Music of Destiny

Chapter 2

"Harry, please! The house elves made this especially for you! They're all worried, most of all Dobby!" Hermione pleaded with her friend, who was staring blankly into the Gryffindor common room fire like he had been ever since the day of Dean's death. That time, he had flown off after his outburst, and was found on the Quidditch stands later that evening, staring at the dark night sky. And after that, he seemed to lose all signs of life, going mindlessly through the motions of life, immersing himself in his studies - so that his grades improved drastically, and he was third in the school, and he even got good grades in *potions*, for heaven's sake! - and eating and speaking little.

Hermione was extremely worried this time. If she thought he had been bad during fifth year, now, in the beginning of sixth year, he was much worse. He was growing thinner and thinner, and he was practically skin and bones now! He was silent unless called on in class, and even then his answers were short and to the point; he had a haunted, dark look in his eyes; he ignored all attempts to communicate with him. Even during Quidditch practices and matches, he played robotically, though with no less skill. And whenever he had free time, he would be found huddled in front of the Gryffindor fire, as if hypnotized by the flames.

"Harry," began Hermione again, but then she shut up abruptly when he turned to look at her. Those once-shining green eyes were dull and lifeless, his face pale, skin stretched taut over bones. "Hermione," Harry said quietly, tonelessly, "Leave me alone." He then got up and headed up to his dorm, leaving Hermione standing there helplessly, with the jam tart she had been trying to convince Harry to eat in her hand.

"Damn him..." Hermione whispered to the empty room. "Damn him!" She wiped tears from her eyes, placing the tart on an empty table, and sank to the floor, trembling with repressed sobs. Dammit, Harry was like her brother, and now he was in this state, and she couldn't do anything to help! She was so useless, so useless...

That was how Ron found her, five minutes later, in a heap in the middle of the common room. He immediately went to her and soothed her, knowing that the reason for her helpless breakdown was Harry again. He himself felt the same way, except he broke down in the bathroom in private. They stayed like that for a while, Hermione sobbing in Ron's arms, and Ron trying not to cry as well. Hermione was always so mature, so knowledgeable, so composed, that it shook everyone up to see her losing control because of the way Harry was isolating himself from the world.

Finally, when Hermione's sobs slowed, Ron asked gently, "He went to the common room, didn't he?" When she nodded, face still buried in his arms, he said comfortingly, "Don't worry, I'll try to talk to him... if he's still there."

Hermione nodded again and sat up, rubbing her face and running her fingers through her wavy hair. "Go, quickly. Maybe he hasn't gone."

Ron hugged her tightly, before standing and hurrying to his dorm. Maybe he hadn't gone... empty words, since Ron knew that Harry would definitely not be in their dorm. But there was still a glimmer of hope... no. Not when things were already at this stage. And sure enough, when he flung open the door, the window was open, the curtains fluttering in the cold autumn breeze; Harry's Firebolt gone from his bedside, his wand, the Marauder's Map, the Cloak and the flute Hagrid had made for him not there either. It was always like this. Every night, Harry would take these same three items and disappear to god knows where and only come back at dawn.

Ron kicked the door in frustration, before trudging back to the common room. Hermione looked up, and smiled sadly. "We shouldn't get our hopes up like that every time, you know," she said lightly, patting the space next to her on the couch she was sitting on. Ron took the invitation and sat down, taking comfort in the warmth the fire gave and the calm Hermione radiated. Comfortable yet depressed silence reigned over the Gryffindor common room. The once-lively bunch of Gryffindors were now much more subdued, seeing that the boy they all looked up to and admired had become like this.

"Is there any way... any at all... to bring back the Harry we know?" Ron dully asked. "I don't care what it is, as long as it brings Harry back, I'll welcome it with open arms and a huge party! No, scratch that. Even if it makes Harry show a bit of emotion, I'm happy. Not his robot that we've been seeing everyday. Even if he yells at me, that's fine. At least he'll be feeling *something*, even if that feeling is anger."

"I know, Ron, I know," sighed Hermione. "Sometimes I just want to slap him to get some sense into his brain. But then I know if I did, he'd just look at me with that look in his eyes asking for more! He wants people to be angry at him, Ron, because he thinks it's all his fault. He'd want me to hit him again and again because he wants the pain, and if I stopped, he'd think I'm pitying him, and that's also what he hates!"

Ron stared at her. "That's... really perceptive of you, Herm. Though I should have expected it of Hogwarts' top student and Gryffindor Prefect. But hearing that from you... now I know Harry's in a worse state than I thought. I just thought he's trying to dull the pain and isolate himself to save us... but this, this means he's given up on life itself."

"Now that was deep, coming from you," Hermione smiled shakily.

"Yeah, I'm surprised at myself, too."

There was another pause in the conversation, with the two friends contemplating life and Harry.

"School's more quiet, more boring, more tense these days," Hermione said eventually. "Even Malfoy's stopped picking fights. I'd expect him to make some crack about Harry's state, but he's just kept to himself, and the rest of the Slytherins are following his example, thank goodness. We could do with a rest in the eternal Slytherin-Gryffindor war."

"I don't know..." Ron said slowly. "Look at it this way. Malfoy's always been the one who can challenge Harry the most, who can get Harry all riled up and fired to kick some Slytherin ass. But now that he's quiet too... there's a much less chance of Harry getting emotional. If he was the prat that he used to be, Harry would have to fight back sooner or later."

This time it was Hermione's turn to gape at Ron. "That was really, really insightful of you, Ron. I never thought of it that way, I was just glad to escape his insults."

"Don't get me wrong, I'm glad too. I'm just saying... well, I guess, if it means getting Harry back on track, then I wouldn't mind even Malfoy insulting us all over again. Heck, I'd even befriend the git and grovel at his feet if it would help!"

"I'll remember that," teased Hermione, "And see if I can use it in the future!"

Ron grimaced. "That won't happen, I'd die first."

The two shared a light laugh, a rare sound in the Gryffindor tower these days. The fire cackled merrily in the grate, doing its best to fight off the chill, yet it was slowly but surely losing the battle to the cold wind that blew in from the world outside, as bit by bit, it invaded the warmth of the tower.

+++++

"OW! That bloody hurt! Can't you be more gently, Pansy?" yelped Draco, wincing as the blonde Slytherin girl prodded his arm with her wand. Her straw-blond hair curtained her face as she peered down at Draco's arm, judging the extent of the damage. Ice-blue eyes narrowed critically, pale lips usually adorned with prominent lipstick pursed themselves, and a slim hand with perfectly manicured fingernails grasped a shiny wand tightly, pale skin contrasting with the dark brown of the wood.

"Sorry," Pansy replied, not sounding at all sorry. "I can do broken bones, but I can't do anesthetics. So you'll just have to bear the pain while I fix that broken arm of yours." She started muttering a spell that had Draco howling with pain inside the sound-proof barrier he had cast around the private room he had gotten as a Slytherin Prefect.

"Oh, shut up, Draco," Blaise Zabini had to raise his voice to be heard over the ruckus. His unique, clear purple eyes were watching the antics of his two best friends with amusement, from his sprawled position on top of Draco's four-poster bed. Black-dye-streaked golden-blonde hair, usually in some semblance of order, was messily spread out on the bed, since Blaise couldn't care less about appearances in front of his only confidantes. His brown-tanned skin (from enthusiastic flying practices) melded with the dark velvet Slytherin green of Draco's bedspread. "Be a man, not a sissy. The way you're going on, you sound like a damsel in distress."

Draco immediately shut up and glared at Blaise. "You try having pieces of a broken arm shoving their way through muscle and tissue to glue themselves back together and see how you like it. You'll scream even worse than I do, since I've had experience and you don't."

Blaise sat up, all traces of humour gone. "Seriously, Draco, what did you do this time?" he asked resignedly. "Haven't you learned anything by now? Just give in and you'll be fine."

"Look, it's the principle of the thing, alright? I've tried to explain it time and again, and you still don't get it, so drop it," snapped Draco, wincing all the while as Pansy went on with her spell. "There are some things that even you two can't understand about me."

"But Draco, I'll have to agree with Blaise," Pansy interrupted. "You still insist on Apparating to meet with him every time he orders you to, and at the same time you insist on antagonizing him on everything else. You're practically begging for a beating, and he never fails to give it to you! We're worried about you, Draco, really we are. The three of us stick together through thick or thin, like siblings, and we wish you'd stop being so secretive."

"Yeah, we share all our secrets with you, but you're always the most mysterious, secretive one," Blaise butted in. "It's not very fair, you know."

"Look, I really trust you guys, but there are some things that no one can ever know or understand! So stop interrogating me, alright?" He wrenched his healed arm out of Pansy's grasp and stood in one fluid motion. Grabbing his Invisibility Cloak (a birthday present from his mother) and wand, he swirled the cloak around him and disappeared from view. A moment later, the Firebolt next to the door disappeared as well, and then the door itself opened and closed, and Pansy and Blaise were left glaring at the wood as if it had mortally offended them.

"Well! He doesn't have to act so high and mighty around *us*, does he? I understand when he puts on his cold, unfeeling, all-bow-to-me-Draco-the-Ice-Prince-of-Slytherin mask whenever he's around anyone else, but we've been best friends for so long!" Pansy complained to Blaise, who nodded in agreement.

"He's been secretive ever since that Death Eater attack in fifth year. We lost him in the crowd then, wonder what happened after that to make him so moody? Before that he bit people's heads off for the slightest mistake, now he tears their limbs apart and chops them into mincemeat for just looking at him! Not that that's bad, of course," Blaise added as an afterthought, "But I wish he would trust us. He just goes, 'oh, you don't understand, leave me alone' and locks himself into his bedroom for the rest of the night whenever he comes back from meeting *him*. Today's a change in the routine; he actually went out instead of shoving us out of this room. Should we be happy about that?"

"I pity Draco," Pansy mused, clearly not listening to Blaise. "At least we don't have that sort of problem."

"What problem?"

Pansy gave Blaise a Look.

"Oh. Yeah. But still, he's got money, drop-dead looks, enough brains to be the second in the school, and everything else he could want. Why does he keep that glaring look on his face all the time? If it were me, I'd be grinning like an idiot."

"That's because you *are* one," sniffed Pansy, ducking to avoid the pillow Blaise threw at her. "But speaking of things that we have, there's one thing that we have loads of and he doesn't, and that's what people really need the most, and I think especially him."

"What's that?"

"Love. The love a family gives - Draco doesn't have much of that. The love between friends - he used to trust us, but now, he's pulling away, like he's afraid of it. The deep, unexplainable love between lovers - to have someone you trust with your entire being, you deepest secrets, your soul, and be trusted and loved like that in return. That's what Draco really needs - oh, shut up, Blaise!" screeched Pansy, bonking a hysterically laughing Blaise on the head with the pillow he had just thrown at her. And thus ensued an energetic pillow fight, which resulted in a feather-covered room.

"Oops."

With a wave of two wands and muttered spells, the room was restored to its former pristine state. Plopping down on the couch, Pansy eyed Blaise on the bed. "Idiot. I meant every word. And you'd better take heed, too. What I said applies to everyone. He needs someone to trust with his entire self."

"He can trust *us*."

"Yes, but *we* know that, not him. That is to say, we know he can trust us, but he doesn't feel like he can, and it's *his* opinion that matters."

"Maybe you're right," Blaise said tiredly. "But let's not talk about such girly stuff - okay, okay! I give!" he yelped as Pansy hit him right in the stomach with a ball lying conveniently around. "I meant, let's just leave this topic alone for a while, okay?"

"Yeah, okay. What about Harry Potter, eh? He's also become much gloomier after that attack, when that Thomas guy died. I feel sorry for the Gryffindors, and especially Potter. He's so thin, and he looks so bone-weary, and it's affecting the Gryffindors too; they're not as cheerful and annoying as before, though that might be because those horrible Weasley pranksters are gone."

"That's one thing both our houses have in common, then," noted Blaise. "Both our unofficial leaders have gone downhill since that attack, and we've all become more subdued."

"That's good, and that's bad, too. The houses don't fight as much now, but the thing is, we don't even talk at all!"

"Doesn't matter to me. It's all the same. Ravenclaws are nice and neutral, and though they're really smart, they don't show off. Hufflepuffs are mild and not worth bothering about. But Gryffindors... ugh, Gryffindors - always so high and mighty, thinking they're always right, and that all Slytherins are Voldemort's pets and loyal die-hard servants, and they eat up all the lies and propaganda fed to them. Who're they to judge us like that? Us three don't want to be Death Eaters, and we're the unofficial 'leaders' of Slytherin!" He scowled. "Can we change the subject again? I shudder to think that we have something in common with those Gryffindors."

Blaise Zabini was a smart student, and was almost always right in his predictions and decisions, when he bothered to make them. But this time, he was wrong. The Gryffindors and Slytherins definitely had something in common, and time would prove it. It was just that nobody knew enough to see it yet. Nobody... except Albus Dumbledore.

+++++

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, sighed a soft sigh full of pensively profound meaning. His tall, thin form and silvery-white, thick beard were reflected mistily in the glass of the window before him. Light, bright blue eyes, set above a long, crooked nose, gazed unseeingly at the dark grounds.

Fawkes settled on its master's shoulder, its golden plumage complementing the silver of Dumbledore's hair and beard. "Ah, Fawkes," greeted the Headmaster. "Isn't it a beautiful night? Look at all the stars glittering in the sky... but trouble is brewing beneath the calm. I am getting old, Fawkes, too old for all these complications... or rather, new developments in destiny. Developments which have the power to destroy all that we, the Light side, have worked for... or bring us to a great victory."

He opened the window, letting the chill air blow in. Fawkes made a noise of discontent. "I'm sorry, my friend, but I have to leave the window open so that, later in the night, I can emphasize a point to our visitors. Tonight is the beginning, Fawkes. And we are lucky enough to witness it."

He turned and settled himself down in his comfortable chair, steepling his long, callused fingers, deep in thought. Yes, tonight would be the start, but there would be many checkpoints along the race for victory. Little did he know how important some of these checkpoints were... and how dangerous.

A slight tapping on his door alerted Dumbledore to his first visitor. "Come in," he called, guessing who the visitor was, and the door opened. He was right. A large, shaggy black dog padded silently into the room, nudging the door closed behind it. "Sirius, it is safe," Dumbledore said genially, and in an instant, the dog had transformed into a human. Sirius Black, wrongly accused convict, had been haggard and thin during his stay in the wizard prison Azkaban, almost going mad, but these past three years, he had improved much.

Dumbledore cast an approving glance at Sirius, who was looking much better after being well cared for by Dumbledore's allies, whenever he went out on a mission. One of his right-hand men and trusted advisors, the muscular Animagus would have many girls swooning over him if they didn't run away screaming first. He fit the description 'tall, dark and handsome' perfectly, with his almost totally black outfit - leather jacket, simple white shirt, denim jeans, boots, fingerless motorcycle gloves, wind-swept black hair, and - was that a spiked dog collar? Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "A dog collar, Sirius?" he asked mildly, lips twitching in a smile.

Sirius grinned. "I just felt that it fitted the image, don't you think so? My Animagus form is a dog, I'm named after Sirius the Dog Star - and I like to think I'm wild, rough, and fun-loving like a dog. And girls love bad guy images, drives them wild." His midnight black eyes danced with mischief as he grinned; showing surprisingly white, even teeth in a tanned face. "Besides, I've been gone on missions ever since the Triwizard Tournament, so I wanted to have a surprise for you people after all this while. Boy, is Remus gonna faint!" he chuckled, imagining the look on his fellow Marauder and most trusted friend's face.

Dumbledore smiled secretly to himself. Yes, Remus was going to have quite a surprise and might find it hard to stand, but not for the reason Sirius was thinking of. As a side observer, Dumbledore had seen things in Remus and Sirius's relationship that the two men in question hadn't noticed. But he would keep it a secret for now and not interfere... unlike the other relationship that was blossoming in Hogwarts. His expression darkened at the thought, but luckily it was missed by the tall Animagus, who had been distracted by another soft knock at the door.

"Judging by the sound of the knock... that would be Remus!" exclaimed Sirius triumphantly as he swung open the door. And sure enough, Remus Lupin stood there, tugging at his worn robes, which covered beige slacks and a white collared shirt on a lean frame. His light brown hair, streaked with some grey due to the huge amount of stress he was under, which also resulted in his looking much older than his age, was a little messy, like he had run his hand through his hair. When he looked up, tired but alert stormy gray eyes in pale, weary face widened at the sight of this unexpected friend - wearing a leather motorcycle jacket and black tight-fitting denim?! And... Oh god, a dog collar?!

Sirius grinned at his friend, noting with relief Remus's much healthier-looking appearance, compared to the last time he had seen him. Thank the gods that Remus was under Dumbledore's care, this way, Sirius could go off on his missions with one less person to worry about, since he knew Remus would eat well and wouldn't have so many burdens on his shoulders with the wise Headmaster around. But right now, Remus didn't look so good, what with his mouth hanging open and his eyes almost bulging out of their sockets. "Si... Sirius?!" the werewolf managed to croak.

"In the flesh." Sirius's grin grew bigger, if that was possible, seeing his friend unable to do anything but gape. "Whoa, careful there," he chuckled, as Remus had to suddenly lean against the doorway to keep standing, since his legs seemed to have turned to jelly, partly from relief to see his innocently convicted friend back safely, and partly because... well, just *because*. There wasn't any other reason. He and Sirius had been friends ever since they were young, and he was the only true Marauder left besides Remus himself. They were *friends* and nothing more.

Seeing Sirius smirking like mad, Remus gathered his wits from the four corners of the earth and miraculously, managed to stand. He swallowed and straightened his robes again. "Good to see you safe, Sirius," he greeted smoothly. Do NOT mention the outfit, do NOT look at the outfit, do NOT even THINK about the outfit... repeating that mantra over and over again, Remus made it safely past his friend and to one of the chairs in front of Dumbledore's table, which he collapsed gratefully into. He eyed the Headmaster, who was smiling at some inside joke, and decided to ignore it. "Hello, Headmaster."

Sirius plopped himself down on the chair next to Remus, examining carefully the other man who was just as carefully not looking at him. With proper care, Remus had slowly shed the age from his appearance, and now looked more like the young adult he should be, not someone as world-weary as Dumbledore. Though he was thinner than Sirius, who was muscular from all the running he had to do to stay alive, he still looked pretty okay. In fact, he looked really good, the kind of person you'd trust in dark times, who'd listen to your sorrows, who you'd love wholeheartedly and unreservedly and who'd make a good partner for life... Sirius hastily looked away and prayed for a distraction so no one would see his face turning red.

The gods answered his prayer for a distraction in the form of one scowling Severus Snape. The Potions master hadn't changed one bit, that scowl still there, together with the disgustingly greasy hair and that incorrigible hooked nose, matched horribly with the sallow, sickly looking skin. But then, once a git, always a git, so he couldn't hold it against the guy. Sirius imitated the sneer he had seen so many times before. "Snape. As ugly as before, have you killed any student with those looks of yours yet?"

Snape's eyes narrowed and his lips turned up into a sneer that matched Sirius's in its venom. "I see you finally admitted to being the dog you are, Black, about time too."

They had a staring match, faces twisting into more and more horrible expressions with each passing second, with Remus and Dumbledore looking on in amused resignation, until there was yet another knock on the still opened door. "Excuse us, Severus, but you're blocking the doorway."

Snape gave one last glare before moving to a wall and leaning against it, folding his arms into his robes. They turned to look at the newest arrivals, a stern, imposing Minerva McGonagall, with her grey hair in a bun as always; a large, ruddy-faced, bushy-haired-and-bearded Rubeus Hagrid; and a dreamy-eyed, mystery-filled Astronomy teacher, Professor Sinistra. They filed in and each found a seat, greeting the rest of the people in the room.

"Only four more till we can start the meeting!" announced Dumbledore cheerfully. "A few more minutes are all it will take. Ah, I believe that we have ourselves two more guests!" And sure enough, a few moments later, two redheaded people entered the room. Arthur Weasley looked the same as ever, though his hairline seemed to have receded even more, and Charlie Weasley had gotten a snake fang earring to rival Bill's. Dumbledore supposed that Molly had had a fit about that.

"Hello, everyone, long time no see," Charlie grinned good-naturedly. His eyes fell on Sirius and he laughed. "Hey, Sirius, I like the collar! Hope Bill doesn't see that he might get wild ideas." He fingered his new earring with pride as he sank into a couch with his father.

"Why is the window open, Headmaster?" asked Arthur, puzzled. "Autumn came very, very early this year, so even though it's been a week since September started, the cold winds have already been blowing in."

"Yes, Arthur, I do realize that, but I have left the window open on purpose, for to show you all something later this night. I apologise if it gets a bit drafty, but that's what the fire is for," beamed Dumbledore.

"Alright..." Arthur replied a little doubtfully.

The last two guests to the meeting appeared after a minute of waiting. "Sorry we're late," was the first thing out of Mundungus Fletcher's mouth as he breezed in with Arabella Figg just a step behind. Fletcher was an eccentric-looking, fifty-something yet still very energetic man, who was wearing mismatched clothes, striped multi-coloured socks, and large shoes; but his weird fashion sense was made up for by his bright, reassuring grin and optimistic lookout on life. His good humour was infectious, and if you stayed around him for long, you would find yourself smiling widely too, which was why he had many friends.

Figg appeared an old woman, but once she was sure there were only allies and no enemies about, her hunched back straightened, her walking stick disappeared, the wrinkles on her face smoothed out, her clothes changed to something more suitable instead of old, baggy, 'grandmother' kind of clothes, and if you looked closely, you would see her grey hair was merely a product of hair dye. Without these (and an old croaky voice when she spoke) to make her appear old, Arabella was a plain young woman wearing sensible clothes with a soft-spoken voice and great acting skills.

As the door closed behind them, everyone in the room cast a spell of their own. Now there were a few soundproof barriers, invisible but physical barriers, magical barriers, and an illusion spell (that showed only Dumbledore reading in an empty room, to whoever happened to look in) enclosing the room. It was as safe as this small, select group of the vast organization of the Order of the Phoenix could make it.

Dumbledore looked around at all his trusted advisors. They looked back at him seriously; temporarily putting aside past grudges for more important matters. He was proud of how much they had achieved in a mere year. Today was not really a meeting to discuss current matters, but to tell them about the prophecy, which would come later.

The great wizard cleared his throat and began. "My fellow wizards and witches, I thank you for taking the time today. My only regret is that some of us cannot make it, but they send messages that they are well and their work progressing smoothly.

"Now, on to the current matters. Voldemort is still continuing his relentless attacks on wizarding settlements, not only in Britain, but also in other countries like Russia, America, Europe and even the Asian continent. However, due to warnings we have gotten to them in time, the respective Ministries have taken precautions and alerted their citizens, so the casualty rate, so far, is reasonably low. And Hogsmeade has been attacked quite a number of times too, seeing how it's close to Hogwarts. Perhaps they are trying to capture it as a base, but so far it's holding up well, and we have no reason to worry as of yet.

"And now, we will hear updates on your work. We will start with Arthur, and before I forget, I must congratulate you on being chosen for the position of Britain's Minister of Magic."

Arthur Weasley gaped. "I thought the results weren't out yet!" he blurted.

Dumbledore beamed as Charlie shook his father's hand profusely, enthusiastically congratulating the shocked man, and said, "Yes, that may be to the public, Arthur, but an inside confidante in the Ministry has just alerted me to the news, since I am the one who nominated you in the first place. It will be in the papers tomorrow. I should think Mr. Ronald Weasley will have a great shock when he sees the article. I believe you will perform the job most admirably, better than Cornelius, at least. It is sad that he was voted out, but it had to be done, for blinding himself to the truth that Voldemort has returned."

There was a great deal of noise, mostly from Sirius ("Good job there, Arthur! Kick some ass!"), Charlie ("My dad! Minister of Magic! Wait till old Lucius sees this, hope he'll kick the bucket and stub his toe while at it! Do you think ol' Ronnie will choke on his porridge or whatever he eats for breakfast? I know Mum sure will!"), and Mundungus ("Yes! An old boy like me, the Minister! Show them what our generation can do, old chap! Hurrah and all that!"), and quieter comments from the others, with the exception of Snape, whose scowl deepened. Anyone Sirius liked, he would not allow himself to do the same. But secretly, deep, deep, deep down inside, he was glad that someone as sensible and loyal as Arthur was chosen for Minister.

Finally, after the noise had died down, Arthur coughed embarrassedly and said, "Thanks for all your encouragement. As you know, I've been gathering confirmed allies in the Ministry and pinpointing those that are even the least bit suspicious. I already have a few definite allies that we can be very sure are not working for Voldemort in any way and will help us do whatever they can. With this new position, I can do more thorough research on each person without suspicion. That's about all so far, really."

Dumbledore nodded, pleased. "Thank you, Arthur. Charlie?"

Charlie smiled. "Some dragon colonies have agreed to help the Light side, and others are hesitating, but I think they'll be quickly convinced by the dragons already on our side. Norbert - you know, Hagrid's dragon? - is one of the leaders that are active in this anti-Dark movement stirring among the dragons. And some of them tell me they will contact the dragons in the other countries, like you asked me to ask them, Headmaster."

"All in all, a very satisfactory report," mused Dumbledore. "I am glad we have such a promising Dragonheart like you on our side, Charlie. It's very rare to find one with special abilities outside of ordinary magic, and it's even rarer to have this particular one. The balance tilts in our favour, with you, blessed with the gift of understanding dragons, being *accepted* by the dragons as one of them, on our side." Charlie went a little red at this, and waved the praise away.

One by one, the people in the room gave their reports on the progress they had made in their missions. Mundungus, given the mission of contacting and confirming allies all over the world due to his friends and contacts everywhere, had gotten secure communication lines to the American Minister of Magic, a confirmed anti-Dark ally, to the Russian President (of muggles) who was also the Deputy Minister of Magic of Russia, to some key ministry leaders in France, and other important people in big and small nations. Being fluent in all sorts of languages, he was a key player in the anti-Dark movement network that was expanding across the world.

Arabella Figg, another one blessed with the special abilities that sometimes surfaced in a witch or wizard, was given the task of converting each and every animal in the world to the Light side as spies, with her Animagius abilities - the gift of shifting into or talking to any animal at will. Her network of trained animals had alerted wizarding settlements of attacks beforehand and saved many lives. The animals, each with heightened senses much sharper than any humans', were invaluable help in the defense against Voldemort.

The teachers all gave reports on the various stages of research they had done concerning little known spells to protect Hogwarts and to repel intruders. McGonagall was researching on spells that could transfigure enemies into things easy to imprison, and the spells had to be able to do so through the many layers of magical protection the enemy was sure to have. If not done properly, the spell would probably last only a few seconds.

Snape was researching on potions to heal Dark wounds, which not only affected the physical body, but the mind and soul; added to that he was researching potions that could penetrate layers of defense spells to hurt that enemy, and also ways to increase a spell's potency. Hagrid was breeding creatures that would be tame under the right hands but attack the enemy ferociously, and were hard to kill, but being the... not very bright nor meticulous person he was, the research wasn't coming along very well. Dumbledore had plans to change this, however.

Sinistra was researching on ways to strengthen both spells and potions using the power of the stars, and to predict using which star arrangements on which day would be more suitable for setting up the spells, to maximize their strength. Remus, the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, was of course, researching on ways to defend against the dark arts.

Finally everyone had spoken, and they all fell silent once again.

"Alright, enough of the practical information, I'm sure everyone must be impatient by now, wondering why on earth I had asked you all to gather, when I had just done so a few weeks ago. It is because after years of hard work, I have finally concluded my research." Dumbledore looked around at all the curious faces. "Yes, yes, what research, you may ask? I will explain."

He looked at his antique pocket-watch. Fifteen minutes to midnight and the beginning of the start. He had better do some talking fast.

"As you all know, there are two kinds of prophecies. One is the kind of silly predictions that people make to achieve fame. The other is the true kind, the ones which are repeatedly made over centuries by many different Seers. The latter are not identical, but they all have points in common, and these points make up the main idea of the prophecies. It is hard work to trace down all these prophecies and translate them, for they are vague and written in Seer style, which is hard for us to understand. But all this I did, and I compared them to each other. And from the many different versions of this particular prophecy, I have pinpointed a few constant predictions. I shall read to you translations of each point now."

He rummaged through the top drawer, then the second drawer, then the third, then got up and went to the cupboard, rifling through the items and papers there, before going to the other cupboard. Remus coughed lightly. "Uh, Headmaster, is that the paper you're looking for?" he asked, pointing at a single sheet of paper on the floor.

"Oh, yes, how careless of me. Thank you, Remus. Now, where was I? Ah, yes." Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Listen, now."

The Darkness advances across the Light,

Warmth surrenders quickly to Cold's might.

Early the chill, early the Dark,

On the Ninth the Twelfth leaves its mark.

"That is the most straightforward quote I could find. Do you understand it?" queried Dumbledore, looking around.

"The dark, the cold. It's quickly taking over the warmth and the Light. That's the first two lines, is it not?" Professor Sinistra replied in her musically mysterious voice. "Early the chill... the Eleventh leaves its mark... that should mean, in that particular year, winter comes early, the cold in December, the twelfth month, showing up as early as in September, the ninth month."

"Which perfectly describes this month." Realization dawned on Sirius's face. "The prophecy is talking about this month, when it's so much colder than it should be at this time of year!"

"Yes," said Dumbledore gravely. "But we must not forget the first two lines... darkness is advancing quickly, that is also true. And there is more."

Fire, Wind, Water, Earth,

Elementals four there be.

Twice as two, two times twice,

Stronger than some shall see.

There was silence. "That's worse than the other one," Sirius finally admitted. "I mean, I get the first part. There are going to be four people with elemental power, the traditional fire, wind, water and earth. This prophecy I've heard of before. But 'twice as two, two times twice/strong and weak shall see'? What's that?"

"That is already the simplest version I could find. Seers love to confound. But after comparing and nitpicking at the other similar versions of this rhyme, I figure it to mean that there will be four others (that's the 'two times twice' part) who will have double elemental powers (which is the 'twice as two' part); and the last sentence could either be stating the obvious, that these 'double elementals' are stronger than the 'lesser elementals', or it could mean that within the 'double elementals' themselves, there are ones with stronger powers."

It took the listeners a moment to digest Dumbledore's words. When they did, McGonagall asked, frowning a little, "That's the most specific interpretation? Nothing about what kind of powers the double elementals will have? The lesser elementals each have control over one element, but the double elementals will have control over two each. Which two, if there are only four of them? Isn't there any hint?"

"Well, we do have a clue," said Dumbledore slowly. "It is because of that clue that I started researching this prophecy in particular."

"What's that?"

"I myself... am a Double Elemental."

Absolute, total silence reigned over the room.

"And I have reason to believe that so is Voldemort."

A slight choking sound.

"And I am quite sure that Cedric Diggory and Bartemius Crouch Junior were both Lesser Elementals."

A sad sort of silence ensued as they pondered the deaths of these two men, one a promising leader of Light, the other the only man who could have proved to the wizarding world that Voldemort indeed had risen again, but was silenced forever by the Dementor's Kiss.

"And that Lestrange, the husband of the husband and wife team who are loyal to Voldemort - "

A growl of hatred -

"And Sirius... are both Lesser Elementals."

Pause.

"WHAAAAAT?!" Sirius's yell almost shattered everyone's eardrums. Thank goodness there had been a soundproof barrier around the room or people outside would think someone had just screamed bloody murder. Which, come to think of it, someone had.

"Headmaster, you can't be serious! I've never had any connection to any of the elementals!" protested Sirius wildly. "I mean, come on, if I was one, I'd know, wouldn't I? I would have some inkling of it, and I don't!"

"Sirius. It is a good thing, to have this power, to protect those that you love and to assist the Light. Haven't you ever felt extremely comfortable floating in water, or just relaxing when breathing in fresh air, or loving the feel of earth beneath your feet, or just feeling safe when basked in the warmth of a fire?" Dumbledore asked, smiling.

"No!" Then Sirius paused thoughtfully. "On the other hand..."

He went over to the fire and hesitated, before closing his eyes. What was that feeling, that warm, safe, comfortable feeling he had, whenever he was just sitting there by the fire, reveling in its warmth, feeling it welcome him, sing out to him, call to him to join it in its dancing... what was that feeling, if not a connection to his element, fire? It would make sense, then, they way he loved to do all his work, plan all his jokes (mostly on Snape), or just relax by a blazing fire, and it would also explain why he had such a hot temper. Fire... he opened himself up, hands reaching out to the flames, joining in the dance of the sparks, giving himself up to the warmth and the light.

The convict turned back to his stunned audience. Even Snape was gaping, and that was saying something. Sirius smirked as scarves of flame weaved a tapestry of colour around him, forming beautiful, abstract patterns in the air, and he looked like a fiery, devilish angel. Then he spoiled the image, grinning impishly, and snapped his fingers. The fire formed shapes around him, which had Remus bursting out into laughter, followed by everyone else; even Snape tried to hide a smile. Sirius had formed a red devil's tail, horns, and trident with the fire; he posed there, looking for all the world like a tried-and-true devil.

"If only I had known about this sooner, I would have used it to play some remarkable tricks on Snape that would have gone down in Hogwarts history and sent him to St. Mungo's," Sirius remarked airily as he sent the fire back to its grate, returning to his seat. Snape glared daggers at him, but he pretended not to notice.

"Well, that was an amazing display, Sirius. Looks like you will have no problems mastering your element. I will talk to you later, about how we will determine the extent of your power and how we can use it. Now, Cedric should have been earth, and Crouch, air. So that leaves Water for Lestrange." Dumbledore paused, and then suddenly changed topics. "But we're getting off-track. Severus, did you bring the potion I asked you to?"

"Yes, here." Snape looked startled as he drew out a vial of white pearly liquid that seemed to shimmer. "The strongest I could make."

Dumbledore took it and looked at it. Finally he spoke. "This potion lets you sense magic that is not of the normal kind all wizards and witches have. It is one of the potions Severus recently discovered from the ancient texts he is looking into. This means it lets you sense magic, but only magic that is actively being used and not passively lying dormant inside us. We will be able to sense the special abilities that Bill and Arabella have, and for our purposes tonight, Elemental magic. We will actually feel it in our heart, in our bones, the magic that is being used.

"I have asked Severus to make this tonight, for we will use it to behold the meeting of two magicks that will decide the future of the world. For it is written in the prophecy."

Light and Dark,

Bonded of fate.

Two lost halves.

Born of hate.

Together as one,

Rarest of sky.

Hidden in dark,

Tears of why.

World's fate,

They hold;

Elementals two,

They be.

Thus begins

The song

Of Music

Of Destiny.

"This is the main point of the prophecy. And this is what I have been waiting for. Tonight, at midnight, when the star and planet arrangement in the sky is the rarest of all, only appearing once every thousand years." Dumbledore picked up a spoon conveniently lying about and dripped a drop of the potion into it, then tipped that drop into his throat.

Accepting the potion, Professor Sinistra murmured, "Rarest of sky... tonight, midnight. I see." She drank, and passed it to Arabella, who was nearest. Each drank the potion in turn, then turned to Dumbledore expectantly.

The great wizard simply turned to face the window, and uttered a single word. "Listen."

And they did.

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