This story was written a few years ago in Russian and was published on a Russian Harry Potter fanfiction website. Now, I have decided to translate this into English and publish it here. Hope you enjoy it! Also, I would like to say a big thank you to my beta-reader, Ashwyn of Mirkwood. Without her help, I never have done that!

Chapter 1

The lake was beautiful, its crystal clear waters were just one of the many things that contributed to its grandeur. The blazing sun shone brightly in the sky, and the shimmering water reflected the sun's rays. At the edge of the lake, she was waist-deep in the clear water, and in her eyes looked a mermaid. The gaze of the creature was fascinated, hypnotized. Her violet eyes were deprived of will, and were unmoving. Probably for the tenth time, the mermaid repeated, trancelike,

At midnight, by the will of Chaos,

The Doors of the Worlds, deep in this lake, will open,

The lake will throw out from its depths a child of Elder Blood,

Who in the darkness of many Words lost her way - a green-eyed girl, on the black mare. That will be the Lady of the Lake, the enchantress who has power over time. She will make the gift for the great wizard,

Who is destined to die and by her boundless mercy she will give time itself…

"I got it! I got it!" cried Sybill Trelawny, who had been awoken by her very own scream that had pierced the silence of the night. After a moments pondering, she continued, "I need to go to Dumbledore. I should tell him," she said. "He should know."

"What the strange things you are talking about?" cried Dumbledore the moment Sybill had finished explaining her vision. He folded his arms across his chest, and looked suspiciously at Sybill, unsure to believe the Divination teacher. Her dream was strange indeed.

"Do you, by chance, drank any special potion before you sleep?" "Well... maybe some sedative…" he admitted. Too much, he added silently, feeling a little uneasy.

"Of course, I don't drink!" Sybill cried, eyes widening in horror.

Dumbledore fiddled around with his sleeve. "But what do you think about the part about giving time?" he asked, hastily changing the subject.

"I don't know." Sybill shrugged, looking genuinely puzzled. "I only gave you the words of the prophecy. I know no more."

Dumbledore shooed Sybill back to her quarters, and slammed the door shut behind her. About time he got rid of that pesky fortune-teller.

"Snape said, what I have not many time to live." Dumbledore thought.

Even though he didn't want to believe Sybill, he couldn't help but feel intrigued by her claim. No one but he knows about it. But what if Sybill spoke the truth? She was the one who predicted Harry Potter to be the one to defeat Lord Voldemort. I must keep an open mind. Who knows, maybe this is my salvation?

That night at midnight, only because of the slightest ounce of hope he had in his heavy heart, Dumbledore went to the lake shore. The entire surface of the frozen lake was shrouded by a thick mist. Dumbledore peered into the fog, wand and the ready for any unfriendly foes. Suddenly, there was a blinding flash of light. Towards the shore, moving slowly was a figure. As it approached him, the mist started to lessen, and the surface of the ice could be seen. The figure limped across the ice, which greatly resembled a white carpet. The figure had not proud, stiff gait, one proper for a lady. Slowly, the figures features started to show. The figure stepped into the moonlight and much to Dumbledore's amazement appeared to be a slender, long-haired girl.

Coming to the shore, she noticed a lone man in a strange robe and hat staying on the ground. In his hand he held a stick of some sort.

"Wrong place, again," she thought.

She lifted her head to look up at the glimmering night sky. The constellations were familiar.

"So, the right place, wrong time."

She glanced at old man with the long beard. He was brandishing the stick that now had a beam of light shining from the tip of it, and it bathed her face in its glow. A hideous scar stretched across her cheek. Numerous small, fresh wounds were bleeding, and dried blood flecked her face. Her ash hair was dirty and matted, and on her jacket were red stains, that supposedly blood.

"Her eyes are green..." Dumbledore thought. Sybill's words came flooding back to him. "Where is a horse?"

He mumbled thoughtfully, and then, having a sudden thought, said, "Welcome, Lady of the Lake!"

The girl bowed her head in greeting, despite not understanding a single word the old man had said. She sat down on the icy ground that was covered with a thin layer of snow. By wiping her bleeding face with the sleeve of her velvet jacket, she only caused a more intense pain. In her right hand she continued to hold of an elven sword, acid of an unknown type continuously dripping from the metal on the snow. Dumbledore tried to speak to her, but the girl only shook her head, replying in an unfamiliar language. Then, the wizard, pointing at himself, said slowly, "Dumbledore."

"Ciri", she replied, pointing at herself with a smile.

"I will help you," said the old man gently and he waved his wand.

The pain that had tormented her stopped. The wounds were now covered by scabs.

"A wizard?" Thought surprised girl.

Now the wizard was trying to attract her attention to the castle, which was on the hill that sloped downwards towards the lake from which she had appeared from. From his waving hands, and darting eyes, along with his head nodding towards her than the castle, she could tell that he invited her to follow him.

Ciri doesn't hurry to trust this strange person, even though he had saving her from suffering. His kind and penetrating gaze, made her wary instead of trusting. They reminded her the eyes of the elf, which contained centuries of knowledge and experience. Like the eyes of Olh's king. She remembered too clearly, and how she had miraculously escaped from their "hospitality". Tsiri suddenly yearned for some food, drink, and a bed to rest in.

Finally longing took over her senses. She got up and went after wizard. If she sensed danger, she will always have time to move into another reality. But for now, all she could hope for was that the wizard "Dumbledore" was as kind as he appeared to be.

Ciri was very hungry, but ate slowly and gracefully. At the sight of the grand decorations of the room, silver cutlery and crystal glasses she remembered her manners. This is not the Kaer Morkhen, and not a den of "Rats", where you can gobble food down with your hands.

"The old man doesn't understand the Universal language," thought Ciri. "Perhaps he understands Senior Speech."

"Thank you," she said in elvish, dipping her head politely at the old man seated directly opposite her.

To her utter relief and happiness, he understood.

"You're welcome," he replied in the same language with a small smile.

Ciri's words were also understood by the creature that was to clearing her empty plate. She turned to see a short, grubby, large-eared creature staring up at her with wide eyes.

"May I ask, miss," said the strange creature. "How do you know the Elvish language? "I learned it," she answered softly. "How do you know it?"

"It is my native language, for I am an elf," he announced proudly. "I'm Dobby."

Tsiri smirked. The beautiful but haughty elves, who despised people, have apparently with time degenerated and turn into such creatures like Dobby. She, of course, understood that the funny big-eared creature could just be the elves' distant relative. She didn't ask further, but deep down she was hoping for justice in the form of the first version.

All this time, Dumbledore had started to think up questions to ask her, now there was a form of communication between them.

"What brought you into this world, my child?" he said loudly.

Ciri look at him.

"I'm lost."

She launched into an explanation, telling him that she has an amazing gift – the ability to travel through Worlds. She said, what after having escaped from the elves, could not find the way home.

"Destiny is testing me, opening the doors of such different corners of the Universe, and each one stranger then than the other. But most often, I find myself near the magical lake Tarn Mira."

"I am glad that you came to be here," Dumbledore said, putting his hands together, and leaned forwards, his grey hair falling over his face. "In fact, this lake has another name."

Ciri, in turn, also had questions.

"Are you owner of this castle?"

"In some sense," he replied, smiling. "This is a school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, also known as Hogwarts, and I am the Headmaster."

At the words 'school', Ciri remembered sadly the island Tuned, and the school of magic which she never had a chance to finish.

"Why do you wave the stick you wield when you make spells?"

"Do you conjure spells differently?" asked the Headmaster in surprise. "And it is not a 'stick', it is a wand." He added with a chuckle.

As he stared at Ciri for a while more, he saw her magical aura and had no doubt that she was a witch.

"I don't use magic at all. Once upon a time, when trying to save the unicorn, I used the Energy of the Fire and could not cope with it. I paid for my stupidity by a loss of my magical abilities. I had to refuse magic, but do not regret it, because I was able to cure the unicorn. And I have never used any wand."

Hearing to all of this, the elf Dobby thought in surprise, "How can you bear to abandon magic? It is a gift given to you upon your birth."

Dumbledore shocked too.

"She said the Energy of Fire! Surely she knows the ancient secrets of using the power of the Elements!" he thought.

Aloud, he said:

"Do not kid me, my child. Not by your own would you have acquired these skills, and it is not in your power to deny them. It's impossible."

"But it is true. And it is because of it that I can't find the way home." Ciri sighed.

"She's not lying to me," Dumbledore thought, keeping his eyes on her. "She really, truly believes in what she says. It is possible that there are indeed some reasons that prevent her from using magic. I think it shouldn't be too difficult to find it and eliminate it."

"I could help you. After that, you will be able to use magic and to return to your world." Dumbledore said, leaning back into the chair.

"And what will you ask in return?" Ciri had heard of tales about wizards who helped simply because they really want to help.

She was cynical enough to believe it, and thus, she didn't believe Dumbledore. Dumbledore rolled up the sleeve of his robe and revealed a shriveled, blackened hand.

"You will cure me. You'll share the secrets of ancient magic, which in our world nobody even remembers."

"But just that? I remember the elves asked for much more." Ciri thought.

She doubted that she would be able to heal this man, but didn't hurry to tell him about that.

"I will honor this deal," she replied.