Harry Potter and the Wizards of Narhassa

Chapter 17: Judgment Day

Harry bit his lip to keep from laughing as him and Ron made their way up to Divination, two days after Ron's confession to Hermione. As usual, they were running late, but neither boy cared.

"So, let me get this straight..." said Harry with a chortle. "You tell Hermione that you like her and she starts crying. Then, you tell her you love her, and she slaps you across the face?"

Ron laughed uncomfortably at that. "Apparently so."

"Blimey," chuckled Harry as they made their way through the crowded stairwell. "Love her to death, but she does get her priorities mixed up often, doesn't she?"

"Yeah," said Ron, his humorous expression fading. "It's good that I got it off my chest, I think... it's almost liberating. But..." he faltered his words, a frown forming on his face. "... I think it cost us our friendship."

Harry peered forward with a knowing glint beneath his black-rimmed glasses. "I have a hypothesis."

Ron cast Harry a sidelong glance. "Ok, Hermione," he said good-naturedly.

"Seems to me like she loves you too," offered Harry. "I think she's so frustrated that you waited this long to tell her, especially since she is going out with Sean now."

"You really think so?" asked Ron, looking to Harry hopefully.

Harry looked back to Ron, with a wry smirk. "No, I just said for good luck... what do you think?"

A slight smile returned to Ron's face. "In truth, I had not made up my mind."

They began climbing the stairway up into the ceiling that lead into Professor Trelawney's room, only to find a disgruntled looking Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown heading back down the stairs.

"What's going on?" asked Harry, as the two girls walked past them.

"You tell us," replied Lavender. "She said that class is cancelled today for everyone except you two."

Ron and Harry exchanged bewildered looks.

"Seems rather suspect to me," commented Parvati with a giggle. "You, Ron, Professor Trelawney... an empty room and a whole lot of strange props."

Lavender put an elegant hand to her lips.

"Oh no," she commented with a laugh. "Ron's got it on for Hermione, not Trelawney."

Parvati's eyes went completely wide as she stared at Lavender with a look that Harry easily recognized as a "you-aren't-supposed-to-know-that-you-stupid-tart" glare.

"She told you?" asked Ron, his voice sounding both shocked and downtrodden.

Parvati sighed and looked upon Ron as if he were the stupidest person in the planet. "She locked herself in her room all yesterday. What did you think she was doing? Her nails?"

Lavender's smile faded as she saw the look of pain on Ron's face. Clearly, her benevolent nature took the driver's seat.

"Look, you didn't hear it from me, of course... you figured this out with your amazing intuition... but for as long as Hermione has been going out with Sean, she has been talking about you non-stop."

Ron cocked his head in total confusion. "What?"

Parvati sighed. "She likes Sean and all, but he wants to spend all his time with her. I just want to tell him, "Hello?' Take a hint... she likes you, but she doesn't want to wake up and go to bed to your face every day."

Harry cleared his throat, his face showing more than a bit of a dour expression. "Sean's my friend, you know. If you wish to bash him, you might want to swear me to secrecy first."

Ron, however, sang a different tune. "What has she been saying about me?"

Lavender waved her finger in the air teasingly. "Now, that would be telling... but from one Gryffindor to another, I think she is frustrated because she had given up hope on you coming around."

"I just never thought..." began Ron. "I mean... she never showed the slightest..."

"Ahem," cut off Parvati. "Look, 'she thought' 'you thought' isn't going to help now. You follow up on what you did two days ago, or you'll loose her forever."

Harry crossed his arms and looked to Ron, that action telling his friend all he needed about his own personal stance on the matter.

"Why are you two being so nice to me?" asked Ron, looking to Parvati and Lavender.

The two Gryffindor girls exchanged mischievous glances. "Hey, we want to see you get together with Hermione... to finally shut her trap," said Parvati.

"And to dispel the constant dread that you might start chasing MY skirt, Weasley," added Lavender with a cold laugh.

Ron heard the sound of labored breathing behind him, and turned around to see Harry, doing his best to suck on the side of his hand in an attempt to keep a laugh hidden.

"Sure, encourage them..." muttered Ron with mock anger. He looked back to Lavender and Parvati. "Look, thanks."

The two girls giggled. "Anyway, have fun with your private session with Professor Trelawney," added Parvati as she continued descending the steps. "Tell us all the steamy details."

The strange kindness shown to Ron by Parvati and Lavender, two girls he was sure desired to keep them well beyond arms length, had momentarily taken his mind off this strange predicament they were about to walk in to. Never before in two years of classes had Professor Trelawney cancelled the class for all but a few students.

Harry led the way into the stifling hot Divination classroom, followed shortly by a rather lightheaded and giddy Ron. As always, the room was littered with small, round tables lined with cushioned chairs and fluffy pillows. And from behind the large table at the front of the classroom, the misty looking, petite woman peered upon each of them, her large eyes enhanced by her dainty looking spectacles.

"You are nearly ten minutes late," she said airily, "not that I did not foresee your delay."

Ron and Harry looked at each other, and then back to their Professor.

"What's going on?" asked Harry.

Professor Trelawney spread out her arms reverently and looked up to the ceiling. "The Fates have told me that, today, you two are to be given a lesson by yourselves. A grim future I see before you both and I must do whatever I can to bring my third eye to bare."

Ron rolled his eyes and sighed, while Harry's attention span was already drifting.

"Look," Harry said, trying his best to sound serious. "We've already predicted that we will be hung, stabbed, shot, electrocuted, baked, crucified, burned, eviscerated, drowned and disintegrated throughout the year. I do not know if our fate can look much grimmer."

Harry winced as Ron burst out laughing next to him, drawing a surprised look from Professor Trelawney. Apparently, her third eye was of little help in detecting sarcasm, for she seemed to take Harry completely seriously.

"Unfortunately, it appears that Fate itself is your enemy, Mr. Potter, and I am concerned," she said loftily, her eyes becoming glazed over and distant. "I received a dream last night, as I always do. Last night, you and Mr. Weasley were in my dream, reaching for the stars, hand and hand, trying your best..."

Harry bit his lip to prevent a chuckle from escaping his mouth while Ron, having much less luck, was forced to bit the side of his hand to choke a second fit of laughter back into his lungs.

"... you are both striving for a goal, an unreachable goal, and you both will face a trial that will determine whether or not you have accomplished this goal. In the unlikely event you succeed, you will then undergo another trial, a far deadlier one..."

A harsh, spitting noise broke through Ron's hand as he was unable to hold back hysteria any longer. Upon seeing Ron's resolve falter, Harry succumbed as well, a laugh blowing past his closed lips forcefully.

"What is so funny?" Professor Trelawney snapped indignantly. "I did not tell a joke!"

"I... I'm... sorry... Professor," said Harry, in between fits of laughter.

The normally mysterious and very subtle woman tapped her foot upon the floor of her classroom. "What do you find so funny?"

Finally, Harry recomposed himself enough to speak out an intelligible sentence. "Professor, can we ask you a question without you getting offended?"

Professor Trelawney seemed a bit taken back by this question, as if nothing Harry could ask would possibly offend her. "I would think so, Mr. Potter... I know exactly what question you are about to ask."

"Professor," began Harry trying his best to hide a patronizing tone, but failing in most respects. "In the two years I have been in your class... I have pictured my own death at least two hundred times in two hundred different ways."

Professor Trelawney's pale face allowed her a slight smile.

"Doubting the accuracy of your third eye then, Mr. Potter?" she asked affectedly.

"Eh," began Harry nonchalantly, subtly tossing his head from side to side in an attempt to be subtle. "I guess I just doubt the accuracy of third eyes in general."

What he expected to be a fierce retort continued to be nothing more than a mild smile. Professor Trelawney sat down behind her large table, and she bid both boys to sit down. Two chairs magically appeared out of thin air. Harry and Ron cautiously sat down on the other side of the table in the newly created seats.

"You two have been in my class for two years, as you have said... so, I shall let you in on a little secret," she began. "No amount of hard work can develop your third eyes. I understand that most of your homework assignments are resolved by guesswork and humor."

She stared at Ron in particular, who blushed and smiled weakly.

"What I do is teach you methods of literally "warming up" any potential you might have. Some Diviners do not know they are diviners until years after they have begun their first tarot readings."

Harry could not hide the fact he was a bit surprised. He had always taken Trelawney's class for granted; it seemed like a pushover class and an easy A. While for all intent in purpose, it still was... in Harry's eyes, Trelawney did not seem so daft anymore.

"Professor Trelawney," asked Ron arbitrarily, as he folded his hands coyly. "If we were to ask you a question... could you answer it... using your Third Eye?"

"Well, of course I could," she replied hastily. "But, the question itself may have no merit in Fate. Besides, I am not sure if that is what we should be talking about."

Ron waved the latter part of her dialogue away impatiently. "Yeah. Right. Sure... anyway, could we ask you?"

Harry looked back to Ron, a growing smile forming on his face. He knew exactly what question Ron was about to ask.

"Yeah, Professor," said Harry, looking back to Trelawney with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "If we are in such mortal peril, we will need more answers if we are to have any chance of overcoming it."

"Very well," said Trelawney, removing from her robes a deck of Tarot cards. "Ask if you wish."

Ron folded his hands and sat up straight, leaning forward intently. "Who is the Heir of Gryffindor?"

"The Heir of Gryffindor," began Professor Trelawney, looking to her deck of Tarot cards with failing confidence. She quickly slipped the deck back into her robe, shaking her head. "Tarot cards predict general fates, they do not answer specific questions. What we will need is my crystal ball."

Trelawney reached under her table and produced her melon-sized crystal ball from one of the many drawers on her side.

"The Heir of Gryffindor," she began dreamily as she waved her hands over the crystal ball. Then she fell completely silent.

Ron and Harry both stared into the crystal ball, seeing nothing but the shapeless blurs of every object on the opposite side of the ball meshing into incomprehensible garbage within.

What must have been five minutes passed by as their Professor stared unblinking into the crystal ball. Ron huffed with impatience, shaking his head while Harry sighed.

"Oh, this is not good..." said Professor Trelawney, with an over exaggerated.

"Let me guess," said Ron, with the enthusiasm of a corpse. "A Grim?"

"Your third eye serves you well, Mr. Weasley," said Professor Trelawney with a mysterious voice.

"To piss with this," snapped Ron, standing up. "We asked you a serious question... the least you could say is 'you don't know!'"

And, suddenly, the hair on the back of Harry's neck rose high. While his third eye was blind, his sixth sense was screaming that something was not right. Professor Trelawney looked up from her crystal ball, her eyes red as blood...

Harry gasped and lurched up so quickly that his chair smacked into Ron's legs, causing the boy to wince slightly...

"Harry, what are..." began Ron until he saw Professor Trelawney before him. His breath caught within his lungs, coming out as a haggard wheeze.

The candles that lit up the area began to flare from passive orange to bright blue... and then to a lime green, and finally to a jet-black color. A heavy breeze whipped around the room, blowing Harry's messy hair wildly about his head.

"Listen closely, Godric's flock,, for the Dark Times are drawing near!" roared Professor Trelawney, in a voice Harry had heard once before... in his first and only nightmare concerning Sean. It was a loud, deep voice that crackled through Harry's fortitude like a whip.

Ron's eyes widened with terror as he knocked over a small table, backing away.

"On the night of Slytherin, to mark the start of the Era of Darkness, one of you will never live again!"

Three chairs suddenly shot into the air, slamming into the ceiling and shattering into a thousand pieces.

" SLAIN THAT ONE WILL BE! SLAIN BEFORE THE POWERS OF NARHASSA, and DOOMED to forever walk the world a shade of their former self!"

Harry and Ron were suddenly rocketed backward by a burst of force, which overturned the large table before them, shattering the crystal ball upon the ground with an explosion of light. Harry used the palm of his hand to shield himself as crystal fragments pelted him with stinging fury. Ron escaped with no injury, for he was directly behind Harry. With a gasp, Ron grabbed Harry's failing body and helped him keep his feet. He was covered from head to toe with nasty little protrusions of crystal shards.

" And to those who save themselves on the Night of Narhassa will find only torment and unrest as the Era itself will begin... FOR HE WILL RISE AGAIN, FREED FROM THE ETERNAL HOLD OF HELL BY ONE TOO FOOLISH TO UNDERSTAND THE MAGNITUDE OF HIS OWN ACTIONS!"

Harry lowered his bleeding hand, for a knife-sized shard was sticking straight through his palm. Had his hand not been there, Harry warily realized that there was a good chance that it would be sticking straight through his head.

Drops of crimson were flowing free from his neck, where a smaller piece had lodged itself. In addition, several more minor cuts covered his body and slashed his robes.

"WITH HIS RESURRECTION, THE MOON WILL BLEED AND THE SEAS WILL FREEZE! THE STARS WILL FALL AND THE GROUND WILL RISE! THE EARTH ITSELF WILL QUAKE IN FEAR... FOR EVEN IT KNOWS NOTHING WILL BE ABLE TO SAVE IT!"

And, with that, Professor Trelawney, who had numerous cuts all over her body as well, collapsed into a heap upon the ground.

Harry glanced down at his gushing hand and the shard within, taking deep breaths. Ron, blinking away his terror in face of his friend's plight, ripped off a part of his sleeve, grabbed Harry by his wrist and began wrapping the cloth around his injury. Ron had seen his mother take care of countless injuries Fred and George had brought upon themselves in their adventurers in the neighborhood to knew how to deal with them, even without magical aid.

"Come on," said Ron, when the marginally effective bandaging was done. He slung Harry's good arm around his neck. "We need to get you to Madam Pomfrey's."

And with that, Harry allowed his best friend to half-walk, half-drag him out of Trelawney's room. Being barely conscious, Ron knew he couldn't protest his help if he tired.

* * * * * * * * * * *

As was the legacy with Hogwarts, the secret did not last for longer than a half-hour. When word of the prediction reached Dumbledore as he taught the Narhassa students, Sean was the first one to leap out of his seat and rush out the door, followed shortly by Jessica. He did not stop sprinting through the desolate corridors of the school until he nearly trampled over Ron Weasley, who was sitting outside of the hospital wing, in nervous angst. His school robes were stained with dark, splotchy patches, while his hands were caked with dry blood.

"What happened?" demanded Sean, his shoes screeching to a halt before Ron.

Ron shook his head, in complete disbelief of the events. Jessica arrived on the scene, shortly after, shoving Sean aside as if he were a complete afterthought.

"Is he alright, is he alright?" she screeched, looking down to Ron.

Ron nodded feebly. "He'll be fine. Madam Pomfrey said that she needs to seal up a few cuts and replace some blood... but he'll be fine."

"Can I see him?" demanded Jessica. "Please..."

Ron shrugged meekly and shook his head. "Madam Pomfrey doesn't want him to have any visitors right now."

Before Jessica could ask another question, the old Headmaster, dressed in his usual royal red robe appeared at the end of the hallway, walking briskly toward them.

"Mr. Weasley," called Dumbledore in his always-present calm tone. "Come with me please, and yes, you may come too Mr. Camaradi."

Jessica swallowed a nervous lump in her throat, just as Hermione rushed around the corner, running briskly to the hospital wing.

"Is he ok?" she panted, out of breath.

Ron took a step toward her, hugging her without shame as Dumbledore and Sean both turned around. Hermione, apparently forgetting she was supposed to hate Ron's guts, hugged him back in panic.

"What happened?" she asked him as she held him close.

"Ms. Rennings," said Dumbledore, "why don't you go in and check on Harry. I'm sure he will want to see you as soon as he is able. Mr. Weasley, come explain to us what happened on the way to my office."

Sean looked over at the stunningly attractive blonde-haired girl. Jessica, for a split second, seemed to loose her utterly grieved appearance and reinvented her countenance with a suspicious, cold quality that made Sean shiver.

"If it's all the same to you, Headmaster," she said softly, "I'd like to come with you... Harry needs his rest."

Dumbledore shook his head. "I'm sorry, Ms. Rennings, but I do not require you. I need Mr. Weasley for a testimony of what happened, and his friends will be needed to put him at ease. Now, do please carry on."

Jessica's eyes lingered upon Sean a moment longer, but finally, she recomposed herself.

"Very well," she said, and without another word, she turned heel and entered the hospital wing. The door closed behind her with a resounding thud.

Ron released Hermione, his own worries being driven out of his mind by her presence.

"Come now," said Dumbledore, as he began a brisk walk through the halls of Hogwarts. Ron, Hermione and Sean were quick to follow.

* * * * * * * * * * *

In stark contrast to how empty the halls were a moment ago, students were now rushing to and fro, gossiping loudly in the hallways.

"Did you here what happened to Harry Potter?"

"I heard something happened to Harry!"

"Which Harry?"

"THE HARRY!"

And then it was a drawling voice that broke through the crowd as Ron followed Dumbledore to his office.

"Weasley!" demanded the voice as the pale and pointed form of Draco Malfoy soon followed it, breaking through a group of first year Narhassa students. "What happened to Potter!"

"Sod off, Malfoy," sneered Ron. "Like you care anyway."

Draco fell into step with the small precession pushing their way through the cluttered halls.

"If this has something to do with Redetyor, I want to know." Draco puffed up like a ghostly peacock. "After all, since I am the Heir of Gryffindor, I'll have to fight him."

"That has yet to be seen," said Sean coldly, from the other side of Ron, glaring at Malfoy, his green eyes filled with suspicion.

"Professor Dumbledore," said Hermione, looking to the old Headmaster. "Is Godric Gryffindor related to the Malfoy's?"

Dumbledore waved away the comment as they began walking up a spiraling staircase, leading to the teachers' offices. "Now is not the time, I fear, Ms. Granger."

"May I come with you, Headmaster?" asked Draco sweetly, blinking his sinister looking eyes.

Ron already began smirking for what was no doubt going to be a put down by the Headmaster.

"Very well, Mr. Malfoy," he said shortly as he arrived by the gargoyle outside of his office. He put his hand onto the statues snout. "Chocolate Frog," he said, with his withered voice.

Ron's face fell into a dour pout. "Headmaster, I don't think I will feel at ease if Malfoy is in the same room when I tell you what happened... it might tense me up."

"You can manage, Mr. Weasley," said Dumbledore straightly.

"Oh, do I make you tense, Weasley?" snickered Draco, his face drawn with ennui. "You just don't know me very well. Underneath the hard exterior... I really am a sentimental kind of guy." Draco's face brightened into a malicious leer.

"You are as sentimental as a snake before a meal," muttered Ron, as they entered Dumbledore's office.

"Oh, come on Weasley, sing Kumbiya with me..." Draco trailed off for a moment, and then slapped his forehead. "Oh, sorry. I forgot you only sing that at home because you can't afford a radio."

"That will do, Mr. Malfoy," said Dumbledore casually as Ron blew up like a cherry, his anger nearly overriding his better judgment. Dumbledore moved to the other side of his desk while Fawkes hopped onto his lap. The phoenix, instead of possessing splendorous feathers, looked like a shriveled featherless baby chicken; hardly the spectacular bird he had seen when Harry and him had dragged Redetyor in a few months before.

Amazingly, as if they had always been there, four cushioned seats were positioned around the front side of Dumbledore's desk instead of what Ron remembered to be two. With a kind gesture of his wrinkled hands, Dumbledore bid them all to sit down. Ron, Sean and Hermione all sat down while Draco seemed to refuse the invitation, instead, resting his hands upon the back of the fourth chair and leaning over it slyly.

"Mr. Weasley, if you could," asked Dumbledore, paying no heed to Draco's refusal to sit. "Please take it from the beginning."

And so Ron began to tell Dumbledore everything that had transpired from the point where Harry and Ron had entered Professor Trelawney's classroom and when she went crazy. Even Malfoy didn't have a quick and clever response as Ron concluded his story with him helping a barely conscious Harry to the hospital wing.

"I've already sent Minerva to retrieve the injured Professor," said Dumbledore quietly. "Harry told me about the predictions he had received from the dear woman two years before. It seems that this one is not much different, though the external effect was much more... dramatic and dangerous."

"Professor," panted Hermione, in a tone that was laced with panic. "Is Godric related to the Malfoy family?"

Dumbledore looked from Hermione to Draco, his eyes twinkling with his consistent look of amusement. He idly smoked the small, featherless bird upon his lap.

"Yes," said Draco coldly. "He is related to my family."

Dumbledore calmly stood up and turned around, facing the Sorting Hat that sat, worn and haggard, upon one of the lower shelves behind the Headmaster's desk. He calmly took hold of it, and walked around his desk, offering it to Malfoy.

"If you are the true Heir of Gryffindor," said Dumbledore warmly. "Then, draw his sword from within."

Malfoy's stretched cheeks tinged pink for a moment as he glared upon the hat in front of him. "You want me to do what?"

Dumbledore smiled kindly. "Within the hat of Gryffindor resides his sword. Claim Gryffindor's weapon and hold it proudly, if you are one of his sons."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes coldly. "What sort of tomfoolery is this?"

"Reach in," repeated Dumbledore. "And take Godric's sword. It is stored within the hat."

With a trepid hand, Malfoy took hold of the Sorting Hat and turned it upside down. He peered within it, arching his brows dubiously.

"I don't see any sword," snapped Malfoy.

"The sword of Gryffindor only appears when a true soul filled with bravery and courage places his hand within. Should you demonstrate the qualities deep down of an Heir of Gryffindor, you will draw forth his blade," explained Dumbledore.

With a long glare at Dumbledore, Malfoy finally placed his hand within the Sorting Hat. Ron, who was watching intently, held his breath... begging to whatever god would listen for Malfoy to draw a blank.

Malfoy bit his lip in frustration as his entire arm slipped into the hat. Ron could not help but notice a bead of sweat running down Malfoy's cheeks. Finally, he withdrew his hand, very much without a sword.

"There is no sword in there!" fired Malfoy angrily at Dumbledore. "You are just doing this because you hate my Father. I bet you either made all that sod up or took the sword out before I came."

Dumbledore, while having more than enough to dock Slytherin Malfoy's weight in points, remained silent, his eyes twinkling with that subtle humor Dumbledore never seemed to be without.

"Mr. Malfoy, please hand the hat to Mr. Weasley," said Dumbledore kindly.

Ron blinked, turning from Malfoy back to Dumbledore. "Me?" he asked stupidly.

Dumbledore, not being much for sarcasm, simply smiled and nodded. Malfoy tossed the hat at Ron sourly; his face was set into such a terrible pout while Hermione and Sean both watched Ron with interest.

"Draw the sword from within, Mr. Weasley," said Dumbledore kindly, as if there was no doubt in his mind that the hat in Ron's hand would produce a sword.

Ron, wasting no time, slipped his arm into the Sorting Hat, and at once, felt a warm, metallic object within his hands. He grasped the object, which fit snuggly around his grip, and pulled. Without any protest, whatever he was pulling came loose and produced itself from out of the hat... causing everyone in the room, save Dumbledore, to gasp.

Within Ron's hand was the most beautiful looking broadsword he had ever seen. In truth, he had only ever seen one, but the idea was still sound within his head. The jeweled hilt of the sword consisted of two parts... a comfortable metallic hilt, which sat in his hands perfectly, and an ornately carved iron slip, which extended off of the hilt, covering his knuckles and hands. The blade itself was three feet long and crafted of a silvery white metal that reflected in the blues of Ron's eyes magnificently. Ron calmly turned the blade around in his grip, feeling an immense awe and a rush of excitement. Flipping the blade over, Ron clearly saw the words Godric Gryffindor carved upon the bottom of the hilt, in shimmering gold script.

"Wicked," exhaled Ron. For a split moment, he felt like that eleven-year-old student who, once again, was boarding the Hogwarts Express for the very first time.

Dumbledore looked calmly to Draco Malfoy, whose scowl was so foreboding that it seemed to reek with malice. "Sorry Mr. Malfoy. It appears that you are not the Heir after all. You may leave now."

Sean and Hermione both smiled brightly at Malfoy, who violently shoved the chair he was leaning on, and stormed out the door.

Ron barely even notice as he stared with such respect at the blade within his hands. It was like he was reliving a childhood fantasy of pulling out the Sword from the Stone.

Dumbledore's disappointed tone, however, was enough to break Ron from his moment, however.

"I am sorry to say that my own suspicions about House Narhassa have proven to be accurate," he said calmly. "My instruction of the Fantastic Phenomena class that Sean takes was no accident. I have been trying to search for hope within the Student body of that House, however, it seems the effect of Narhassa already has too strong a grasp upon them."

"What do you mean, sir?" asked Sean, looking innocently at Dumbledore.

Dumbledore calmly sighed and sat back in his chair. "From what I have learned from many sources including Harry's godfather Sirius Black as well as reports from Professor Lupin, the Wizards of Narhassa plan to reconvene on top of Ben Nevis. Until now, I did not know of the date."

Hermione leaned forward intently. "You know now, Professor?"

"The Night of Slytherin," said Dumbledore calmly, repeating part of the incantation Ron had remembered from Professor Trelawney's prediction. "Slytherin acted on the first night of the old Christian Winter, which was always set as the first night of December."

"December 1^st," said Sean wearily, his eyes wide. "So, that's when everything is going to hit the fan!"

Dumbledore cocked his head curiously. "Is that an American expression?"

Sean shrugged meekly. "Maybe it's just a Muggle one..."

"Yes," says Dumbledore. "That is when it all is going to happen. However, instead of closing down the school, I believe it will be most prudent to find out exactly what they plan to do, and stop them. Should I close the school early, it will just put all their lives at risk from Voldemort."

Sean pouted on one side of his mouth, lowering his head. "Professor, can I ask you one thing?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Of course, Mr. Camaradi."

"Why... was I sorted into Gryffindor?" asked Sean shyly. "I know that's a bit off the topic, but... why am I not with Narhassa?"

"You think there was a mistake?" asked Dumbledore softly.

Ron and Hermione looked over to Sean, who violently shook his head. "No sir, of course not... but, why were only three sorted into the real houses of Hogwarts?"

Dumbledore shrugged. "You are asking to wrong sentient being that question..." The old headmaster pointed a thin finger at Ron, who still held Godric's sword in one hand and the Sorting Hat in the other. "Try the hat on again... ask it why Gryffindor was the right house for you. I know it gets so very lonely. I do my best to wear it every so often and have a conversation with it, but it doesn't get to speak to students often at all outside the Sorting Ceremony."

Ron extended the Sorting Hat to Sean, who graciously accepted. Once again, he covered his entire head with the hat as he had done once before. With a slight shift in its texture, the hat formed a mouth and eyes as it did before at each Sorting Ceremony. Yet, instead of a rhythmic song flowing out, they were simply words

"Ah, I've seen into this mind before. Tell me, why have you put me on again?"

To Ron and Hermione's amazements, both could hear the hat as clearly as if it was on their own heads.

"Why was I sorted into Gryffindor and not Narhassa?" asked Sean's muffled voice from beneath the brim of the hat.

The hat blinked its dark indentations, that clearly appeared to be eyes, and hummed loudly.

"A fair question, young Camaradi. When first put me on you did, what did you wish?"

Sean kicked his legs calmly from underneath the chair, and his muffled voice sounded again. "I wanted to be in Gryffindor, with Hermione."

"Precisely," echoed the hat, again out loud. "I seem to remember thinking perhaps Hufflepuff would be the better house for you, but since you wanted Gryffindor so badly and demonstrated a soul with ample bravery, I decided to let you have it. It took me a few minutes to place you, young Camaradi, but I did it."

"But, sir... or hat..." said Sean, fumbling over his words. "Why not Narhassa?"

The hat's mouth moved up and down rapidly and a hoarse laugh sounded within Ron's ears.

"There were only two criteria in which I would sort one into House Narhassa. One, they were formerly Muggles, and two, they came to the school specifically with intent of developing their new powers," decreed the hat.

The room was silent for a moment before the hat continued. Ron guessed that Sean had asked a question in his head and the hat was answering.

"No, young Camaradi, when I searched your head before... and as I search it now, I find not a shred of desire to develop your Narhassa given powers. I see only one desire in your mind, and it is neither greed nor power-driven. Out of all the Muggles who tried me on, only two had no desire to develop their Narhassa given powers within the walls of Hogwarts."

"Only two?" asked Ron out loud. "But three Narhassa wizards were sorted into Houses!"

The hat hummed in consideration. "No," it replied. "There were only two."

"Sorting Hat," began Hermione professionally. "Which two were those?"

"Mr. Camaradi, beneath my brim... and a confused, foreboding chap by the name of Seth Redetyor. I could not forget that poor boy's mind; filled with so much pain and suffering, yet starving for power in such a way that House Slytherin was the only house that could do him justice. Narhassa was not appropriate for him, as he seemed to care less about developing his power... it was almost like he was simply expecting it to develop by itself."

"But," asked Sean's muffled voice. "What about the fifth year girl you sorted into Hufflepuff?"

The hat hummed against in consideration, as Dumbledore scratched his beard.

"Yes, I do recall such a girl... she was one of the hardest to place that I've ever encountered. So much older than I am used to, yet such varied traits; she was extremely loyal and hard working on one hand, yet so cold in her soul and blatantly sadistic that I was nervous about sorting her into Hufflepuff. Such combinations of traits seemed almost impossible. For the first time, as far back as I can remember, I was torn between sorting someone into Hufflepuff or Slytherin! In the end, however, the qualities of loyalty and duty seemed overly dominant."

This hit Ron like a sledge hammer in the temple. Hermione's jaw also was dropped as well, in a mixture of shock and disbelief. Yet, it was Sean, from beneath the hat that spoke first. For some reason, he seemed not the slightest bit surprised.

"But, why not Narhassa?" asked Sean.

The Sorting Hat paused for a moment, on top of Sean's head, blinking its rough, patchy eyes.

"Because that girl was not a Narhassa Wizard... she was a real one; she was never a Muggle."