Ancient Prophesy

Chapter Five

Thirteen silver moons in a year are, thirteen is the Covens array,
Thirteen times at Esbat make merry, for each golden year and a day.

The castle through which Dumbledore steered her held a surprise at every turn, and Raven found she was enthralled with each new discovery. Every theatrical trick she knew paled in comparison to the reality of Hogwarts. Portraits on the walls pointed and whispered as they walked by. Torches burned brighter and then dimmed as they passed. And, to Raven’s great delight, a ghost—a beautiful woman dressed all in gray—stopped and curtsied to her, smiled encouragingly at the headmaster and vanished. At last they came to a beautifully carved stone statue of a gargoyle.  Though full size, it reminded Raven of the silly little garden variety that parodied the true stone monsters of old.

With a chuckle he spoke the words "Canary Cream" and then turned to her. "When you meet the Weasley twins, and I’m sure you will, don’t mention my password; they’re too full of their own success already." As he spoke this, the statue simply animated and stepped aside to reveal a door.

A spiral wooden staircase awaited them. Dumbledore offered Raven his arm and she took it hesitantly, not knowing what to expect next. Without warning, the stairs began to carry them upward and again Raven found herself enchanted

Dumbledore opened the oak door at the top and stepped back again, offering his arm to Raven to escort her in. The round, window filled room glowed with morning light, which reflected beautifully off curious silver instruments which were chirping and whirring out puffs of golden smoke. An enormous claw-footed desk rested before sets of oaken shelves, which held what Raven thought, were surely cherished treasures. Portraits of wizards and witches hung on the walls, all of which watched her, giving knowing looks or nods to one another. This she did not like.

"Why do I feel everyone in the castle knows more about me than I know about me?"

"I don’t know a thing about you, other than the fact the Headmaster here wanted me out of the way while he talked to you. But I’ve outmaneuvered him and brought the tea here instead." Raven turned around to discover Harry standing behind them, with the most beautiful bird she had ever seen perched on his shoulders.

She had only seen drawings of such splendid creatures. To believe one could actually exist—well, she just couldn’t.

"Is that a—a—phoenix?" she asked incredulously. Harry reached up and stroked the scarlet feathers of the magnificent, swan-sized bird.

"Fawkes, may I introduce you to Raven." As he walked towards her with the bird on his shoulder, Raven wondered how much more of this she could take. In the span of a ten-minute walk she had seen and heard more than her aching head could hold. Or wanted to hold, for that matter! None of this was possible. Things like this just did not happen to her!

"Why should any of this be real?" She screwed her eyes shut in disbelief of everything she had seen or heard in the in the last 24 hours.

Raven felt her knees weaken, and Dumbledore lead her to a large overstuffed leather armchair. "I’m still at home, asleep in my mother’s bed, and all of this is a dream brought about by the emotional stress of losing her. I wanted answers, was looking for them before I feel asleep, and my love of folklore and fantasy or a bad batch of loose tealeaves has made be delusional! All things considered, the simplest solution is the correct one."

"I’m afraid I did warn you that I could not offer you simplicity, only truth." Dumbledore sat behind his desk, and as he spoke he pulled a pair of red woolen socks from thin air. "The color leaves something to be desired, but they are my warmest pair." He handed them to Raven, who stared up at Harry and Dumbledore in disbelief.

"You can never have too many pairs of socks, can you, sir?" Harry asked with a knowing smile on his face.

Fawkes fluttered from Harry’s arm to Raven’s lap. For his size he was surprisingly light. Small pearly eyes locked with hers and a harmonic trill resonated through her. Phoenix song, Raven thought, the myth of magical phoenix song. Her mother spoke often of the powerful healing properties of the legendary phoenix. She felt strengthened and calm again, and knew whatever else Headmaster Dumbledore would tell her, she could handle it. She would make her mother proud.

Stroking the satin plumage, she murmured "Thank you," just as much to Fawkes as to the men before her. "I’m sure my being here came as a shock for you just as much as it did for me. The question now is, how did I get here?"

Fawkes took flight from her lap to settle on the perch behind Dumbledore’s desk, and Raven took the opportunity to cross her legs in an attempt to reach her feet. Just bending hurt every part of her, and she feared her head would fall off her shoulders if she bent much lower. But her feet were freezing, and she wanted the socks on. Fumbling with a wrist still bound tight in wrap, Raven realized with frustration there was no way the socks were going on her feet this way. Giving up in frustration she looked up with a scowl that Harry found strangely familiar.

Shaking the thought from his head he spoke. "Here, allow me. VestigiumContego." And with a flick of his wand, Raven found the socks removed from her grasp and gently pulled onto her feet.

She pushed back in the chair, unsure of what had just happened, and hoped her face did not reveal too much of the turmoil she was feeling. This was magic that she could not dismiss as a stage trick.

Dumbledore stared intently over his glasses and spoke. "Harry, you’ve only brought two tea cups. I now know what I’m about to discuss with Miss Ravenclaw pertains to you as well. Please pull up a chair." With that statement, he pulled a third cup from thin air and began to pour tea with a troubled look on his face.

"Miss Ravenclaw, Headmaster? I did miss a part of the conversation then, didn’t I?" Harry looked at them both quizzically. "Though I did suspect."

"Sit, Harry."

"Yes, sir."

Raven watched the exchange as Harry looked quizzically at both herself and Professor Dumbledore. He was clearly puzzled and uncomfortable with Dumbledore’s tone.

Dumbledore let out a sigh as he handed Harry two cups of tea—one with honey, one plain—and sat back to pour the third.

"Harry, I’m sorry to be so abrupt with you, but what I’m about to discuss affects your future as well as Miss Ravenclaw’s. I was unsure until a moment ago when you assisted her with the socks, but now—" He paused as if unsure of how to proceed.  "Miss Ravenclaw, would you allow me the liberty of performing a simple curse on you to test a supposition that has been with me since your arrival?"

Harry’s look turned even more serious as he stared at them both. "A simple curse?" He spoke with disbelief. "Headmaster, surely you…" but Dumbledore held up a hand to interrupt him.

"Harry, I know what you’re thinking, but in order to arrive at the correct answers I must first test the facts as they have presented themselves."

"Well, I doubt I could stop you," Raven spoke. "From what I‘ve seen so far at least, but I trust you know what you’re doing."

Professor Dumbledore stood up behind his desk and drew himself up majestically to his full height. "Actually, I think you may be able to stop me." With that said he pulled his wand from his sleeve, pointed it at her and spoke one word with certainty: "Imperio."

It seemed to Raven that everything happened all at once. Harry leapt to his feet, wand drawn, with utter disbelief and fear on his face. Dumbledore’s robes rippled back as if blown by a strong breeze, and he looked as if he was struggling to hold his footing on the floor. But most strange of all was the feeling that coursed through her very being. Electricity, energy, a burning warmth seared her nerves, making her feel everything and nothing all at once. And then it was gone, and she felt more drained and tired then before.

"So what was that supposed to do?" By the looks on their faces she knew that was the wrong thing to say. Why were they both just staring at her—Harry in absolute astonishment, and Dumbledore—well, she couldn’t quite read him this time. He did not appeared at all surprised. Actually he looked reflective, as if this experiment of his was successful, but he did not know what to do with the results.

"Harry, I would like for you to try now." He didn’t look at Harry as he said this, but kept his eyes unblinking on Raven. She was sure if he had seen Harry’s reaction to the request, he would have been shocked. Harry’s livid look worried her. What type of magic did Professor Dumbledore want him to perform? It clearly bothered Harry very much.

Harry opened his mouth as if to protest but then clenched his jaw shut. Raven knew he was struggling with something, and she suspected his respect for the Headmaster stopped him from commenting further.

"Imperio. " Harry spoke the word quickly and with the same force of Dumbledore, but the reaction she experienced within herself felt completely different: all pain gone, all worry gone, only the sound of Harry’s voice talking to Professor Dumbledore, aware of everything around her but caring about nothing at all, except the sound of Harry’s voice bidding her to stand. Dumbledore spoke again, but she understood nothing, only Harry, only his voice.

Harry hated doing this to her—casting an unforgivable curse on someone with no clue how to fight it. He had her totally and completely at his mercy, and he hated it. "Headmaster, please. I don’t understand why you’re asking me to do this. It failed to work the first time for you, that’s only reason I agreed! How did I do it, then?"

Dumbledore shook his head to silence him. "Levitate her, Harry."

Harry never remembered being angry with Professor Dumbledore before, but he felt himself reaching that point now. For some unknown reason he felt protective toward this young woman, and what Dumbledore asked him to do went against everything Harry had been taught—taught by Dumbledore himself, no less!

Harry’s last encounter with Voldemort and his Dark Forces flooded his mind. They had tortured him like this. Out of control. Helpless.  A victim to be toyed with. Three Death Eaters working together imprisoned him in the Imperius Curse. All three of them in his head at once, controlling his every move. Tormenting his every thought. Raven knew he was in her head and she trusted him for now—she questioned him, asking again to be let go from his hold. Clearly she hated being held against her will. What would she do next, when he forced her to move with his thoughts, his desires?

Lucius Malfoy had taken great delight in "handling" Harry’s levitation. He had been bashed into unconsciousness even before Voldemort arrived to begin his turn with Harry. Snape—it was he who had saved him a day later. A month later, Harry was still unclear of the details. Now, he found himself "handling" Raven, and hating every moment of it.

"Levo!" He felt sick saying that word; but Dumbledore asked this of him, and there was nothing he would not do for Dumbledore.

"Thank you, Harry." Dumbledore’s voice calmed Harry, and the illness he felt diminished slightly.

Raven’s feet, now sporting the red socks, hovered just inches above the rug as she hung there, dazed and confused. In his head, her voice started to speak with more clarity. Harry, please stop, I don’t like this.

Neither do I, he answered, but Dumbledore has a reason for everything he does—

So did my mother, and she’s dead now! Her voice interrupted his thought. She was trembling, and Harry felt himself draw away some of the fear from her and absorb it. He channeled it from her, heartening her.

Harry stopped. He knew he had just expressed words to reassure her and he felt her relax as his tension increased; but he had not spoken, he had only thought the words and action. Never had he experienced this before. Always, while under Imperius, he had been controlled, not done the controlling. No communication, only orders. He had learned to fight those orders—until the last time.  They had overwhelmed him, and the terror had filled his senses, forcing his body to obey. Was this what it was like to control? How was it possible to forge a positive mental connection?

"Harry, can you recall the spell to mend broken bones?" Dumbledore questioned.

He actually felt himself chuckle. "I’ve lost count of the number of times that Madam Pomfrey’s used it on me. Of course I know it!" Feeling more comfortable with the connection, he walked over to Raven and gently guided her feather-light body into the chair behind her.

Harry, Raven’s voice spoke inside his mind again. What is this? How are you doing this to me?

He felt the fear returning as he took her arm gently in his hand and removed the wrap from around her wrist. The intensity of pain took him by surprise as he felt it flow through him.  He felt her pain! She was hurting and he wanted it to stop. He’d felt enough pain this month to last him a lifetime, but he realized with a start that he was willing to take more upon himself to help ease hers. And he did.

Raven relaxed the wrist resting within his hands. She no longer struggled with herself to remove it from his hold. She could sense what he was feeling, and knew immediately he felt anger and fear over what was being done. But he also desired to set things right—to alleviate her fear, her pain, her worries.

Harry spoke aloud words he knew by heart, and Raven was aware of a warm rushing sensation starting within her fingers and spreading up to her elbow.

"Raven?"  She lifted up her head, her eyes unfocused, yet she heard him speak and knew he was calling her from outside their heads. She knew he wanted something from her. "Raven, I want you to squeeze my hand." Though the discoloration and bruising remained, she responded with a strong grip, and Harry smiled up at Professor Dumbledore.

Harry stood up, and she stood with him, still holding his hand. She wanted to let go, otherwise she knew she would go anywhere with him, all he had to do was lead her. She fought furiously with herself to block out his thoughts, and Harry laughed out loud as a stream of vulgarities flew into his conscious, all aimed directly at him.

It’s not funny, let me go! Her voice echoed through his mind.

Professor Dumbledore spoke, bringing Harry away from the conversation within his head. "Well, Harry, you have managed to accomplish what Professor Snape, Madam Pomfrey and myself could not. I think it best to release her, and I’ll explain to you both what just happened."

"Good, because she’s fighting me now, and she’s as mad as a wet Hippogriff." Not knowing what she would do when he released her, Harry took several steps back. Raven’s eyes flashed from glazed and unfocused to a livid depth of anger he had only seen in one other person. She was noticeably pale, and her black hair lay limp down her back. Harry found himself staring into a face so familiar that he took another step back in disbelief.

"What in the hell was that?" She spat out at them, her aqua-blue eyes flashing with intense anger at both of them.

Harry quickly regained his composure. "Raven, I’m sorry. I’ve never used Imperius on anyone before. I’m sure Professor Dumbledore had a very good reason for asking it of me."

"As unpleasant of an experience as it may have been, I assure you I asked only out of necessity, and you both deserve an explanation for my unorthodox behavior." He looked at them so gravely while he spoke that Raven knew what just happened was serious indeed. He gestured to the chair in front of him. "Miss Ravenclaw. Harry. Please sit." Magicking a second chair across the circular room, he took a seat behind the great desk.

"I’m really not sure where to begin. The story is complex; and it has only been within the last twenty-four hours that I believed parts of it possible." He paused and sipped his tea, and Raven found the pause annoying.

"Oh, just get on with it!" she spat out. Immediately she was sorry, but the look on Dumbledore’s face did not show any anger at all; rather, a calm patience reserved for a child. She felt chastised without being spoken to.

"I’m sorry, sir—it’s just that I’ve lost all control of my environment and I hate it! You don’t live in New York without being in control; you’d get eaten alive. If what you have to say will put that order back in my life, then please proceed."

"You both know the beginning of the story." He paused again and directed plates of toast to each of them without a second thought to the magic he used. Raven reached out tentatively and took the plate, all the while wondering if the use of magic was second nature to everyone here.

"Almost a thousand years ago, Hogwarts was founded by four members of the wizard community of Britain. The first school of its type, they hoped to establish a place of stability in a world where magic was feared.

"The wizarding community was under attack by the Muggle church as the source of ills in their lives.  Europe was in the Dark Ages, and the plague had killed almost two-thirds of its population. Witches and wizards alike were persecuted in an attempt to purify the world of the evils of Hell."  He shook his head in sadness. "Many great healers were put to death in their attempts to save lives. Hogwarts was created as a safe haven for young witches and wizards, away from the persecution they would suffer if anyone were to discover the truth of what they were, and what they were being taught.

"The four founders, Godric Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw, Salazar Slytherin, and Helga Hufflepuff, each valued different qualities in the students they sought out. This much we know." He paused and folded his arms into the sleeves of his robes. "But what most wizards don’t know is that each founder had a special talent that allowed them to stand out from the other wizards in their communities."

Harry realized Dumbledore’s steady gaze now rested solely on him, and he met it without hesitation.

"Godric Gryffindor’s unique talent involved flight. The use of brooms really only began 1000 years ago. It was a common household item easily found in any home, Muggle or wizard alike. Brooms were even used in Muggle marriage ceremonies. No one had reason to link them with magic, and that was to every wizard’s benefit; you could keep your broom handy right by the door."

He smiled now at Harry. "I’m sure you and he would have a lot to talk about in regards to the dynamics of flight. You see, Godric Gryffindor could and would fly anything! His charms of flight are used in the production of all modern brooms today. Legend has it his spells of flight lead him to the development of the art of Apparition."

Raven recalled Dumbledore and Snape talking about her sudden appearance. They said she could not have come to Hogwarts by Apparition. Dumbledore must have seen her quizzical look, for he addressed the question before she could speak.

"Yes, your appearance here did cause us to wonder whether you broke through Hogwarts’s defenses to Apparate within it. The entire school’s protective wards prevent anyone from gaining access through Apparition. Apparition is the ability to relocate from one location to another within seconds. It is a complicated and even dangerous task, and some older wizards I know don’t even bother with the effort involved, preferring broom or Floo powder instead."

"Then how did I get here?"

"I am unsure at the moment how, but I can say with certainty you neither Apparated, nor used Floo powder."

Raven raised her eyebrow quizzically. "Flew powder? As in past tense of fly? 

Dumbledore chuckled again. "No, Floo as in fireplace. I see we do still have a lot to catch you up on."

"Well, you will have to forgive me for staying away from fireplaces right now, especially Dracula’s." She touched her forehead and smiled weakly. "That man has some serious problems with his social graces."

"I’ve been working on Severus’s social graces for years." He shook his head hopelessly and took a sip of tea.

"His name is Severus?"

"Yes, Why do you ask?"

"Oh, unique name, that’s all." Though not as unique as I once believed, she thought. Quickly she continued. "Ethnically it’s from the areas of Romania and Bulgaria, the 13-century home of Vlad Tepes or Vlad the Impaler, otherwise known as: Dracula!" She smiled smugly as if to drive home her point but Harry wondered if there was more to her curiosity than she revealed to them.

"Also the ancestral home of Salazar Slytherin." Harry remarked, looking questioningly at Raven. He watched for some reaction from her; something that would indicate she knew more about the name then she let on, but her face remained clouded.

"Professor Binns earned his salary, I see," stated Dumbledore flatly; but Harry shook his head in response.

"You’d have done better to pay Hermione. Her and Hogwarts, a History. Took her seven years to get me to read it. I’ve had trouble sleeping this week, so I borrowed it for some light nighttime reading."

"And Ron has been teaching you humor?" Professor Dumbledore looked to Raven and continued. "Salazar Slytherin was known for his use of the Dark Arts of magic. Gryffindor and he would often argue over its use at Hogwarts. When Gryffindor and the others learned he was using his talent as a Parselmouth to teach Dark Magic, there was no avoiding the break between them."

He paused and again answered Raven’s unspoken question. "A Parselmouth, Miss Ravenclaw, refers to the ability to communicate with snakes." His eyes flicked for a moment to Harry, who looked down uncomfortably.

"So what’s the matter with that? I talk to cats all the time."

"I’m sure you communicate with them better than you realize, but cats are not used in harmful magic the way snakes are," he answered.

Harry’s back noticeably stiffened, and his gaze seemed distant as if he no longer saw Raven or Dumbledore.

"Harry," Dumbledore spoke softly.

Harry’s troubled green eyes remained unfocused, and he spoke in a monotone voice.  "He keeps trying to feed me to that damn snake of his."

He looked so lost that Raven reached out and touched his hand, his knuckles whitened from clutching the arms of his chair. Harry’s entire body jumped; he looked startled, almost surprised to find himself in their company.

"That leaves Helga Hufflepuff and Rowena Ravenclaw—your great, great whatever?"

Raven suspected Harry changed the subject.

Dumbledore knew he had, but continued without mentioning it. "Helga Hufflepuff’s gift was in the art of Divination." Harry snorted in such a way that both Raven and Dumbledore turned to him.

"What’s the matter Harry, don’t believe in runes, tea leaves and tarot cards?" Raven smirked. "Mum tolerated them in the shop. She knew I had no gift for it, just the dramatics necessary to maneuver someone in the right direction. I can get a life history out of somebody in the first five minutes of a reading and then direct the answers accordingly. Fifteen dollars a reading, morning appointments only, and by Saturday night I’ve got three hundred dollars to spend!" She looked at him with such a charmingly wicked smile that Harry couldn’t help but smile back; which was odd; he hadn’t felt like smiling in weeks.

"Though I am sure your mother trained you properly in divination—"

Raven interrupted Dumbledore with a roll of her eyes. "Runes, tea leaves, tarot, palmistry, astrology. A third of the business at our shop was devoted to it. I could answer everybody’s bloody questions about the future but my own.’

Harry snorted again. "We must introduce her to Sibyl!"

By his tone, Raven knew he was joking.

"Harry and I both agree that the consequences of our daily actions are complicated and diverse," Dumbledore said. "Predicting the future is a very difficult business indeed. Helga Hufflepuff’s readings were much more—in depth. Her visions more often than not became reality. She predicted her own death at the hands of Salazar Slytherin. Though it was never proven, most historians do believe he was responsible for her murder."

Dumbledore rose from his seat and walked to a locked case, which was overcrowded with shelved books and boxes. He uttered a spell and the doors opened slowly towards him. Withdrawing a plain black box the size of a large book, he placed it on the desk and returned to his seat.

"Before her death she recorded one last vision, which involved the rise and fall of the Slytherin blood line. It is an ancient prophecy that only came to the Ministry’s attention twenty or so years ago. Most Ministry officials believed it to be a sham. Those of us who believed it possible were not in a position to prove otherwise." Here he stopped and looked imploringly at both Raven and Harry. "Your appearance here may fulfill Helga Hufflepuff’s prophecy.’

Raven held up a hand and shook her head. "I’m afraid you’ve lost me, sir. What do I have to do with an ancient prophecy? Until yesterday I didn’t even exist to you."

"No, but twenty years ago your mother did—the last living descendant of The White Witch Rowena Ravenclaw."

The confusion was evident on Harry’s face as well as her own. "A White Witch?" he asked.

"White Witches are as rare as Parselmouths, Harry. There hasn’t been a recorded birth of one in 200 years. It’s in Hogwarts, a History." His brow arched in disapproval. "Hermione will want her book back!"

He paused and looked intently at Raven. "A White Witch has the ability to absorb energy, positive as well as negative. A Muggle term would be a conduit. A White Witch can channel spells through her, and either absorb them or direct them elsewhere. Spells, Charms, Transfiguration; they all harness the energy of the wizard using them. One might say the stronger the life force of the wizard the stronger the spell force."

Raven couldn’t resist. In a low mumble barely heard by both men, she spoke in a masculine, ethereal voice: "Use the Force, Luke."

Harry smiled and chuckled at her irreverence towards magic. She could hardly be expected to understand all the nuances and intricacies of their word in the span of time she had been here. Many a witch or wizard raised in the Muggle world found themselves unwilling to believe what they truly were. And though Harry suspected Raven would be more skeptical than most, he was sure she would be a quick learner. Assuming she wanted to learn, of course. For some unknown reason, Harry hoped she would. He laughed again even harder at the puzzled expression on Dumbledore’s face. He had never seen Dumbledore look puzzled before. "It’s a Muggle thing, sir. I don’t mean to laugh but—"

Dumbledore stopped Harry with a gentle wave of the hand. "No, don’t apologize. Merlin knows you’ve not had enough to laugh at lately. Fred and George will approve of Miss Ravenclaw’s wit.’

"You still haven’t answered my question," Raven spoke out in frustration. "What does this have to do with me?"

Returning to the subject at hand, Dumbledore continued. "Rowena Ravenclaw was a White Witch, the first we know of in fact. That was her unique talent. And though White Witches are as distrusted as Parselmouths, Rowena Ravenclaw never once used her powers for anything other than good. She was trusted for her skills as a medicinal healer and the ethical uses of her powers to assist in healing.

"Spells and curses do not affect a White Witch the way they affect other wizards. The spell, rather than manifesting itself as intended, is absorbed or deflected by the witch. The energy necessary to ward off a full-scale assault on a White Witch is incredible. She runs the risk of absorbing too much at one time, the results of which could be death."

Harry spoke out. "That’s a powerful gift. I can see why they would be distrusted. A White Witch who practices Dark Magic could very well be as powerful as you, sir."

Dumbledore’s look turned somber. "Your faith in me is appreciated, Harry; but it’s not my power we have to fear, rather the power of Lord Voldemort. A White Witch under his control could be unstoppable. A White Witch working against him, though, is at the heart of the prophecy."

Reaching into a drawer of the desk, Dumbledore removed a wand and handed it across to Raven. She immediately recognized it as the one from her mother’s trunk, the one she had use to splint her arm after Snape had attacked her. She looked up at Dumbledore, mystified.

"Raven, I want you to look at the box on my desk and will it to open. Then speak slowly the word Alohomora, and tap the top of the box with your wand."

Taking the wand slowly from his hand, Raven looked between Dumbledore and Harry. "But I’m not a witch!"

"Ah, Miss Ravenclaw, you are not only a witch, but a White Witch as well."

What could she say to that? Her mind became a blank and she stared dumbly at the wand now in her hand. "No."

The doubt in her voice was sincere and Harry empathized with her disbelief. Though it seemed like a lifetime ago, similar words echoed in his head.

Harry—yer a wizard.

I’m a what? Harry had asked.

A wizard, o’ course, Hagrid had proudly told him. An a thumpin’ good’un, I’d say, once yeh’ve been trained up a bit.

Harry tried to shake the echoes from his head. The sounds of Hagrid’s voice pained him still. Numbly, Harry tried to remember the last words Hagrid had spoken to him. "James would’o been proud’o you Harry; I ‘spect prouder then me. Don’t ya give up Harry!" Murderous anger had driven Harry onward, and once again he had found himself escaping a death that had been meant for him. How many more people would die for the Thumpin’ Good Wizard?

He had enough problems of his own to handle without having to worry about someone else’s, but the look on Raven’s face caused Harry to feel uncertain emotions. Emotions he tried to push down within him. Again, he found himself wondering why he should care that something was troubling her. He didn’t know her. But somehow he couldn’t help but worry.

Harry did his best to encourage her. "Raven, it’s a simple spell, first year skills. I’m quite sure you can do it." His green eyes linked with hers, and she knew she did not want to disappoint him. The intensity with which he looked at her brought color to her cheeks, and she looked down, knowing for the first time that she wanted to get to know this man better.

Forcing the thought from her mind, she concentrated on what Dumbledore wanted her to do. Magic. Oh well, why not? If I can read Tarot, I can do anything! "Alohomora," she spoke aloud. Much to her shock and pleasure, blue and gold waves of energy enveloped the box and it clicked open.

The thrill of casting her first spell coursed through her, and she laughed out loud in delight. Never had she dreamed herself capable of such wonderment. Yet her heart weighed heavy seconds later as the reality of life returned. Why had her mother never shared this joy with her? Why? This felt such a part of her, so natural. How could her mother have cut them off so completely from a life so—well, so magical?

"Why couldn’t she share this with me, Professor? What harm could she possibly believe would come to her that she would leave all of this?" Before he could answer her questions, a name filtered into her troubled conscious. Raven looked around her and pursed her lips tight together. "Headmaster, who is He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

Harry tensed and Dumbledore’s eyes flashed with an intensity that startled her. "Where have you heard that name used, Raven?" Dumbledore inquired with a cold, stern voice, and Raven found she felt frightened of the man sitting in front of her for the first time.

Dumbledore breathed deeply. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is Lord Voldemort—the most evil wizard who has ever existed, and the answer to all three of the questions you just asked."

"He’s the one you fear controlling a White Witch, like Harry just controlled me?"

"Yes, Lord Voldemort’s powers grow stronger each day. A White Witch paired with Lord Voldemort, a Parselmouth, would bring terror to the wizarding community. This pairing would most assuredly open a way for Lord Voldemort to gain total control of our world."

"Then mum feared Lord Voldemort all these years? Was she a White Witch?"

"Yes and no." Dumbledore responded. "She feared Lord Voldemort, though she was not a White Witch. Eighteen years ago, supporters of Lord Voldemort attacked the town of Ravenglass and killed several wizarding families of the area. Ezmarelda was his main target, and until now everyone believed she was murdered that night, including myself. I can only assume she then fled to the United States, where you were born."

"No, I’m nineteen. I was born here."

"I see."

Harry knew the headmaster well enough to know he ‘saw’ more than he let on. It appeared Raven’s age puzzled him, but now was not the time to question his silence.

"To us, Ezmarelda was dead. Now we know she remained hidden, with you, to escape notice by Voldemort. Though I do not know why she stayed hidden. We believed for a time that Voldemort was no longer in a position of power; however, when he did return he picked up where he left off. Again, I must assume your mother knew this?"

"Yes, she did know." Raven looked up slowly and stared at the ceiling She was back in her mother’s room, and the letters in her hand from the town of Ravenglass answered the question of how she knew. "Elizabeth has been helping her all these years and I never saw it. All the books. All the imported botanicals. Even a bloody cauldron, and I never realized the truth! That’s how I knew his name. Elizabeth warned Mum that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was back and she must stay safe. I must be kept safe. She did it for me." She screwed her eyes shut against the tears, but they got through anyway, and she wiped them away quickly, hating herself for showing any emotion. "Mum has a friend in Ravenglass named Elizabeth."

Dumbledore’s brows shot up and he leaned forward. "Elizabeth O"Connor?"

"I believe so, sir. Then you know her too?"

"Your mother grew up in Ravenglass. Your family at one time owned much of the land in the area. It seems Mrs. O’Connor and myself are due for a talk." He didn’t sound pleased.

"She’s the only person that I know of who knew where mum and I lived. Mum never told my father about me, nor me about my father. Though I do know he lives somewhere here— ah—I am in the UK right?"

"Scotland."

"Well, I wanted to come to Europe to study, but not this way." She touched her bandaged head and wiggled the stiff fingers of her right hand. "All I was doing was reading Elizabeth’s last letter to my mother. Then I found the robe with the wand and ring in it. Next thing I know I’m here!" Raven spoke with exasperation. "I was just looking for some answers to who or what she was keeping from me. For answers to who I had left in the world to call a family." She closed her eyes again and paused a moment before continuing. "Elizabeth warned her in the last letter to be careful because He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was truly back. He had tried to kill someone named Potter and she feared for our safety as well."

Harry looked at Dumbledore questioningly. "Why would her mother care what Voldemort was doing to me?"

Raven opened her eyes quickly. "You’re Potter?"

Harry laughed without feeling. "I don’t believe it! Finally, someone who knows less about me than me."

Dumbledore interrupted the now awkward silence. "Mrs. O’Connor, Harry, works for the Ministry of Magic, and is in a position to know what I am about to tell you—about what is contained in the box Raven just opened. I did not know for sure until I could not place her under the Imperius Curse. And as you so love to point out, Harry, I am a skilled wizard." Turning to Raven, he continued. "Professor Snape tried both to stop you from leaving the dungeons and to Levitate you to the hospital ward." Raven scowled at the mention of Snape. "And Madam Pomfrey could not mend your wrist properly."

Harry leaned forward in his chair and spoke in a low even voice. "Then may I ask once more how I was able to affect her? I have nowhere near the level of magic you do."

"Harry, your level equals mine." He smiled fondly at him. "I merely have more experience to draw from than you. You, however, are one thing that I am not. You are the last living decedent of Godric Gryffindor."

Somehow Harry knew. He had known all along. The halls of Hogwarts had always felt a part of him, a home to him. The pieces were always there in the back of his mind, waiting for someone to show him how to connect them: Gryffindor House, Godric’s Hollow, Gryffindor’s sword, Voldemort’s hatred towards him. All fragments of the whole picture. So now that he knew the truth, then why did he feel so rotten about it? How many more people would die because of who he was? A father. A mother. Cedric. Hagrid. And then there was Sirius. Twelve years in Azkaban all because of the bloody Gryffindor heir! Who was he to live when so many good people were now dead? Feelings of contempt and self-loathing boiled to the surface of Harry’s conscience, and he struggled to keep a civil tongue as he addressed Dumbledore.

"Why?" was the only word he could choke out.

"The first year you were here, Harry, you asked me that. Why Voldemort, why you? I am sorry I could not answer you then. Even if at that time I had answers for you, I doubt you would have been ready to understand them." Dumbledore’s eyes locked with Harry’s, and he took strength from their gentle blue depths; but the pain of loss still ached inside him. "Now, you both have a need to understand what drives Voldemort’s hatred of the Founder’s descendants." He broke the connection with Harry and his gaze turned to Raven. "The box you just opened came to me several months after we thought your mother dead. Someone working within his forces took it from Lord Voldemort. Working with him for reasons he now regrets."

Dumbledore’s eyes lingered on Harry for just a moment and Raven knew something unspoken transpired between them, but he continued on without pause.

"When he realized what the box contained and what Voldemort was doing with the information within, he came immediately to me with it in an attempt too stop Voldemort from further murders. Voldemort was stopped that night, but not before Harry’s parents, James and Lily Potter, were killed. For eleven years we hoped he was gone, but fate had other ideas. Ideas that Helga Hufflepuff foretold and then recorded on the book within this box."

Raven reached cautiously forward and withdrew a faded yellow manuscript from within. She had worked with manuscripts like these all summer, and felt she should be wearing the customary white gloves all manuscript professors stashed in every pocket they owned. The writing on the parchment was faded and the cover long lost, but the colors on the charts and diagrams glowed warmly in the morning sun, which was now streaming through the tower windows. She was surprised at the number of symbols she recognized within the drawings that framed the manuscript. The artwork bordered on illumination quality, and Raven marveled at the beauty of what she was sure to be a personal journal. At one time the edges of the journal had been gilded, but that gilding was now worn and missing in some spots, mostly along the corners. The writing, itself, was clearly scratched out with a quill in a woman’s handwriting. At the end of each group of drawings or diagrams was the signature of Helga Hufflepuff.

"This is a private journal." Raven spoke, very sure of her ability to translate the writing upon it.

Harry interrupted her thoughts as he leaned forward and looked intently at the journal in her hand. "You can tell that? I recognize the symbols and charts from Professor Trelawney’s Divination Class. There’s even some Arithmancy work right there." He pointed to the bottom of the journal as Raven flipped slowly through the delicate pages. "It’s not Latin?" He looked up at Dumbledore as if for confirmation but Raven answered instead.

"No, the writing along the borders is Greek, and the personal notes are in a dialect of Old English. Most northern languages of Europe have a common base root between the Anglo-Saxon of the North and  Latin and Greek—the ‘civilized’ languages of the South. Britain, being sandwiched in between, developed a bastardization of both." Raven looked up and smiled shrewdly at Dumbledore. "The language of the common people! Merlin may have spoken like a scholar, sir, but he sang drinking songs in the tongue of the hill- folk. This is their language."

Harry looked on in disbelief while Professor Dumbledore raised one silver eyebrow at her. "Ezmarelda truly did herself justice in your education, Raven. It appears to me she has given you a foundation upon which to build a formal education in magic. You see, for someone raised as a Muggle you know a fair amount about being a witch."

"Well, I don’t know about that, but it does seem that my mother prepared me in ways I never suspected. She insisted on an education—classical as well as modern. It’s not like she taught me to change anyone into a frog or anything, but I would have no problem reading the directions to do it." As soon as she spoke these words she cringed. "I’m sorry, that really wasn’t the right thing to say. I’m sure witches don’t turn people into frogs and all that."

"Actually, Professor McGonagall was quite good at it in her youth. I’m sure she would love to demonstrate—ah, well, no, maybe not." He stopped at the look of disbelief on Raven’s face. "She does frown on such stunts now. Pity that."

Returning to the subject at hand, Dumbledore focused once more on the journal in her hand. "Helga Hufflepuff kept extensive notes on all her visions and readings. Everything she saw she then applied to the other methods of Divination in an effort to confirm their validity." Withdrawing his wand again, Dumbledore’s wrist flicked the wand’s end in tight little circles. As if an unfelt breeze blew through the room, the parchment pages began to turn of their own accord, stopping only upon reaching almost the end of the book.

"I would be interested in hearing your translation of this passage, if you’re feeling up to it."

The thought of translating something for Dumbledore filled her with excitement, her pale face flushing in anticipation. Raven knew it didn't make sense, but somehow she felt enormously comforted by the presence of the older man, and Dumbledore seemed to sense it. Pleasing him became important to her, though she hardly knew him. "This is a dialect I’ve seen before, but I’m still not sure of the etymology. I believe the root is Old English. This Anglo-Saxon dialect merged with Latin at the time of the Roman conquests. The Angles, Saxons, and Jutes were the three Germanic tribes who emigrated from what is now Denmark and northern Germany and settled in England beginning about the fourth century. Early on, the Angles enjoyed a rise to power that must have made them seem more important than the other two tribes, for all three tribes are indiscriminately referred to in early documents as Angles. The speech of the three tribes was conflated in the same way: they all spoke what would have been called Anglisc, or ‘Anglish,’ as it were. By the earliest recorded Old English, this had changed to Englisc." Raven stopped at this point and shrugged. "I could read it out loud for you but it would still sound like a foreign language, and just because I can pronounce it doesn’t mean I understand it. It might take me a few days, but I could do a translation for you."

"It was translated for us, but the wizard doing it was uncertain on several issues. We can’t afford uncertainty. Any advantage we can gain over Voldemort brings us one step closer to defeating him. I’ll make available to you any resources that will help with the translation. I can tell you this information came from her ‘revelation,’" said

Dumbledore, pointing to the right corner of the open page.

"These are Tarot notations." Raven smiled in disbelief. "They’re the exact ones Mum used for her readings—the ones she taught me for the Aquarian Deck." She stopped and a sad, wistful, feeling overcame her. "I miss her preaching at me!" A sigh escaped her lips and, to the delight of Harry and Dumbledore, Raven broke into a perfect North Welsh accent, mimicking her mother.

"You musn’t make light of the readins, ma’ dear. Fate takes serious the hand she deals." Raven felt her eyes misting up, and she blinked several times to clear them. She focused on the next set of figures to the left, continuing quickly before she lost her composure.

"These calculations are Trigonometry. She’s plugged in the key dates noted on the right into the formula and came up with three figures. I must assume these are dates as well."

The writing was faded with age, and Raven scrunched her face and pushed her limp hair back from her eyes. It was a movement that again Harry saw as familiar, but he was unable to pinpoint why. Raven had continued on, and Harry returned his attention to her as she mimicked another voice. He noted she was quite good at this one as well, and marveled at the male New York Bronx accent now issuing for her mouth.

"Never assume anything in mathematical calculations Miss Klause, it will make an ‘ass’ out of ‘u’ and ‘me’." She stopped and shrugged. "I suppose you need to see it written out in chalk letters two feet high to get the point. Anyway, that is what makes me pause on these dates. We can’t assume they’re wrong just because they make no sense in this time frame. These notations are birth charts. I’m sure of it. But the dates are wrong." Raven puzzled at what she was seeing. "I thought the Founders lived in the eleventh century? The dates noted here are for March 1, 1980; July 31, 1980; and September 21, 1980. And sir, that last one—well, it’s my birthday; except I was born in 1979."

"For the last eighteen years, I’ve tried to ascertain whose birthday was September 21st. Now I know," said Dumbledore in a voice frightening in its certainty. "Harry, am I correct in my knowledge of Ron’s birthday?" Harry nodded without saying a word. He looked pale, and was busy staring expressionlessly at Raven. She couldn’t read his looks this time, and found herself wondering what could cause someone enough grief that they could open and close themselves off behind a wall so quickly. Reading people’s looks and emotions was one thing that she was very good at. She often used it with Tarot readings, to gain insight into the true question being sought by the client.

Harry, who had been mostly silent through her explanations, spoke up. "Raven, the second date is my birthday, the first is the birthday of a man who for the last eight years of my life has been as close to me as a brother. His name is Ronald Weasley. He and his family have basically adopted me as one of their own, like it or not." His smile told Raven this fact brought him great happiness—yet at the same time there was something more, something again he was hiding from view.

"Weasley? The Canary Cream password the Professor used?" Raven looked between the two men for confirmation.

"Yes," Dumbledore answered. "One of seven children of a very old and very respected wizarding family. Arthur Weasley also works for the Ministry of Magic, Raven. He and his wife Molly and myself have talked about this journal, and the possibility that Ron would play a key role in the events foretold within it."

This said, Dumbledore arose and walked to another shelf of books on the far wall. "Both the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw families could be traced through records complied by the Ministry over the last 100 years. These documents were enough to convince those in charge that this journal could in fact explain Voldemort’s actions, just as it anticipates his second attempt at gaining power over us. You and Ron were clearly a part of the equation, Harry. Raven, you are the missing piece."

Returning to his seat with several roles of parchment, Dumbledore continued. "September 21st was not Ezmarelda’s birthday, nor did she have any children." Dumbledore shook his head at this statement and looked over his half-moon glasses. "Or so we thought. We had no idea to whom the third birth date belonged. I’m sure she and Elizabeth O’Connor thought they were protecting you from Voldemort, but I do not understand how they learned of the contents of the journal when the Ministry only gained knowledge of it after the attack on your mother. Why did she hide you if she had no knowledge of this information?"

"I have no idea," Raven shrugged. "She flat-out refused to discuss any part of her life here. Basically that’s the only thing we ever truly fought over: My desire to know our family history, to know my father. I don’t know why Voldemort wanted to kill my mother."

"My guess would be to prevent your birth," Harry spoke. He had been studying the journal intently for the last few minutes, and Raven could see from the look on his face that he had been deciphering parts of it.

"Our birth dates have been used to assign the Key Cards listed right here." He pointed to the marks that Raven had commented on earlier. "These are used to signify the person for whom the Tarot reading is done. There are notations for three separate readings. One for each date of birth."

"It seems you paid more attention in Divination than you let on, Harry," Dumbledore said.

"Yeah, well, I had to pass my N.E.W.T.s., so I borrowed some books from Hermione."

"She sounds like a walking library," Raven muttered to herself.

"You have no idea," Harry and Dumbledore both answered at the same time. There was more sarcasm in their voices than humor.

Raven leaned forward to continue the translation, and found that the more she tried to focus the dizzier she felt. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the feeling down and continued where Harry left off. "There are eight layouts used in Tarot readings, but I gather you both know this? Helga chose the traditional Celtic Cross arrangement for each of the three readings she did. She assigned the three of us cards from the Major Arcana based on these calculations. Harry, if your birthday is the 31st of July, 1980, then you were assigned the Hierophant. You fight for the rights of others—a spiritual common good. It’s a powerful card of the Major Arcana."

Raven did some quick calculations in her head and checked the assignment of each birthday. "That’s odd, though. My birth year is listed wrong, but she correctly assigned me as the Empress, and your friend Ron is the Emperor. She needed the correct birth date to assign me the Empress card, and yet the year is clearly recorded wrong. Odd."

She frowned in thought again and continued. "The Empress gives birth to new things. She plants, nurtures, and cultivates ideas. To bear offspring or to be a creative force. Mum always said my Key Card matched me right down to the woman drawn on it, black hair and all.

"The Emperor, Ron’s card, defines who, what and where we are. To create order out of chaos. To provide leadership and to act in the interest of others. Am I right so far, sir?" Raven asked. "Mum really did this better than I."

Dumbledore answered her with an encouraging wave of his hand. "Do go on, you’re doing splendidly."

"In each individual reading we three are all covered by Strength and crossed by The Devil. Strength involves a mental connection almost telepathic in nature. Animal instincts and unspoken feelings are involved. Most often the card is depicted with a man walking side by side with a lion. Somehow an understanding passes between them. The card represents people who act instinctively, who think intuitively. The calming voice in the storm."

"With me so far?" Both men nodded and she continued. "People panic when they see the Devil card crossing what covers them. It is often mistranslated. Usually there is some masochistic sense of duty involved. Some agreement or promise made long ago that is binding the forces of destiny around you. There’s a fine line between escape and no way out when this card is involved." Raven scowled in puzzlement. "I’ve never seen readings as close to one another as these are."

"Nor had any of us," Dumbledore interrupted. "I’ve had the best Diviner I know look at these readings and she threatened to faint from shock when she saw all the connections."

"I noticed that the sixth card notations are identical as well. I believe the sixth card denotes what lies before us," remarked Harry.

"Yes," Dumbledore answered. "The Judgement. A matter of life and death; control over your own destiny."

"It’s also the sky opening, the trumpets sounding and the dead rising from their graves to answer the call of their Lord. Sounds right up this Voldemort's alley," Raven piped in. "The seventh card is different for each of us, though. This position describes the role we are to play in an agreement or promise we are involved in." Incomprehension traversed Raven’s face. "The Ace of Wands—I’m to play a productive part in things. To get things started. To produce offshoots. To plant seeds. Well, shit, I admit I know a lot about botanicals and herbs, but what in the hell am I suppose to grow?"

Harry let out a quick snort of laughter. He was not used to any one but Ron using crude language, and coming from Raven it sounded funny.

"Go ahead and laugh, read what yours is!" She shot back at him.

Harry found himself looking at the notation listed for his seventh card. He shrugged his shoulders and looked up.

Dumbledore spoke its explanation for him. "The Chariot. To fight the good cause. To overcome the things that threaten your existence, identity, position or ideas. To protect others."

"Wow, that was hard to figure out," Harry remarked sullenly and sat back in his chair.

"And Ron," Dumbledore continued, "is the Three of Cups. To be a good friend. To provide a shoulder to lean on. To care for others. To be a confidant for others. To be a participant in a new life."

"Well, she pegged Ron, too," Harry said, sounding more impressed than he had about his own card.

"The notations for the eighth position cards are also the same for the three of us, and describe the role we are to play in this for others." Raven looked up at Dumbledore through tired eyes. "The Magician." He simply nodded and she continued with her explanation of this Aquarian symbol. "To come into our own. To develop our minds, our bodies, and our souls. To determine destiny. To overcome."

Harry leaned forward again. "So tell me, the ninth should be what we want? Do tell. I’d love to know myself what I want."

Raven met his cynical comment with one word: "Death. It covers the three of us just as strength covered our Key Card. Strength walks with the lion while Death rides a white horse. This card is about permanent change. Death rides a white stallion to claim the life of a fellow who has lived out his days. The sun sets. The past is buried. The slate is clean. This card marks a dramatic, profound, or radical change. The inevitable occurs. A new chapter begins."

"Damn, I asked for that, didn’t I?" Harry noted it felt good to swear.

"I’m sorry, Harry, Helga drew these cards, not me. I’m just telling you how they would be translated. It doesn’t necessarily mean that we’re going to die in a physical sense. But something will happen that will change things forever. Good or bad."

"You two will see that until the tenth card, the readings were completely parallel and interlinked with one another," Dumbledore interrupted. "I can not stress enough the fact that this is not a random occurrence. Only on the tenth and last card, the outcome, do the paths separate. Ron’s final card is Justice. Justice involves a person who is logical or an analytical thinker—someone who upholds or enforces the law. Evidence is collected and facts presented in a case and a verdict is reached." Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. "Ron is the only man alive who can beat me at chess."

While Harry and Dumbledore looked on, Raven drew the journal closer to her and looked at the notation of the final card shared by her and Harry. The Lovers.

"So our tenth card is the same, but different from Ron’s?" Harry asked Raven "What card is it?"

Raven looked to Dumbledore for some indication of what to say, but his face remained stoic and he kept silent, his blue eyes revealing nothing.

"Another major card often misread," Raven finally managed to intone softly. "In this position it’s very hard to pin down a specific meaning. As you pointed out earlier the future is something that is as diverse as our actions make it. My instincts tell me it symbolizes a predestined union. To join forces with another both physically as well as mentally." Raven glanced up at Dumbledore, wondering if he would add anything, disclose more than what she had just revealed. Again he remained silent, for which she was grateful.

Dumbledore reached out and pulled the journal back across his desk and turned to the next page. He then unrolled the scrolls of paper he had retrieved moments before. "The next journal page contains Astrometrical charting, relating to your dates of birth." Handing Raven and Harry each a scroll of parchment he continued: "You will see that these charts were prepared based on the information listed within her journal. When we completed them years back, we were shocked to discover they matched almost exactly to the chart she made and noted here."

Raven shook her head to clear the fog once again beginning within it. "I’m not following why you made these new charts. They are birth charts, I know that much, but why were they drawn up?"

"To find you, our White Witch!" Dumbledore reached over and pointed to the Chart Wheel on Ravens parchment. "A Birth Chart details the position of the planets in the Zodiac Signs at the specific moment of an individual’s birth. Using the individual’s place, date and time of birth as the data source for their planetary alignment, the chart is produced. You will see that your chart is incomplete in several aspects, for all we had was a date of birth, which you’ve now told me is incorrect. Harry’s on the other hand, is finished because I was able to supply the necessary information to complete it."

"But with my parents dead, how were you able to fill in my information?" Harry asked, looking up from the chart in his hands. "There’s time of birth and a date of conception!" Harry flushed slightly in the cheeks. "Umm—how did you get this information?"

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled and he chuckled. "Professor Lupin and Sirius have quite the story to tell about a certain Halloween party, at which James and Lily were feeling rather amorous."

"Oh, I do not want to hear this," Harry spat out, practically tripping over his own tongue. "That’s more information than they should know about me!"

Raven smiled at Harry while Dumbledore let loose with a true laugh, deep and rich in its volume.

"Then I won’t bother to tell you that James was away from home when your mother went into labor, and it was Sirius who brought Lily to Hogwarts and helped with your birth."

The look on Harry’s face changed quickly, and Raven watched with fascination as several emotions played across it. Love, gratitude, longing, loss, sadness. "He never told me that." Harry took a deep breath and looked down. Raven knew he was struggling with emotions he was not accustomed to sharing.

"Well, you and Sirius haven’t had much time together to talk about personal matters." At this, Dumbledore paused, unrolled the second two scrolls and laid them down across his desk. "This chart is Ron’s. Arthur and Molly assisted in drawing it up. And this chart is Tom Marvolo Riddle’s."

"Voldemort."  Raven heard the name before she even realized it was she who had spoken it. She scrunched her face up and again shook her head. Why had that name escaped her lips, and why was she feeling so lightheaded now?

"Yes, Raven, Voldemort." Dumbledore’s silver brows were arched questioningly, but he said nothing and continued with his explanation. "The chart Helga completed in this journal is a far more advanced form of Astrology, something not seen in centuries. Known as a composite chart, it merges several individual charts to form one. This reveals the relationship between the individuals whose charts are combined and acts as a forecaster of future events involving those individuals."

"The knowledge of how to do this was lost for several hundred years. Trust me when I say the rediscovery of this information has been invaluable, but the knowledge is still incomplete. One thousand years ago, based on this composite chart, Helga Hufflepuff verified three births: A White Witch from the family Ravenclaw, born on Mabon, or the Fall Equinox; one from the family Gryffindor conceived on Samhauri, the eighth Sabbat on the Wheel of the Year; and one who was supposed to be born on Ostara, or the Spring Equinox, but decided to arrive early when Molly fell down the stairs." At this, Dumbledore smiled gravely and then continued. "The future is hard to pin down with accuracy, but Helga did foresee your three births in one of the last visions of her life.

"By doing individual charts, those of us working against Voldemort were hoping to learn who you were, Raven. Remember, Voldemort saw this information as well. We are certain he deciphered as much as we have, based on the fact that he attacked the town of Ravenglass. Seven families were attacked that night, and yet the only people murdered were women. Harry’s right, Voldemort was looking to destroy any chance of a White Witch being born in Ravenglass. Next he targeted the Gryffindor family line, killing James, as well as attempting to kill Harry." This said, Dumbledore’s eyes flashed and a triumphant look graced his face. "He failed in both endeavors, because here the two of you sit, brought together by circumstances I still do not understand."

"But what about Ron?" Harry asked gravely. "Do you think that is why he was taken last Christmas? We just thought it was an attempt to trap me!"

"I still think that, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Voldemort’s connections within the Ministry would have been able to identify the Gryffindor as well as the Ravenclaw descendants. Ron, however, has no such ancestry. All Voldemort had for Ron was a date of birth, with nothing more to go on. Whatever role Ron is to play in this is unknown to both myself and Voldemort."

"Then what role are we to play? Can you finally share that information with me now?" Feeling once again that his life no longer belonged to him, Harry’s tone was curt. He pushed up forcefully from his chair and strode to one of the tower windows gracing Dumbledore’s office. Once the panorama that was Hogwarts brought him peace, but lately it only brought him frustration. When would his life be what he made of it? When would his choices be based on his wants, not the needs of others?

"No, Harry, I cannot. Not enough of this journal has been translated. I can say that you and Raven are connected in a way that only Helga Hufflepuff understood. She believed there was no way to escape her fate. A defeatist view in my opinion, but that history cannot be changed. There are many notations outlining a spell she developed. A spell built around Godric and Rowena in an attempt to protect them from Salazar. Upon her death, her murder, the spell was implemented, connecting the House of Gryffindor with the House of Ravenclaw. This connection offered them protection from the House of Slytherin."

Dumbledore stopped and peered sharply over his half-moon spectacles. "Harry, you of all people understand the power of old magic; wild and powerful magic that 1000 years ago belonged to men such as Archimedes, Pythagoras, Merlin. Helga felt it was her destiny to stop Salazar, even if doing so meant sacrificing her life. Godric and Rowena defeated Salazar with the help of Helga. She used a magic that I believe is still as strong now as it was then, a magic that allows you to connect to one another in ways unseen for centuries. But she also knew that history would repeat itself. She predicted the rise of Voldemort, the last descendent of Salazar Slytherin, and she predicted it would take three people to defeat him again."

"Right then," Harry growled, turning away from the window. "So we’re fated to stop Voldemort. We’ve done a smashing good job of it so far! Which one of us gets to die this time? Now that Raven’s here, let’s just go find him. Let’s not deprive fate of another victim!" Harry was practically shouting at Dumbledore, pacing in circles while running his hands through his tousled black hair. "My father and mother, Cedric, Hagrid. How many more people need die because of a destiny I don’t even control!"

Harry turned to Raven and noticed what little color she had left had drained from her face. She looked as if she might slump out of her chair any moment. "Raven?"

She didn’t look at him, but he could feel an overwhelming sense of grief washing over him, radiating from her. Though he was not linked to her by the Imperius curse any longer, he again was feeling, or rather sensing, her emotions. It was quite unsettling, and he spoke her name more forcefully, stopping to stand next to her. "Raven, what is it?"

"My mother was murdered. The coroner listed cause of death unknown, but she was murdered. I’m sure of it now. The look on mum’s face was absolute shock. Her eyes, they just stared as if—fear. She was afraid." Raven’s voice broke and she stopped, unable to continue. She looked up at Dumbledore and asked imploringly, "How did they find us? No one knew where we were."

"I wish I could answer that, Raven," Dumbledore responded quietly. "Perhaps if you could find the strength to give me the details of Ezmarelda’s death, we could shed light on more than her murder."

"Mostly it’s a blur. Roy heard voices, fighting. Mum yelling." Raven looked down and swallowed back the emotions threatening to overwhelm her. "He ran downstairs and was blinded by a flash of green light. He found her lying on the floor in the workroom. I wasn’t home. I should have been, though." A sound of disgust issued from Raven’s throat. "Too busy playing around after a production to get home on time. She was waiting up for me; she always did."

Raven looked lost as her thoughts wandered, and Harry noted once again the translucent quality of her skin. Her blue eyes looked blackened and hollow, and her lank black hair did nothing to add any color to her pallor. She reminded him of a china doll that would shatter with the slightest mishandling. She paused and looked around as if for the first time realizing where she was. "I need to call Roy, he’ll be beside himself worrying about where I’ve gone."

It was Dumbledore who broke through to her conscious thoughts again. "Raven, if you had been there you too would be dead. There is no way I can stress the importance of keeping yourself out of harm's way other than to bluntly tell you your mother died for your safety. I have no doubt now that Death Eaters murdered her; if they knew you existed then you, too, would have been dead weeks ago. As you pointed out, assumptions are never a base to stand on, but we must assume Voldemort still knows nothing about you. And it must be kept that way."

Harry having regained his composure, interrupted. "Keeping the fact she’s here quiet is going to be hard to do. I talked with Ginny briefly last night, and the rumors already range from a spy of Voldemort’s to Snape’s jilted lover! Not to mention the class she popped into belonged to the seventh year Slytherin and Hufflepuff potions. Half the Slytherins there are in Malfoy’s back pocket. Voldemort will question who she is."

"Who’s Malfoy, and what does he have to do with Voldemort or Snape’s potion class?" Raven scowled. The thought of being an angry jilted lover of Snape’s was too much for her to stomach.

"Professor Snape, Raven. Severus is a master at what he does here. Remember that please."

Raven’s ashen face flushed at this reprimand, but she met the Headmaster’s gaze and without blinking answered, "Yes sir."

"It should be easy enough to explain your presence, but you may not like what it entails. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to work with Professor Snape in the capacity of an assistant. I will simply inform the staff you are from the Salem Institute of America, here to further your education under the tutelage of a European Master of Potions."

This said, both Harry and Raven spoke out at the same time, words overlapping each other in their rush to get out. "WORK WITH SNAPE?" Harry bellowed.

"POTIONS MASTER?" Raven snorted in disgust.

"Professor Snape, Harry," Dumbledore repeated with futility.

Raven sank back weakly in her chair, too exhausted to care any more. "That means you want me to stay—ah, here?" she asked.

"I cannot force you to stay with us, Raven; nor can I ask you to reach your decision right now. That would be unfair of me. You need rest and some time to digest all you have learned this morning. However, I do feel for your protection that remaining at Hogwarts is in your best interest. And selfishly, for our best interest as well." This said, Dumbledore reached into his drawer and withdrew a small silver box. Opening it, he withdrew the ring Madam Pomfrey had removed from Raven’s finger the night before.

"I shall return this to you as your wrist is now on the mend, and ask Harry to see that you make it back to the Hospital Wing safely." Walking around the desk he offered a long elegant hand to Raven and assisted in helping her stand up from the chair.

"Thank you, sir; Mum didn’t have many possessions. I’m sure this one was special to her." That said, Raven reached out and took her ring back from Headmaster Dumbledore. Smiling weakly she looked down at the winking aquamarine set in the beak of the raven and returned it to her right ring finger. And then Raven disappeared.

"Well then," spoke Dumbledore, "I think that tells us how she got here!" The ring acts as a Portkey. It’s my guess she and Severus are going at it hammer and tongs right now. Shall we go and rescue her?"

Harry smiled mischievously. "No. You forget, I was just in her head a bit ago; and the things she said she could do to me ought to keep Snape on his toes for a while. And she’s got a wand this time. I say let’s finish our tea first."

A guarded smile crept onto the Headmaster’s face. "Professor Snape, Harry. Pro-fess-or."