"The shattered one will once again come back to life. O behold! The green lights will shine upon the scorching ruins and shrinking rivers - finally at the end of all things, there will no longer be place called Ealdor."
Sherlock's voice broke at the last word and the gold melted slowly away from his eyes, regaining their normal silvery hue. He trembled slightly as if he was waking up from a mere dream. First thing he understood was the restful fondling on his curls and he looked up to see if it was his brother. He indeed met his older brother's juniper berry colored eyes, which were now holding a strange look - anxiety, Sherlock recognized after a bit thinking, but he wasn't able to see any logical reason for that kind of gaze. The people around them were staring at him with the same look and some of them even had covered their mouths with their hands - astonished, he thought and he even noticed some people who seemed utterly puzzled. He was beginning to sense a starting explosion inside his head.
"What in heaven's name happened", he managed to growl after he had forcefully pushed the tickling outburst down his throat. The others had already excused themselves and left the two brothers alone. Merlin tensed a bit, but continued to stroke the wavy locks as if the life itself depended on their serenity. It kind of did, though, as Sherlock's jittery magic was starting to ripple the air around them and make the flowers turn their petals in. The big brother frowned slightly when he saw the dewdrops that were magically forming onto the grass around them, but cleared his throat before answering the younger one's question.
"I... I believe that it was a vision, my brother. It seems that you have possessed the power of seeing. To future, I mean... Gift of reading the tomorrow from ulterior source."
"Ah... Not good?" Sherlock winced as he heard himself, asking something like that with such a small voice... He was stronger than that! Luckily his brother didn't say anything out loud. No, instead he stood up and smiled. It was nothing new that his big brother was always so annoyingly nice to everyone... That useless string of thought was cut as their mother (poor Hunith, the other villagers whispered) rushed to them, worried as always.
As they were silently wandering back to their home, the worried mother couldn't do much more than sigh resignedly. Her boys tended to get in all sorts of incidents, but this was a first sign of Sherlock's true powers - she had expected something like this... Her son had the eyes of a buzzard, curiosity of a stoat and acrimony of a wasp - that he was a seer, was not a great shock.
There was no telling if she and her oldest son were able to keep the curly-haired boy on the path of justice, as he had some alarming tendencies to "mend" the rules if he thought it was needed and an unfailing ability to ruffle people with his endless deductions... But he was a good boy who couldn't control his magic - the training hadn't started bearing any fruit yet - and besides, he would go to the edge of the world if his mother would've asked him to. Several "what if"s and "but"s were still hovering in their cottage when the moonlight swam behind her eyelids. It wasn't until the rooster outside cried his first cock-a-doodle-doo, she had come up with a solution.
She threw her blanket off and dashed with three leaps next to a window and wrote a pleading letter. A bedraggled owl flew in the sky and as she opened the window, the bird landed with a low hoot and grabbed the folded paper from her outstretched hand. It had many months worth of flying through the air above the secret moors of their land, but she put all her hope to that letter. Soon the bird was just a gray dot at the sky, disappearing behind the forests as it headed towards Scottish lowlands.
There was a disheveled eagle owl knocking on his window with an unwavering rhythm. Somehow, perhaps years worth of experience, the headmaster knew that the source of the annoying noise wouldn't just get bored and fly away. Owls these days... Chuckling to himself the old man rose from his chair and opened the stained glass window. After a bit of persuading the stubborn bird agreed to fly elsewhere, but the old man stood there for a while, just breathing the gentle whiffs of May air and reading the letter he had received.
When he finally decided to close the window again (mainly because his neck started to feel the draft too well), he was so deeply in thought that he almost didn't notice his colleague entering the door.
"Ah, Minerva", he acknowledged the sharp-looking woman in front of him, "I have received a very interesting note that was sent to me by our former student. I am sure you remember the woman in question - Hunith Abrahamson, who later married the druid man... what was his name... Balinor."
Minerva McGonagall, a professor of this great seat of learning, stood there slightly stunned because of the headmaster's sudden uncertainty, but she got herself put together almost immediately.
"I indeed do remember her", she agreed, "she was in Hufflepuff, wasn't she? Excellent marks in Herbology and Defense Against Dark Arts, if I recall right. I wonder what has made you look so pensive, Albus."
The headmaster unfolded the letter once again. He wasn't going to read it aloud, but decided to tell roughly what it said in it. He cleared his throat and began to tell.
"She has two sons, Merlin and Sherlock... Yes, Minerva, the boy's name is Merlin. Not in any means exotic with descendant of the Druids, mind you. However, he is now sixteen and his little brother is fifteen. The problem is that the both of them are more powerful than their magic tutor, Edwin Muirden, can manage. The older one has apparently inherited his father's ability to control the dragons... I can imagine it has caused some difficulties", he commented drily. "The younger one though... He has been proven to be a seer."
"Proven?" the woman grasped his word choice, "He has seen and told a prediction, then?" She was feeling a tad concerned, not really knowing why, but the odd sense of warning was pulsing through her. Headmaster Dumbledore gave her the letter and pointed the booked up prophesy, as told by fifteen-year-old Sherlock, son of Balinor.
""The shattered one will once again come back to life. O behold! The green lights will shine upon the scorching ruins and shrinking rivers - finally at the end of all things, there will no longer be place called Ealdor", she read and with every word she felt her poor heart beating faster. "It... it is about... About You-Know-Who", she whispered after a while. The man next to her nodded sincerely. "Yes. We are now dealing with dangerous things here, Minerva. We must take Hunith's sons under our protection before the Lord Voldemort takes interest in them and their already great powers. I don't think anyone knows the true extent of the boys' budding magic."
The woman in bottle green robes winced at the usage of the dark wizard's name, but agreed with headmasters reasoning. "What should we do, Albus?" she asked feeling a pinch of universal exhaustion in her bones.
"Write back and wait for her response, I suppose. After that we can think for the greater plans."