Rending Identities

Four shall rise to power.

Four will climb the tower.

One to heal the ill,

One to warm the chill,

One to rule the dark,

One to bear the mark.

Together shall overcome,

Apart will come undone.

Four shall march to war,

Two shall rise no more.

Two shall overthrow,

And in darkness grow.

Two will pay the cost,

When light is forever lost.

***

"Is it time, then?" said a deep, rumbling voice.

"Yes. Yes, I believe it is," replied the haggard-looking woman before him.

"And will they be ready?" came a third voice, slightly skeptical.

"I'm afraid they will have to be."

"Is the prophecy doomed to be fulfilled?" spoke another, softer voice.

There was a pause as the older woman pondered this. A deep sigh drew their attention to the portrait on the wall.

"Not if I have anything to do with it."

***

Amelia sat in front of her computer, staring fixedly at the blank screen. The cursor blinked rapidly, as if taunting her for her lack of inspiration. Scowling, she popped a piece of candy in her mouth and flicked off the monitor. Amelia plopped onto her green and white striped sofa, and tucking her legs underneath her, took up the photo album from the floor and began flipping through.

She sighed as the vivid images seemed to leap off the page at her. They were pictures of her mother, before she got sick, before the mysterious illness took her life away at the age of 49. Amelia felt tears well up in her eyes as she reached the last page of the photo album. It was all she had left of her mother, and it was nowhere near full. A house fire when she was almost seventeen took all of the photos of the time before, along with all of her memories. Short-term amnesia, the doctors had told her. She would make a full recovery.

She hadn't.

And now here she was, nearly five years later, wishing desperately to remember the only family she ha, and finding she could recall no more than a hazy feeling of contentment during those lost seventeen years.

Her friends told her she was lucky, told her she should be grateful. In the five years she remembered having with her mother, the two had become best friends. When she died, she made sure Amelia was well-taken-care-of, leaving her more than enough money to attend medical school.

And now here Amelia was, willing to give up her career, her schooling, all her dreams and goals, if only she could remember the time before the fire. She shook her head, tossing a wispy curl out of her eyes. Her mother would hate this, she knew. Her mother hated any sort of self-pity, and she had never condoned her daughter giving up on anything, particularly when it came to her education.

Resolute, Amelia sat back down at the computer and set to work on her term paper. If she couldn't finish it for her own sake, she would finish it for her mother's. Her research was tiresome, but she was determined to document her mother's illness, and hopefully hypothesize a cure. She sat for hours in front of the screen, typing madly, occasionally pausing to look up a certain experiment or researcher. It wasn't until she heard a noise at her door that she even glanced up at the clock.

5:00 p.m. She had been sitting there for roughly four hours. Her stomach grumbled, signaling her it was time for dinner. She stood up, stretching like a cat, and walked into the kitchen. Rummaging through her freezer, Amelia came up with some brightly-colored popsicles, two freezer-burnt salmon burgers, and a TV dinner. She popped the dinner into her microwave, and took out a popsicle to tide her over.

Amelia wandered back to the front door and opened it, peering outside. She looked down and found the source of the noise - a large, unmarked parcel had been dropped on her welcome mat.

Odd that the postman didn't knock, she thought. Shrugging, she picked it up and tossed it onto the sofa before heading back into the kitchen. Once her dinner was ready, Amelia sat on the sofa, fork in one hand, parcel in the other. She ripped the package open an found what looked to be a photo album. Her heart raced. Perhaps someone had kept pictures of her and her mother before the fire, and had decided to send them to her. But why wouldn't they put a return address?

Dropping the fork, Amelia opened the cover of the album with shaking hands. What she saw made her gasp. It wasn't a picture of her and her mother, as she had hoped, but it certainly did appear to be a picture taken before the fire. That, however, was not the shocking part. What truly stunned Amelia was that the picture was moving.

A younger version of Amelia, probably about fifteen or sixteen, sat in the middle of the picture, waving excitedly at the camera. There were three boys behind her in the picture - they were tiptoeing slowly, as though sneaking up on her. The first boy had jet black hair, forest green eyes, and a broad smile. The second had hair the color of flame and wore a wicked grin. The third boy, who looked a bit reluctant, had platinum hair and eyes some indefinable shade of grey.

How can this be? thought Amelia. How is it possible for photos to move? Who are these boys? And moreover, who brought this to me?

Flipping the page, Amelia couldn't help a small smile. The photo was a close-up shot of herself and two of the boys. She was in the middle, the raven-haired boy and the redhead on either side, leaning in to kiss her on the cheeks. At the last second, Amelia-in-the-picture ducked, causing the two boys to bump noses and give one another disgusted looks.

The next page held a picture of Amelia and the blonde, sitting on a stone bench beneath a huge old tree. Amelia was smiling shyly as she reached out to grab the boy's hand. He scowled at her, but his eyes were twinkling, and he allowed her to capture his hand and hold it a moment before snatching it away. He glared at the person taking the photo, and Amelia-in-the-picture laughed.

Hands still shaking uncontrollably, Amelia turned another page, and felt tears fill her eyes. There stood Amelia, sandwiched between a man and woman who looked exactly like her. They had their arms around her, and all three were smiling brightly. Amelia-in-the-picture rolled her eyes and tried to get them to do something funny. The two adults looked confused, as though they were used to posing for pictures that wouldn't move when developed.

Who are they? Amelia wondered. An aunt and uncle perhaps? But why did Mom never mention them?

Amelia felt sure they were the ones who had brought her the photo album, but she wondered why they hadn't left an address or note. She flipped through the remaining pages, which contained more pictures of herself and the three boys. The last page was a picture of herself, sitting underneath a tree, holding an enormous book. Leaning in closer, Amelia squinted to read the words printed on the cover: Hogwarts: A History. Amelia-in-the-picture looked up at her and smiled, then returned to her book.

Amelia shut the album, then immediately reopened it, thumbing through the pages again, scrutinizing each picture. When she reached the last page, a bit of paper she hadn't noticed before fell out and fluttered to the floor. She picked it up and unfolded it, hoping to find some much-needed answers. Unfortunately, the paper only confused her more.

On it, printed in very elegant script, were the words, We are coming soon.

***

"Have they received the photo albums?" said the old, worn voice.

"Yes," said the woman. "They were delivered this afternoon, and according to our sources, they have each been found.

"Very good. I trust your team will be going to fetch them shortly?"

She nodded. "Yes. We are setting out for London this evening."

"Good, good. And are the potions prepared?"

"Oh yes, we've been up all night testing them. Of course, it was on a much smaller scale. We can't guarantee that all of their memories will return to them, or that they'll be strong enough to handle the truth."

The wizened old face smiled. "There isn't anyone alive today stronger than those four. They'll be fine."

"I hope you're right. For their sakes, and for ours." The woman turned to go.

"One more thing, Minerva," said the portrait of Albus Dumbledore. "While you're away, have a sherbet lemon or two and think of me, would you?"

***

Four shall rise to power...