, I can assure you this is no joke. Surely no amount of makeup and costumes could give this much likeness to the figures you've seen engraved and painted in so many scenes?" Dumbledore looked at her, and for a second she thought she saw great sorrow in their azure depths. But it was gone as quickly as it had come, so she couldn't be sure.

She walked toward the window, which was a considerable distance above the ground and stared unseeingly at the frozen forest and lake. "You have to be joking. This isn't possible. I'm dreaming, or Mother decided December was the new month to play April Fools' jokes in. You can't be real. You just can't be. Harry Potter died more than half a millennium ago. Draco Malfoy betrayed --"

"Miss Stratton!" Dumbledore said sharply, cutting her off. "Please, I remind you once again not to reveal more than you have to --"

"Half a millennium?" Ron asked shrilly.

"What's this about me dying?"

"I betrayed someone?"

"Please!" Dumbledore spoke sharply, once more. "Ms. Stratton, I am sorry this had to happen, but it did. You really are standing in the infirmary of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, all of us are really carrying actual magical wands, and this is really Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger, two of the most famous witches to grace history's pages. Now, please sit down --"

"What?" Hermione and Ginny gasped at the same time.

Dumbledore pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"Quiet!" he snapped, making everyone in the room jump. "Miss Stratton, I am aware this must be an awful lot to swallow all at once, but you need to sit down so all may be explained. We don't have a lot of time."

Silently, Cass went and sat next to Cary on his bed, the only sign of her agitation the tight grip she held on his pant leg.

"Now, Master Cary, I give you the floor." Dumbledore sunk down into a plush violet chair.

Cary glanced warily in the headmaster's direction and cleared his throat. "All right, I suppose I'll start from the beginning..."

~

"After the Great War, the was a period of great rest. The entire world went into a kind of waking sleep, as if exhausted from a life-long struggle. It was a very happy time, indeed, in which all peoples got along with each other, there wasn't a constant threat on the entire Wizarding world, the Ministry of Magic was a functioning institution, for the first time in about fifty years, and even the Muggles could sense it. There wasn't a Death Eater to be seen for years.

"But there was a technology backlash not soon after, and the entire world, not just the Muggle of Wizarding ones separately, entered a dark age, not dissimilar to that of Europe from around 1000 to 1400 AD. There was an outbreak of Veela Pox, an illness that had not been seen for many hundreds of years, and the earth was plunged into an impenetrable darkness. Even the most remote parts of human civilization, again, Muggle and Wizarding both, were affected. Nearly a third of the population died, or was horribly mutated in some way. Because that's what Veela Pox does: it destroys you from the inside, warping and twisting your insides until they no longer function properly. The hospitals were overrun, as were the insane asylums, since the pain of such a disease is maddening - even if you survived it, you were driven mad by the agony. The newly found technological breakthroughs in everything, including medicine, computers, and much much more, not more than a century old, were all rendered irretrievable when some long lost followers of the Lord Voldemort plundered the research facilities, hospitals, and factories, among everything else, which they did with particular relish. Nothing was left undisturbed, and civilization was driven back in progress to about the turn of the nineteenth century. The economy nose-dived, creating a Depression worse than that of even the early 1900's. The American government was overthrown in the second Revolution, and nuclear war broke out many times. In fact, where I come from, there is a large chunk missing from Cape Horn where North Korea wrought havoc. And people despaired of any hope, which was by far the worst blow to mankind. The word 'anguish' was completely redefined.

"But about four hundred years from now, there was a man, a descendant of the French philosopher he shared a last name with, named Claude Voltaire managed to rebuild a strong central government for the country of France, and soon after, the United States followed, and Great Britain, and indeed a great part of the world. Law and justice were reinstated and the various renegades that had been plundering what little was left were rounded up. A fragile attempt at civilization was spun, as delicate as a spider web. But Voltaire had done his work properly: it was a solid, if slow-moving start. The economy was righted, and indeed, it was like the sun had come up after a very, very long and dangerous night. While things were not, nor would ever be as they were, they much better, and they were improving with every moment. Books were being written again, to try and compensate for the knowledge that had been lost, breakthroughs were rediscovered, and in general, humanity was being rebuilt. The year we came from, 2584, is, technologically speaking, around the same era as you. It took a while, but we managed it. This is why your age seems not so very different from ours, except in terms of magic. People where we come from can't perform magic the way you can." Cary sat down, oblivious to the stares he was receiving.

"Au contraire, Mister Stratton. People from your era are indeed biologically different from us, simply for the reason of evolution if nothing else. Humanity felt a major blow, but humans still continued to evolve slowly over time. I believe if you'll compare wrist bones with Mister Potter, you'll find that yours is far more prominent, and that your bone structure as a whole is lighter and has less mass, and your brains are also slightly bigger." Hermione looked slightly indignant. "But not being able to perform and not knowing how are two entirely separate things." He looked straight at Cary, whom had been attempting to pry his sister's fingers off his legging for the last few moments.

"Wait a second. What the bloody hell do you mean you can't do magic?" Ron interrupted rudely.

"Ronald, I would appreciate it if you would hold off on the strong language," Dumbledore chided gently.

"Sorry, Professor," he mumbled.

Cary looked directly at Ron for the first time. "A standard wand hasn't been made for nearly three centuries, or at least three centuries from our time, is the moment when the last Ollivander descendent performed the meticulous task. In the six hundred years that have passed since this day in age, the number of true wizards has dwindled. The breeding between Muggles and Wizards increased so much that the magical blood has been diluted with non-magical blood. Begging your pardon, Miss Granger," he said blushing slightly, looking at Hermione shyly, who looked vaguely astonished that he would apologize. "That," he said, continuing, "Combined with the Veela Pox Outbreak of 2164, severely decreased the amount of magical people in the world. In fact, Alex here is the first person to have the magical ability to actually use a wand, had we been able to engineer one for him, in a very long amount of time. Show them, Alex."

Alex looked confused, but soon realized what Cary meant. Bringing one hand in front of the other, he muttered something under his breath and slowly brought away the hand that had been hiding what he had been doing. There, in the palm of his hand, was a small white rosebud. To their astonishment, the white flower began to grow in his hand, blooming spectacularly and becoming the most perfect and beautiful rose that had ever been seen, before, just as smoothly, it shrivelled up and turned black, the fragrant petals dropping to the floor. Slowly, the dead stem grew another white bud where the previous one had been and blossomed once again.

Mock-bowing, he presented the bloom to Ginny who blushed to the roots of her hair. "For helping me down from the tree," he said, smiling at her. "It will keep re-blooming as long as you will it to."

"An iuvenesco iuvenescere iuvenui charm. Exceedingly impressive, Alexander. Especially considering the amount of training you've had in the subject." Dumbledore nodded at him, a satisfied expression on his face.

"Sir, what did you mean about not knowing how?" Alex asked Dumbledore, straightening up.

"I meant exactly what I said. Cary and Cassandra can perform magic. It's just a matter of understanding how it is done." Dumbledore replied, not looking as if he were joking at all.

"But that's impossible."

"As I said before, Miss Stratton, on the contrary." Dumbledore was obviously enjoying not explaining himself.

"Professor..."

"Mister Stratton, there are two classifications of magic: internal and external. Everyone in this room except for you two can perform internal magic. For most of history, all but a very few have been internal wizards. What this means is that when Miss Granger, for instance, performs a spell, she draws on the magic running through her body. You, on the other hand, as with your sister, are an external wizard. With a wand, of course, you would draw on the magic surrounding you. There is magic in everything, you see, even in the Muggle world. It is in the grass, the sky, in the very walls that surround you. All that is matter is infested with magic. It is also a fact that external wizards, or witches, are far more powerful than their internal counterpart, because it takes not nearly the mental strain to perform complex spells. The Patronus Spell, for instance, takes a great physical toll on the average person. You, however, could say the words and feel nothing more than a slight contraction in your chest, only from the effort of borrowing the magical energy around you." Dumbledore raised a grizzled eyebrow. "Am I making sense?"

Everyone stared at him. Finally, Hermione spoke up. "Why haven't I heard about all of this before? And if what you're saying is true, does it mean an ordinary Muggle would be able to perform external magic as well?"

"The idea I am explaining to you is generally referred to as the Nabokov Theory, after Fyodor Nabokov, who was the first person to explain it that way. It's not a very well known theory, considering Nabokov died shortly after his essay on it was written, about four hundred years ago. It wasn't widely published, and all copies of it passed out of knowledge until about fifty years ago. Those who do know about it tend to disregard it as the mad ravings of an abusive alcoholic. As for your other question, no, ordinary Muggles would not be able to perform magic, even of the external sort, because to do so requires enough magic in the blood to draw on the magic outside the body. Muggles do have magic in their genes, otherwise we wouldn't get Muggle-borns such as yourself, but not enough. Cassandra and Cary do have enough in them, however. I am correct to believe you two can perform mild telepathy?" he asked the two siblings.

"Yeah, and we can hold things with our minds occasionally, too." Cass concentrated on Dumbledore's hat, and after a while it began it hover slightly above his head.

"I rest my case," Dumbledore said politely, to which Hermione looked slightly more satisfied. Alex, however, did not.

"Then why am I not one of those? Why am I more similar to you and all of them?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

Dumbledore looked calmly at Alex, his blue eyes twinkling seriously. "Because," he said slowly, "Your father was a pureblood wizard. In fact, he's here at this very moment."