Hello everyone! Yes, this is another story. I had originally written it months ago, when I had posted the story "Harry Potter and the Emerald Link" – now, I have changed it to "Harry Potter and the Lost Emerald". This was my spin off the books themselves, and I'd like your opinion on this chapter. Whatever feedback I get will spur me onto posting other chapters! Enjoy!

Chapter 1: A Startling Surprise

A warm summer's breeze disturbed the dust and rubble that littered the ground as the sun began to set on the fourth day of August in the bustling suburb of Thornhill, Ontario. Many of the occupants of the street had gone inside and the few that remained were putting garden tools away for the evening or giving their children one last run around the front yard to tucker them out before putting them to sleep. The sun's fading light trickled over the street and reflected off the windows of the surrounding houses of number 77 Rimmington Drive. Finally, as the sun disappeared behind the many trees that stood upon a hill in front of the small street, all sound seemed to evaporated from the very air, and the breeze, that was once calm and soothing, disappeared as darkness slithered through the yards of the houses, bringing with it the smell of congealed blood and the acrid smell of singed human skin. Shadows crept stealthily along the grounds, growing larger as they approached a plain looking brown house that lay home to a thick, lush garden with crimson red leaves and majestic willowy purple flowers that reached towards the impending shadows like gnarled claws in the growing darkness.

A bedroom light from the upstairs window that faced the street suddenly went out. In that moment, a low, sadistic chuckle pierced the silence of the night. Similar laughter echoed it as the lights on the street flickered on, illuminating the darkened streets with a sickly yellow light. A feral growl later and all lights were immediately extinguished.

The very ground that lay beneath the fearsome shadows began to shudder. It came to life quite unexpectedly, and rather slowly, as though it had lain dormant for many centuries and as though it made a point of putting on such a miraculous display for all heinous figures that stepped foot upon its concrete features. The creatures that stood before the house began to murmur; the faint buzz of fear rippled through the stale night air and whipped around them like an unwavering vortex of uncertainty. The figure that stood in the centre of the small force began to mutter indiscernible incantations. The figure's eyes glowed eerily in the darkness and darted wearily from the house to the ground beneath its feet. Time slowed down to an unbearable dull rhythm of quiet hissing and rustling of black fabric.

From out of the dark and from out of the ground shot a blinding light that pierced the frame of the head figure. His cry went unheard as the other figures clutched their ears frantically in blind panic, eyes squeezed tight against the unrelenting brightness that seemed to rob them of breath and caused their skin to itch treacherously underneath their stifling garments.

Lord Voldemort, snake eyes narrowed in obvious annoyance, walked passed the blinding light and up the pathway of the silent house. As suddenly as it had appeared, the fortress of light shot downwards into the earth it had sprung from- and with it, released the lungs of the dark figures, now clutching their chests, and their arms, in obvious agony. The Dark Lord sneered and cursed their own weakness, but even he could not deny the throbbing of his scorched foot as he repressed a shudder of absolute disgust. Love, or something like it, had barely singed him in its attempt to prevent him from entering this domain. This house, or what would be left of it, meant nothing to him. He had journeyed from Europe in the vein attempt to discover means of furthering his power and wreaking further havoc upon the muggle world. This house, standing silently and eerily foreboding, was little more than any other muggle inhabitance he had yet to come across. Yet, this was the first house to put up a sign of resistance before he had burned the structure into a pile of ash and dust.

The door was unlocked in a matter of instants, and the Dark Lord was met by an irritable sound of strange whooping sounds. His wand shot forward immediately, disintegrating the infernal muggle contraption that obviously was meant to warn the inferior creatures of unwanted characters, such as himself. Yet Voldemort was no mere creature. He glanced, with amusement, up the narrow staircase that obviously led to the chambers of his next victims. His blackened hand grasped the polished wood of the winding stairs and glanced up into silent blackness. He heard and saw nothing.

"I am coming," he hissed.

Harry Potter sat, sullenly, in his room within the formidable unplottable structure of Grimmauld Place, staring at the walls, now freshly scrubbed and polished by the ever-domestic Mrs. Weasley who had, with good reason, made it a point to cleanse the house from top to bottom with her ever wondrous talent of thorough, precise and unrelenting determination of completing a task. Harry knew that cleaning was her only solace and he made no comment of it, especially when his own despair seemed to tear through him like a wild ravenous beast.

Despite the fresh air that floated through his room, Harry felt as though the knowledge of the recent death of his beloved mentor, Albus Dumbledore, would forever rid the world of any smells that could remotely be associated as pleasant. At meal times, despite the overzealous efforts of a quite distraught Mrs. Weasley, Harry's stomach churned at the smells that wafted through the kitchen and into his strongly protesting nostrils. How could he, or anyone for that matter, think of food now that Dumbledore was no longer with them? Harry felt the sharp stab of loss in his stomach as he felt the hot trickle of tears fill his eyes. His sniffed and the sound was quite loud in the silent room. It seemed to have gotten the attention of a rather bleary eyed portrait that hung beside the door. The figure in the portrait was slumped in his chair, black hair falling gracefully over his shoulders, as sorrowful eyes gazed at the crying boy in sympathy. Sirius' great-great-grandfather, after the news had finally sunken in, was quite distraught over the death of his favourite Headmaster, though he hid it quite well when he sat in the office of new Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall. Phineas Nigellus cleared his throat, attempting, with reluctance, to exhibit his former sardonic self.

"If I may say so Potter, you are without a doubt, the most pathetic excuse for a heroic wizard I have ever had the misfortune to lay eyes on, and if my bloody great-great-grandson were here-"

"He'd tell you you're a right git for trying to work me up," finished Harry, raising his eyes to the frame. The corners of his mouth were lifted in a vain attempt of a smile. Yet, as Harry had not smiled in over a month, it came across more as a grimace. Nigellus watched the boy as he shifted restlessly on the bed, his head resting comfortably on the fluffy white pillows Mrs. Weasley had purchased for him a month before. The boy looked weak from hunger and his skin, already pale from having very little time to venture out of doors, was a stark contrast to the black hair that piled messily upon his head. Nigellus had grown rather fond of the boy and found himself often residing in his portrait at Grimmauld Place than his portrait in the Headmistress' office. Unlike the previous year, when Dumbledore had asked Nigellus to keep a close watch on Harry, Nigellus was not there under any order but his own. This knowledge had cheered Harry somewhat, when he first discovered that Nigellus was there because he "damned well felt like it and would you please mind your own bloody business, you obnoxious little Gryffindor." That had been the end of the discussion for quite some time.

"I don't suppose you would like to try…" began Nigellus hesitantly, but immediately cut himself off when Harry's eyes, already scarred with youthful tragedy, darkened and shuttered and his anger crackled in the still room. Nigellus huffed and gave Harry a look of deep annoyance and muttered mutinously,

"For Merlin sakes boy, it's time to grow up and get a bloody grip on yourself. He's dead, yes, I deeply empathize, but I believe it'd do you some greater good if you just talked to the old man." Nigellus' gaze was locked with Harry's and the portrait was about to begin another string of verbal attacks before he saw the boy's shoulders slump in defeat, chin lowered slightly, eyes suddenly soft in the warm glow of the room.

"Alright," was his childlike reply. Nigellus nodded his approval and immediately vanished from his frame. Harry stared unseeingly at the opposite wall. Then, with a force that caused Harry's chest to tighten against his lungs, hot liquid poured from emerald eyes as he rocked himself gently, squeezing his eyes against the onslaught of images that swirled precariously in his mind. Images of Dumbledore's smiling eyes, his blackened hand, the shattering moment he fell from the top of the Astronomy Tower, and more importantly, the day Harry had gone to visit Dumbledore in his office to divulge the encounter he had previously had with the Minister of Magic. Scrimgeour.

"So that's why you argued!" Harry remembered himself exclaiming, interrupting Dumbledore's explanation of the meeting that had been planned to meet with him.

"The prophet is bound to report the truth occasionally," Dumbledore had answered, smiling over his half-moon spectacles. "If only accidentally. Yes, that was why we argued. Well it appears that Rufus found a way to corner you at last."

The memory appeared quite vividly in his mind's eye just then, and Harry curled up tighter, pressing his face against the white pillow, attempting to stifle a sob.

"He accused me of being 'Dumbledore's man through and through'".

"How very rude of him."

"I told him I was."

And Harry's eyes opened as he remembered the soft musical cry that Fawkes had emitted as Harry realized that Dumbledore's smiling blue eyes were watery behind his half-moon spectacles. Despite everything, despite the manipulation, subtle coercion into becoming the boy Dumbledore had expected him to become, despite all the hardships he had been forced to endure at the hands of the Durseleys, Harry felt a warmth rise up from within him as he recalled the embarrassment he had felt when he had witnessed tears of joy pool in Dumbledore's eyes and he knew, with painfully sharp realization, that he had loved the man dearly. And still did, till this day. Yes, despite everything, Harry knew that Dumbledore had been far more than a man who was intent on winning a war, or a man simply doing his duty. Harry knew that Dumbledore cared for him very much. And with the memory of those twinkling blue eyes, Harry broke into a series of fits as he struggled to breathe against the onslaught of emotion that wracked his frail body.

It was only then that he felt a surge of magical energy sear through the room and into his very soul, as he raised raw eyes to the portrait that was now occupied by the man Harry had been mourning over for the last month and a half. Dumbledore sat in Nigellus' chair, eyes bright with emotion that Harry had only seen once or twice before, as he gazed fondly at Harry. Dumbledore looked refreshed and younger than he had been when Harry had last seen him. He was smiling reassuringly at Harry, eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles and Harry felt something stir from deep within him and then, as in answer, a smile appeared on his lips as he stared at the man in the portrait.

"My dear boy, I'm so glad you have decided to speak with me. I dare say I have missed you and your heroic adventures at Hogwarts," Dumbledore spoke as though Harry had been on a long journey and had not seen him in many years. It felt like that, in a way, and Harry was glad at the lightness and joviality in his tone. Harry set up on the bed, swinging his legs over the sides, wiping his eyes in embarrassment.

"Hullo, sir. I'm sorry I haven't…"

"Quite alright, Harry. Although, I must admit, I am rather surprised that my passing has upset you so. After all the times I have-"

"No," was Harry's brutal reply. "I understand now. I really do. And I just want to- to thank you, for everything you've done for me, and I…I never got the chance to…" Harry suddenly felt as though Dumbledore had died all over again. "Bloody hell…"

"I can assure you, Harry, that I was quite fond of you myself. It would have given me great pleasure to adopt you as my own grandchild," Dumbledore paused and took a deep breath, "but alas, I knew that the wizarding world would not take kindly to the act, and I believe it would have only placed you in greater danger."

Harry could understand why that was. Voldemort had already been aware of the parent-child bond that had formed between Dumbledore and Harry and had often made it a point to use this against both of them. Weakness, he called it. But Harry knew that without Dumbledore's kindness and meddling nature, Harry would not have developed into the man (or so he felt) that he was today. Harry got up from the bed and walked over to the portrait, and he stood face to face with his old mentor.

"Why didn't you let me help…" His words were but a whisper.

"I told you once my boy that the decision we must all face is between what is right, and what is easy. I could, under no conscience of my own, allow you to aid me in the events that unfolded that night that I fell from the Astronomy Tower from Severus' hand."

Rage. Blinding, hot, piercing, bone-crushing rage ripped through Harry and he struggled with the overwhelming urge to hit, to scream, to run, to tear the material from his body as he felt his skin crawl at the memory of his old Potions Professor, Severus Snape. The man who had supposedly looked out for Harry for the greater part of his life. The man that had attempted to teach Harry the art of potions and to demonstrate to him why Harry could no longer be coddled as he would have to face the most merciless wizard to ever walk the face of the earth. The man who, despite the protestations of most members of the Order and including Harry himself, Dumbledore had trusted most explicitly. Harry had never understood the reasoning behind that special trust that had developed between Dumbledore and Hogwarts' most loathed Professor.

"He murdered you. How could you let that happen! He took you away from me!" Harry knew he sounded petulant, even to his own ears, but the stubbornness that was innate within him held strong. He would discover the reasoning behind Dumbledore's folly. There was no reason for Harry to lay in the dark about these matters and Harry knew that he deserved to know. Now more than ever. He needed to learn everything he could about his newly developed enemy. He had never known the blinding feeling of revenge until he learned that Voldemort had killed his parents. But the moment green light shot forth from Snape's wand and into the very heart of Albus Dumbledore, he had felt it once more, twice as strong, and twice as overpowering. He was sick with it.

"Ah, now we come to why I have been quite eager to speak to you…" Dumbledore spoke calmly, looking as though he'd very much like to reach out and ruffle Harry's hair. Harry felt another magical surge of energy run through his veins and he smiled softly, waiting.

"Well. To begin with, Severus and I had formed a special relationship of our own. I did after all allow him to start afresh when he came to me before the fall of Voldemort. I believe I have told you many times before that Severus was quite sick with grief when he learned that you had been what Riddle was after. When he learned that the prophecy Sybil had made concerned you. Or may have concerned you, for as you may remember, it was Voldemort who had marked you as his equal, and not Mr. Longbottom. But this information is no longer necessary, for everyone is aware of it. Back to the matter of Severus; he and I had devised a plan long before the dreadful night you and I returned from our journey to discover another horcrux of Voldemort. Long before the night Severus made the Unbreakable Vow to Narcissa Malfoy to protect her son Draco from Riddle's anger. There is a memory of which I must show you, but cannot at this moment. Minerva has placed my pensieve in safe keeping for the time being, until you are ready to view such memories that will help in the course of your future. For now, I will merely tell you this: on an evening like any another, Severus and I were walking near the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest and discussing, for what had to be the third time, the plan that I had meticulously devised to ensure both his and Draco Malfoy's safety. I told him that he must do as I asked and of course, Severus proceeded to rant and accuse me of being a meddling old fool. Yet before our argument reached another's ears, he had implied that he would do as I had asked, despite him being entirely against the whole matter. I told him that, if the time came, he would be forced to kill me. And he alone would be the cause of my immediate death."

The words hung heavily in the air as Harry stared, open-mouthed, at Dumbledore's portrait. This was…unbelievable. Dumbledore had asked Snape to kill him? Absolutely bizarre.

"No more aberrant than dragging a group of underage wizards to the Ministry of Magic to fight a band of Death Eaters, of course?" Dumbledore asked, amusement bubbling in his light blue eyes. Harry blushed and managed to look sheepish.

"Our conversation was of course interrupted, by our groundskeeper, Hagrid, who looked rather abashed at having overheard—" Harry's gasp startled Dumbledore into silence. Dumbledore gazed at Harry intently, an eyebrow raised inquiringly. "Yes, Harry? Something strike you as important?"

"I…I remember that. Hagrid told us about that argument you had with Snape! I mean! Well, we sort of forced it out of him; he didn't mean to tell us—"

Dumbledore held up a hand and Harry instantly desisted.

"Well that's perfectly fine, my dear boy. No harm done. This actually may help you in believing the story after all." And suddenly, it really did make sense. Why else would Snape disagree so harshly with Dumbledore? Harry knew that Snape was not a nice man, nor was he an easy one to get along with. But Harry knew that Snape, despite everything, had probably been just as fond as Dumbledore as Harry had been himself. It really did make a lot of sense. Dumbledore must have been informed of Voldemort's plans for Malfoy by Snape himself, and they must have been devising a way to make sure that Malfoy was safe, and that Snape's position would not be compromised. Harry then remembered, quite vividly, when Dumbledore revealed who had aided him when his hand had been permanently destroyed.

"Snape healed you. When Slytherin's ring cursed your hand. You came to him; I remember. He helped you; you said he stopped the spread of the curse…he…saved your life." Dumbledore smiled and nodded, glad that Harry was following along. "And the Unbreakable Vow," began Harry again, "Did you know that would happen as well?"

"Not precisely Harry, but I was certain that Narcissa Malfoy would go to great lengths to keep her son safe from Voldemort. When Severus informed me of his Vow, it only hurried along our ready-made plan. Severus would have to follow through, rid the world of Albus Dumbledore, so he and Draco could remain alive and further aid you, Harry Potter, on your quest to defeat the most feared wizard of all time," Dumbledore stated, his flare for the dramatics quite obvious in his speech as he winked knowingly at Harry, who smiled uncertainly in return. It was rather all well and good, he supposed. Snape and Malfoy on their side after all. Now it was just a matter of getting them back to Hogwarts. And then immediately all hope of any future plans to co-exist with Snape and Malfoy fell through as Harry remembered that they would not be returning to Hogwarts, for now that Dumbledore was dead, Harry could no longer depend on him to discover and retrieve the lost pieces of Voldemort's soul. Dumbledore noticed Harry's look, and beamed at him.

"My boy, I believe, this is precisely what I have come to tell you. Being dead is not a complete loss, I can assure you. I have been made aware of very interesting news that I think you shall be most relieved to hear of. Harry—" Dumbledore paused, and gazed triumphantly into Harry's shining emerald eyes. "I'm coming back."

Harry stood, stunned to the spot. His breath had slowed, his head became momentarily weightless, and his knees felt as though they would give in any moment. Coming back? There was no possible way. Even wizards, the most magical creatures on this earth, could not bring people back from the dead. Dumbledore had to be only playing with him. But it seemed such a cruel joke to play on a boy who was so obviously devastated from the string of losses in his life. After a solid two minutes, Harry finally found his voice.

"Sir," Harry began, "I can't understand what you mean…Surely you wouldn't have me believe that you…I mean, you're only a portrait and I don't mean that disrespectfully or anything. It's just…you're dead. How could you possibly…come back?"

Dumbledore gazed at Harry for a long moment, smiling serenely, his fingers steepled in their usual knowing grace. Harry blinked.

"Harry. Have I ever lied to you?"

Harry said nothing.

"I know I have kept information from you. I know I have, in the past, manipulated you. I know I have forced you to do things that you have not wished to do. Yet…despite everything I have done, within all those acts…have I ever lied to you?"

And that was all it took before Harry's mouth to twitch slightly before a grin spread across his face and his eyes sparked to life in a matter of seconds. He jumped up into the air, letting out a thrilled yell of excitement, before falling back to the ground with a heavy thud. He continued to let out yelps of joy and spun around recklessly, while Dumbledore laughed, deep affection laced with pure amusement, at Harry's rambunctious actions.

Harry was still spinning when six heads with bright red hair, Ron, Ginny, Fred and George, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and one dark brown haired girl, Hermione, came bursting through the door to see what the commotion was about.

"Harry—" Mrs. Weasley began, looking flustered and completely startled.

"Yes!" Harry shouted, jumping onto the bed. "Everything's going to be okay!"

"Bloody hell. It's happened. I warned you, Hermione, I knew he was going to crack, and leaving him alone up here—" Ron muttered darkly, grimacing at Harry's antics, and was interrupted by Dumbledore, who cleared his throat.

Seven startled heads turned to look at him.

"I believe, Mr. Weasley, that Harry has some good news for you," and with that, Dumbledore exited the portrait, after winking at Harry knowingly. Harry grinned again and flopped down on the bed, his legs swinging over the sides. His cheeks were flushed and he looked happier than he had been in a long time.

"I know this sounds crazy—and I know it's insane for me to get all excited about it…but it's just incredible," breathed Harry in a rush. They all looked at him, twin looks of extreme confusion.

"Harry," said Hermione, "what's going on?"

Harry stared at all of them, before replying, with a cheeky grin,

"Dumbledore. He's coming back. For real."

The only sound heard after Harry's reply was a dull thud as Mrs. Weasley figure hit the ground and multiple startled gasps echoed around the room.

Falling through the veil had been one of Sirius' less painful experiences but it had left an awful feeling in the core of his being when he found himself on a plane of what appeared to be the place he had often dreamt of as a child growing up in the gruesome Black Manor. When he landed, he remembered the moments when he had been falling through space and time and wondered if fate had intended for him to be stuck in a dimension of consciousness but being unable to make sense of one's surroundings. After what felt like eternity, he had landed in this strange yet familiar place and found himself happily chasing rabbits and foxes in his animagus form, feeling free and more alive than he had in over thirteen years. At times, his mind would wander back to the events that led up to the moment when his life had been taken from him yet again when his darling cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange had caused him to fall, rather unceremoniously, through the ambiguous curtain that held no return for its victims. Now of course, Sirius had been rather put out by the fact that he had spent 13 long years in Azkaban, falsely accused, and therefore had deserved the chance to go running amuck, staring death in the face and laughing, or barking as the case may be, and enjoying his newfound relationship with his godson, Harry who had been so looking forward to living with him after all was said and done.

Sirius missed Harry and Remus most of all. Remus, for they had grown up together and had formed a bond of friendship and understanding that was as precious to him as the moment he had first been named godfather of James' only son. And that was why he missed Harry immensely too. For Harry represented what he had lost as a youth and was his sole chance to make up for the loss of James and Lily Potter. Unfortunately, things never seemed to work out for him as he had lost his life only two years after being freed from prison. Ironic, that, he surmised, as he lay, tiredly, in a mound of daisies and daffodils under a willow tree that shaded him from what appeared to be the afternoon sun. He cursed aloud and felt as though he were damned to this half-life existence from now until the apocalypse of human kind. He mourned at the loss of his future, at the one and only chance he could have had at having a son.

"I'd give anything to see Harry again," he whispered softly aloud. His eyes drifted slowly closed and began to drift into a peaceful sleep, or what would have been a well deserved nap, before the ground began to shift and roar as it twisted and morphed the scenery that Sirius had grown accustomed to. When everything had changed, Sirius was still sitting underneath the tree, but he was surrounded by complete emptiness. He stood up shakily and gripped the tree with claw like fingers. He swallowed slowly and took a deep breath. Honestly, he thought, I'm dead, what more could possibly happen to me?

As if in answer, ground began to sprout around the spot he occupied and Sirius watched in amazement as the grass and rocks and sky began to form back into his familiar landscape and he let out a sight of relief. If this is payback for the time I almost killed Snape, I really don't understand all the fuss…

A sudden 'pop' caught Sirius' attention and he blinked and shielded his gaze from the sun as he realized that he was no longer alone. A man, with flowing chestnut brown hair and deep blue eyes was peering at him with something akin to amusement as he stepped forward, standing mere feet from Sirius' still form. Sirius suddenly realized that his vision had not been blinded by that of the sun, but by this very man. He glowed, it seemed. And that was a very unnerving thought in itself. Yet the man looked neither dangerous nor intent on leaving Sirius alone, so Sirius waited expectantly for the man to speak.

"Sirius Black, I believe you are entirely misinformed," the figure stated calmly, smiling at Sirius, eyes twinkling in the noonday sun. Sirius gazed back at him, feeling as though he met the man before but felt that it had been quite an odd greeting indeed.

"Um. I hate to be rude and all, but since I am dead, and have been for some time, I hope you'll forgive me," Sirius began, half babbling, half determined, "But who in ruddy hell are you?" The other man chuckled good naturedly and waved his hand slightly and suddenly a rock appeared from out of the ground and the man sat down on it, eyes never leaving Sirius'. Sirius blinked again. Alright. Not a muggle then.

"I have many names. But, as I am well aware of the fact that you come from a rather highly educated and well known wizarding family, I believe you know me quite simple as Merlin." Sirius' eyes bulged.

"But," he spluttered, "How in the world…why…here…" Sirius trailed off feebly.

"How did I get here, why would I be here, and speaking to you of all persons, and more importantly, what news I have come to share with you?" The man asked, winking at Sirius as though he held all the secrets of the universe. Which, according to Sirius' background knowledge of this particular wizard, he most certainly did.

"Well, yes, that pretty much covers most of the questions, but bloody hell…" Sirius said, unashamedly. "I never thought you'd just…show up!" He threw his arms up in the air helplessly, looking all the world like a lost boy in the wilderness and yet all the eagerness of exploring unfamiliar territory.

"First off, I would like to point out to you that Harry was not your last chance at having a child. He was actually your second," Merlin said, eyes twinkling madly like those of Albus Dumbeldore. And suddenly Sirius laughed out loud.

"You know, you remind me of Albus Dumbledore, amazing wizard, lots of power, looked a lot like you when he was younger…say…" Sirius stopped and gazed at him, realization etching his features, "You wouldn't happen to be his great-great-great-great-great—" Sirius was cut off by a heartfelt laugh.

"Astute. Perhaps this shall be a lot less difficult than I thought." Merlin shook his head as though putting the matter aside. "We shall discuss this later though, for now I have something I must explain to you." Sirius nodded. It's not as if he would have argued otherwise. Really, Merlin…

"I believe I shall have to inform you of the history behind this matter, so bear with me. During my time, the fates had set before me a purpose that was laid out to the strictest and most meticulous detail. My purpose was to restore peace and balance to this Earth and ensure that the future of humanity was in good hands. At times, I felt as though this fate bestowed upon me was more than I could bear. Yet I triumphed and the fates rewarded me with eternal life with my true soul mate, Cassandra. Yet we were warned that our children would be stripped of their earthly magic. They ensured that no creature as powerful as myself would ever have the need to walk this earth again. A wise decision, no doubt. Yet as I'm sure you can surmise I was not the only magical being that existed during this period in history. Many magical beings, although not as powerful as myself, began to grow and migrated to many corners of the world. Magic continued to exist even though my bloodline remained powerless. The fates knew that a time would come when the power that was passed down from my children and to their children, would re-awaken when it was direly needed. The time came, surprisingly, many centuries later, when my great-great-great…well, many greats to be sure, grandson, Albus Dumbledore was born. The love shared between his parents rallied that of my own and Cassandra's. It was then that the magic within was restored and for good reason. The fates knew of another wizard that would upset the balance that had been kept for so many centuries."

"Grindelwald," stated Sirius.

"Correct. In 1945, Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald and was considered the most

powerful wizard of the century. Of many centuries to be sure. Albus was of course, in fact, a far more powerful wizard than Grindelwald's predecessor, Lord Voldemort."

Something in that statement did not sit well with Sirius. Moments passed and slowly, finding his voice, Sirius whispered,

"Was?" Merlin sighed softly and nodded.

"This is why I have also come. I shall explain in due time." Sirius nodded, eyes blank.

"Recent events have led to the unraveling of many things. One of which, happens to be the fall you took through the veil." Sirius raised an eyebrow.

"What would that have to do with everything else going on in the world?"

"Quite a bit actually. It just so happens that the fates had not intended for you to fall through that veil."

A moment of tense silence followed.

"You mean to tell me the fates made a mistake?" Sirius screeched in an undignified manner.

"So it would seem. When you fell through the veil, carefully threads of time had been unwoven and retied so that events no longer match up accordingly. When you changed the present, you unraveled the past, thereby changing the course of the future."

"But…but that makes absolutely no sense!" cried Sirius in disbelief.

"These things rarely do, my boy. But one must make do with what one has."

"Oh god, now you sound like Albus…"

"I know this is difficult to understand. But I have some news that may interest you greatly, if you care to continue to listen to what I have to say."

"Yes, of course."

"A single distorted event can change everything, Sirius. When you fell, your past altered itself to refit to the moment of your death, thereby changing your entire lifespan. When this happened, a magical energy surged through time, metaphorically speaking, and infested itself into the safest place it could find. Which is why I must ask you, Sirius…have you ever slept with a woman?" Sirius spluttered, cheeks going red, eyes narrowed in resentment.

"I don't see how that's any of your business! Merlin or not, my private affairs are none of your—"

"Oh but they are, Sirius. The woman you slept with was no mere muggle. She was also of my bloodline. When you fell through the veil, that life energy surged back through time and came to rest in the place where it would grow and evolve into what would be the force that would restore balance to the future generations of the wizarding world. A child, Sirius. Your child."

Sirius felt as though he were falling through space and time again and almost welcomed the feeling for he felt as though any other information would split his skull in two. Imagine. Sirius Black. A father.

"My child…to…I can't believe it. But I thought Harry-"

"That is one and the same prophecy. Your child, your daughter, I should say, is the weapon that was once discussed in the kitchen of your old home. Though at the time, it was something that was intangible and spoken only to confuse the children. Now, now that history has altered itself, it has come to mean something entirely different. Your daughter is now the only thing that will allow Harry to defeat Lord Voldemort. Through the one thing that he fears the most: Love."

And suddenly Sirius was seized with an overwhelming joy that he could not name and his body morphed itself into his animagus form and bounded excitedly around the amused Merlin, yelping and barking, bouncing off the trunk of the tree, coming to rest in front of the wizard again, and tail wagging with exhilaration.

"Ah Sirius, back to Dumbledore…" Sirius immediately turned back into his human form, sitting cross-legged, looking forlornly up at Merlin. He had almost forgotten about that.

"So he is dead then," said Sirius with deep regret.

"He is. For now." Sirius' head shot up at that, eyes wide and gleaming with barely restrained hope.

"What do you mean? Are you going to bring him back?" Merlin shook his head and Sirius' eyes lost a bit of their glow. "Then…how?"

"I will not bring him back. But your daughter will. Dumbledore was a powerful wizard, and one of the most brilliant minds to ever walk the face of this earth. But his powers have been mixed with many wizards throughout the generations. Your daughter was created in the single moment of magical energy that was created with your fall. Her magic is untainted, so to speak. She could very well be my own daughter, for her magic is as pure and as earthbound as my own."

Sirius knew that falling through the veil had been the cause of his most instantaneous death, but suddenly, in the setting sun of this plane of distorted reality, he really didn't mind all that much. For he knew, on the other side of the veil, the boy he had loved as much as a son, and a daughter that possessed the gift of Merlin, would one day meet. And when they did, perhaps everything would be alright again. Sirius was sure that nothing more wonderful could happen, until Merlin next spoke.

"Sirius, would you like to meet your daughter?"

The enthusiastic sound of his bark like laugh echoed through the air.

Please review! If you do, I'll write a special story for you, or a special scene and plug it into my story ! I'm begging you here!

Madi Black