All character's belong to their respective creators/owners.
No owls were harmed in the production of this fanfic.
**************
The Moirae, Greek equivalents to the Norns, controlled the destiny of all life from the time of birth to the inevitability of death. Clotho, the spinner, spun the thread of life. Lachesis, the apportioner, measured the length of life, and Atropos, the inevitable, cut the thread of life when the time came. Hags all three, the Fates were feared for their power, even by the gods themselves, for they held all life in their fingertips. But, as powerful as they were, even they dreaded an authority as great as, or greater, than theirs.
The Horae, goddesses of the seasons, shared an intimate sisterhood with the Moirae, and held sway over nature and the ebb and flow of trends and beliefs. Their names were feared by the Moirae, for their influence over man – for who could have power over mankind, when there was no belief in the hearts of men to fuel that power?
Eunomia, the rod of good order, set men on their paths. Dike, the scales of justice, judged man and god alike in their spheres, and Eirene, the horn of mercy and peace, soothed the fires of justice and order with a profound and nurturing love. These sisters represented law and order and life to every society; and as such they controlled the growth of all natural things and maintained the stability of civilization in all its forms.
After the debacle of the infamous Bet, there was little doubt that someone would be getting a visit from one of these two groups. It was one thing to toy with Fate, and another to usurp it entirely. When both the Moirae and the Horae descended on Mimir's Well, all bets were off…pun fully intended. Everyone involved pointed to Toltiir and wondered if the elder god of mischief might have finally over stepped his bounds. But the divine sisterhoods ignored the Black Cat as he calmly walked from the room of the Oracle. His muzzle held a confident smirk, but the sisters paid the rogue no heed as they entered and sealed the door behind them. Neither group bothered to take notice of the ripples in the Mirror of Fate, where a trio of magical children had fallen not moments before.
The meeting at Mimir's Well was a more pressing affair, and no one was meant to know what happened behind those closed doors on this day. Well, no one except Him, and He wasn't telling anybody anything…
…or was He?
**************
Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos looked across the small pool of water to their sisters wearily. Eunomia, Dike, and Eirene stood impassively in the wane light that filtered through the tangled roots that made up the ceiling of the small cavern above them. Since the Advent and the Reconfiguration, Mimir's Well had become sort of a conglomeration of many of the Oracles of Wisdom from every pantheon. It was also the most neutral ground for groups such as these to meet.
The Moirae had changed a great deal since the Reconfiguration. They weren't any where near as ugly as they had been. They weren't beautiful by any major standards either. The best one could say, was that they were…plain.
Clotho wrapped her knitted cardigan a bit closer around her plump shoulders, and tucked a stringy piece of brown hair behind her right ear. She absently bit her fingernails and stared off into space from time to time. Her chubby feet were bare, and her belly was large with life. She had coined that awful phrase "barefoot and pregnant" oh, so long ago in complaint to being perpetually with child. She didn't mind being the mother of all life on the face of the earth, she was just sick of never being able to see her feet.
Lachesis pressed her coke-bottle glasses further up her oversized nose and rolled her tiny shoulders, trying to dispel the discomfort in lower back. She would scratch her posterior absent-mindedly and shuffle every once in a while, causing her battered, black and white high tops to squeak loudly on the damp stone of the cave floor. She blinked incessantly and continuously murmured about inches, meters, centimeters, and so forth and so on. It was terribly distracting for the first few minutes, but eventually her mumbling became white noise in the background.
Atropos…well, Atropos merely stood, straight backed and poised before the pool. Her black hair was pulled back into a severe bun that made her skinny face almost seem gaunt. If anyone would win an award for the scariest governess/nun/sadistic schoolteacher…it would be her. There was a certain finality that lingered about her, that seemed to say: "The-Buck-Stops-Here-Do-Not-Pass-Go-Do-Not-Collect-$200."
None of the three looked very healthy at all. Not compared to their sisters across the way. In truth they seemed fairly pathetic in an odd, mismatched sort of way, nothing at all like the Hands of Destiny that they were.
Eunomia, Dike, and Eirene looked fresh and new. There was something more mercurial about them and yet at the very same moment, something incredibly more rigid. The paradox of their surface and depth offset the crude reality of the Moirae completely. Eunomia wore a set of expensive black pinstriped slacks and a creamy white v-neck blouse that complimented her sunny blonde hair. Her shoes were leather and very, very expensive.
Dike on the other hand, seemed more straightforward and down to earth. Her ensemble consisted of a pair of comfortably worn jeans, a navy blue t-shirt decorated with a set of golden scales and a silver sword, and a pair of black, thick-soled "dog-kickers" – the kind that a postman would use.
Out of everyone gathered, no one seemed more out of place than Eirene. Her soft compassionate smile was the antithesis of everyone else. Her pure white dress and warm brown locks seemed to invite the sunshine into the room. There was an air of freedom about the ageless woman that none of the others seemed to be able to match. Her tan skin and lively green eyes made you want to grow, just by looking at them. It was unnerving to those that were so stuck in their ways.
"This needs to be settled." Atropos said severely. One must wonder if everything was severe about the supernatural entity.
"It was settled." Eunomia said placidly. "The Fairy Queen had her day."
"But the idea yet lingers." Lachesis whined. Her voice was high pitched and nasally. "Others are tempted to try their hands."
"It is compassion that motivates the temptation." Eirene's soft smile lit up the room.
"Compassion or Pride?" Clotho wondered distractedly.
"It must be dealt with." Atropos demanded. "The idea must be silenced."
"It cannot be silenced." Eunomia countered.
"These gods meddle in our domain." Atropos seethed. "They usurp the natural order set down in the Charter."
"All will be judged accordingly." Dike's voice echoed quietly off the walls of the cavern.
"It is not enough. Reparations must be made." Atropos never once raised her voice. She didn't need to.
"That is not for you to judge." Dike rolled her neck tiredly.
"There must be an end to all of this."
"Every end is a wondrous new beginning." Eirene smiled and knelt smoothly before the pool, spreading her unblemished skirts out around her as she leaned forward precariously, to look into the depths of the pond. Dike knelt beside her and peered into the Well's depths to seemingly check her hair. Eunomia settled opposite Dike and casually plucked up an odd golden box near the water's edge. Her examination revealed it to be a box of Bertie Bot's finest and she yielded to the inevitable curiosity of her sweet tooth. Sadly, green was always a gamble with Every Flavor Beans.
"Ugh! Toe Jam!" Much spitting and gagging occurred, followed by a string of epitaphs concerning wizards and their lack of common sense.
Poor Ron. The goddess of good order was going to make sure that he'd learn to be more mindful of his things by the time all of this business was done.
"This cannot be allowed to go on!" Atropos' voice was filled with indignation.
Dike looked at the Moirae impishly. She raised an elegant finger and lightly touched the pool just so.
"Wanna bet?"
**************
Molly O'Reilly silently stepped from the pre-dawn shadows between number Five and number Seven. Privet Drive was unnaturally still this morning, bereft of animal noises and the sound of the wind through the few cookie cutter trees. She watched the front door of Number Four dispassionately, knowing that the inhabitants wouldn't be up for quite some time…more than long enough for her to do what she came here to accomplish.
It was sad really.
Here he lay, this child of prophesy, completely vulnerable to all the horrors of the world. His only hope lay in the charity of a woman that knew nothing of the virtue. Tim had shown her a number of the boy's potential fates, none of which were particularly bright. This Dumbledore's tin was short a few biscuits, and it hadn't taken very much convincing on her part to convince her Timothy to step in on young Harry's behalf. Having been manipulated himself, her lover could read all the signs – it didn't take a crystal ball to see what Albus Dumbledore had in store for The-Boy-Who-Lived. Martyrs were all well and good if they were the one's doing the martyring; but when a barmy old codger was pulling the strings to that end, and for a one-year-old child…? Well, Molly couldn't abide puppeteers.
"Well, are you going to do this thing or not?"
Molly spun, drawing a rune covered Berretta in one hand and a gleaming crystal dagger in the other in one smooth motion that seemed little more than a blur and a flash. The man before her held up his hands and backed up a step with a charming grin. He was a bit ratty around the edges, smelling of cigarettes and cheap bourbon. If anything John Constantine reminded Molly of a nasty little mushroom…he was always popping up where he wasn't really wanted.
"Damn it John! I almost shot you!"
"And you can be sure that I'm thankful that you didn't." He grinned cheekily. "As grateful as I am for not having holes in my chest right now, that doesn't mean you can dodge my question."
"I'm getting to it Constantine. It's not like he's going anywhere."
"Love, our young Timothy Hunter is pretty much God's gift to Magic, but even he can't divert the eyes of old Dumb Door indefinitely. So, if you don't mind, getting the lead out?" He nudged her forward as she holstered her weapons, pulling a beaten cigarette out of the inner pocket of his long, brown trench coat. Molly playfully kicked John in the shin, causing him to drop his unlit cigarette and curse a blue streak as his lit match burnt his fingers.
"Teach you to talk about a woman's weight, Constantine."
The aggrieved troubleshooter grumbled something unflattering and endured a very un-lady like gesture from Molly as she spun away. As she stealthily crossed Privet Drive to collect the large whicker basket on the stoop of Number Four, three more figures stepped from the shadows between the houses. She knew them well, so paid them no heed as she crossed into the yard and mounted the steps. Their presence here was little more than extra protection, not to mention another reminder that the clock was ticking. John was right, Tim's window of opportunity would be closing all too soon.
Her first sight of the baby melted her heart and caused her maternal instincts to roar. The child's dark hair was just as unruly as Tim's and his cherubic face was marred by an angry gash, shaped like a lightning bolt. It looked to have been tended recently though, as she could see that it had just barely scabbed over.
"Bloody gits didn't even bother to bandage the cut."
Molly tucked the baby's blanket in a bit tighter as she grumbled curses in a number of Fae languages. She grabbed the basket's handle, pausing idly to note the layered enchantments on it. She closed her eyes and cursed again as the protective spells on the whicker pannier moved against her.
"Zatanna!" Molly did her best not to panic as she quietly called out for help. Her body was frozen and a sense of cold began creeping up her arm. A layer of frost began to form over the skin of her fingers and hands. "They've spelled the damn basket!"
In a heartbeat another dark-haired woman appeared at Molly's side. Her hands hovered over the bassinet, yet did not touch it.
"Esaeler ot em ruoy syek!" The whicker basket glowed for a moment and a web of light hovered before her eyes. "Damn. This is going to be tricky."
Molly watched with growing trepidation as the frost changed to ice.
"Zeeee!"
"It's going to be okay, Molly. Try to relax." The proclaimed Mistress of Magic smiled reassuringly through the web of light. "Uncle Nick and Auntie Pear taught me how to work through these. All we need is to find the Gordian Knot to cut."
"Where's that?" Molly squeaked as the ice covered her elbow.
"That's the trick now, isn't Love?" John appeared beside Zatanna's elbow and took a long drag off his cancer stick. He casually blew a large smoke ring into the air over the bassinet and earned himself a rather painful smack upside his head from both women for his efforts.
"Not around the baby, John."
"What happens if you get the wrong one?"
John looked at the magical tapestry hanging before him and tapped his chin. Clenching his cigarette between two fingers he grinned and pointed to a number of different "nodes" along the web.
"Implosion. Immolation. Cherry flavored frozen Molly-Pop." John's grin was totally irreverent. His little jab at Molly's sexual purity earned him a wicked right cross that planted his bum in the middle of the street.
"Oy! What is this? Abuse-John-Day?" The women simply glared at the man until he surrendered and stepped back to let Zatanna work.
"I hate to say it girlfriend, but the limey jerk's got the right of it. If I cut the wrong one, then you will experience a layered cascade of rather nasty traps and curses that you will live through."
"It might be more humane to just let you die." The fourth figure of their party stepped into the light given off by the magical web. Rose Spiritus, the yin to Richard Occult's yang, gazed on the spell construct with a critical eye and traced a confounding path above the strands with her finger.
"Why not try revealing the keystone then?" Constantine called back grumpily. His face lit up as he ignited another match for a new cigarette. "Should save you about four or five days of looking."
Three sets of feminine displeasure looked his way in annoyance, but the Hellblazer ignored them in favor of taking a long drag on his cigarette.
"I hate it when he's right." Zatanna mumbled. Molly snorted and tried to ignore the numbness that was taking over her shoulder. "Okay, let's do this thing."
Zatanna took a deep breath and rolled her neck before opening herself to the well of power deep in her soul.
"Laever ruoy eroc!"
The web seemed to…well, "invert" was probably the best way to describe it. It twisted and then turned itself inside out before coalescing into three floating balls of light about the size of a large orange.
"Well, crap." Zatanna huffed and placed her hands on her hips.
"Three knots…" Rose whistled and shook her head. "Simultaneous severing?"
"Obviously." Zatanna nodded. "And we're a third mage short."
"Can't one of you cut two?" Molly wasn't doing such a good job of keeping the panic out of her voice now, mainly because the ice had covered a quarter of her throat and the entire upper half of her left breast.
Rose shook her head.
"Sorry Dear. Not enough power."
"So, what now?" Molly squeaked.
"Let the freezing take its course and have Tim thaw you out?"
"You're a right insensitive bastard, John Contantine!" Molly barked.
"That he may be, Molly O'Reilly, but even he has his uses." The arrival of a new voice caused everyone to spin. Magic boiled at the ready, waiting to be released, and in Molly's case, her Beretta was drawn and pointed at the source of the unexpected voice. The figure, "You may stand down friends, I mean you no ill will."
"Stranger!" Rose Spiritus deflated visibly as the Brotherless One stepped from the darkness. The Phantom Stranger nodded to Constantine as he passed him. John returned the greeting with a cheeky salute and forced smile. The tension in the air eased noticeably.
"Well now! The bloody Trenchcoat Brigade is afoot again! All that's missing now is the blind loony and we'll have the complete set."
"Do not invoke him John Constantine." The Phantom Stranger chastised. His empty eyes turned to regard the Hellblazer for a moment before turning back to the problem at hand. "If Timothy Hunter, unspoiled as he was, earned that one's ire, what then would he say of Harry Potter?"
"What's that supposed to mean?" Zatanna challenged.
"Another time, Zatanna. We have more pressing concerns." He nodded to Molly who, by now, had ice around her jaw and over much of her chest. There was a distinctly blue tint to her exposed skin, and were it not for the ice her teeth would surely be chattering. "Come. We must unmake this enchantment before it moves any further."
The "unmaking" was terribly anti-climactic for Molly. The trio of mystics presented themselves before the spheres of light and after a moment of silence, the ice and the magical Gordian knots were gone. Even so, Molly's chill remained – but that was something a hot shower, some cocoa, and a little bit of judicious cuddling with her boyfriend would cure. The young woman was torn from her little dream by the sound of clapping, and turned to see John smiling smugly from around his cigarette.
"Well done! Now, can we go before the Old Man decides to show up and investigate why his wards around the boy suddenly failed? Or maybe you'd like to have the guided tour of Azkaban before the night is done."
Zatanna rolled her eyes and shook her head. Rose smirked and mumbled something about "melodramatic idiots" before walking back into the shadows. Zatanna took the bassinet from Molly so the young woman could rub some of the circulation back into her extremities. She and John followed Rose into the shadows, subsequently disappearing from Privet Drive completely. Thus, Molly was left alone with the Phantom Stranger – which, in and of itself, was a bit beyond creepy. She smiled up at him and started walking to her shadow hole.
"Molly O'Reilly."
Damn. She knew he was going to do that.
"His potential rivals and in some ways surpasses Timothy Hunter's. For that reason alone Evil desires him; alive or dead it matters not. If they cannot subvert him, they will see him destroyed. Guide him. Protect him. Raise him well."
"I will." She nodded. The moment she spoke, an invisible weight began to press down on Molly's shoulders. The slight, familiar, tingle along her nerve endings told her that something magical had occurred. "I just committed myself to the long haul, didn't I?"
"Thankfully, Molly O'Reilly." The Phantom Stranger's eyes glowed white for a moment as he looked heavenward. "There are very few worthy of this undertaking, and fewer still that I would entrust the future of our world to."
"Great. No pressure." Molly sighed as she stepped between number Five and Seven. "Well, at the very least this might give Tim a clue. After all, Harry's going to need a proper mother and father isn't he?"
"Indeed, Molly O'Reilly. That he will." The edges of the Phantom Stranger's mouth quirked into a tiny smile for the first time in a very, very long time and Molly couldn't help but be amazed at what she saw.
**************
Mimir's Well
"I love the irony." The impish voice echoed on the walls of the cavern.
"YOU!" Atropos hissed at the sight of the small black cat lounging on the ledge of the cavern wall opposite her.
"Me." The Trickster's tone couldn't have been more smug. The cat stood and stretched languidly before jumping down to brush up against Dike's calf. "So, what happens next, Beautiful?"
Eirene took the opportunity to scoop the personification of Mischief into her lap and began stroking his fur. From the way Toltiir was purring, the experience was heavenly.
"Hedonist." Dike snorted and rolled her eyes.
"Ohhhh…[purrrrrrr]…you have no idea!" The Moirae seemed, if anything, even more offended by the display before them than they were with the abuse of the Well. "Stop dodging the question and tell us what happens already."
Dike frowned a bit and crossed her arms expectantly. Eirene ceased her attentions long enough for Toltiir to catch a glimpse of her sister's displeasure.
"…er…Please?" The black cat shivered nervously under the scrutiny of the combined attentions of the Fates. His amendment was enough for Eirene though, and soon she resumed her sinful petting.
"Molly eventually convinces Timothy to marry her, but it takes her almost three years to wear him down." Eunomia grinned as she conjured a spongy couch with fluffy yellow pillows large enough for her and her sisters to lounge on. "In the end she has to resort to dirty tactics though."
"How's she manage it?" Toltiir purred.
"She sends Harry in to ask Tim why he can't have a real daddy like his friends." Dike's grin grew wider. "Between that and John's jokes about 'living in sin' – Tim finally gets the courage to ask Molly to marry him. They have a spring wedding."
"So what happens to Harry?"
"He grows up in a loving home, with people like Zatanna and John Constantine as role models. Tefe Holland and a few others are drafted on a number of occasions as babysitters. This of course gives Harry a broader understanding of Magic and the gray line that separates Good from Evil, and the sharp boundary between Order and Chaos. He is extremely happy and enjoys playing practical jokes on the various adults in his life with the help of the Hellblazer."
"Really?"
Dike nodded and laughed.
"He and John end up releasing a horde of stuffed Pokemon in Tala's little corner of Hell. They were of course self-replicating when attacked with magic, so you can imagine the devastation they wrought on the self-styled Queen of Evil." Toltiir giggled at the image of Tala being assaulted by an army of fuzzy Pikachus and fluffy Squirtles. "Uncle Rich and Auntie Rose come from time to time and take the family on fieldtrips to the various realities. Harry is particularly fond of the Dreaming and Gemworld, but has a soft spot for Faerie. He melts Titania's cold heart and in a fit of jealousy she tries to steal him from Molly and Tim. This of course doesn't sit well, and it takes Harry's intervention to save the Faerie Queen from destruction at the hands of the Hunters.
"Harry, of course, becomes the balm that soothes the wounds, and he is named a Prince of Faerie by both Auberon and Titania – the first mortal to ever earn the distinction. This of course comes with a number of caveats and responsibilities that won't come to light until Harry is older."
"Marriage contract?" Toltiir's grin was positively electric. This seemed to be the last straw for the Moirae, for they stomped from the Well muttering curses under their breaths. Well, Atropos stomped. Clotho and Lachesis slunk, obviously intrigued but unable to satisfy their curiosity.
"Plural." Dike admitted. "Harry becomes a bit of a magical bridge between a number of worlds – Skartaris, Faerie, Hell, and Death herself loses her heart to a pair of soulful, emerald eyes. He isn't a Ranma Saotome, but there are enough romantic threads to make your head dance."
"And Hogwarts?" It was an odd sight to see a black cat energetically bouncing and clapping in the lap of a beautiful woman, but it was happening. "What happens at Hogwarts?"
"His letter comes unimpeded and Molly feels that Harry needs to be around other children his age in a more social environment. Timothy has reservations, but is worn down by the combined efforts of Harry, Molly and finally Zatanna's uncle, Nicholas Flamel."
"Flamel? The immortal, Philosopher's Stone, Nicholas Flamel?"
"Yes. Zatanna comes from a wonderfully rich family tree." Eunomia giggled.
"Oh, that was just bad." Dike palmed her face.
"Who else is hiding in her closet?" Toltiir asked.
"Her mother was Sindella." Eirene supplied helpfully.
"Homo Magi. Wow." Toltiir whistled.
"She can trace her blood back to Leonardo Da Vinci, and on her mother's side she is not so distantly related to Harry – second cousins once removed, or something like that." Dike waved the thought off. "At any rate, Harry rides the train and hooks up with the Weasley Twins in the middle of a prank. Harry of course points out some serious flaws in their plans, subsequently saving them from getting caught. The prank, (involving a compartment full of lemon pudding, Percy Weasley, and Harry throwing his voice) is a complete success, earning Harry a place of honor with the twins.
"Harry meets Hermione and Neville, and the fated Toad-hunt goes much better than before, but ends with a confrontation between this new trio and Draco Malfoy. The Slytherin pretty boy tries to intimidate Harry, but after facing the likes of Tannarak and Tala, the Boy-Who-Lived is less than impressed. He wandlessly turns Draco into a beautiful rendition of Bottom, complete with an Ass' head and tail. The resulting consequences of that meeting are felt later in the form of Harry's first detention with Snape, but the friendships that are built from that event are stronger than in the original timeline."
"And Dumbledore?"
"Meets his match in the form of Tim and Molly Hunter. The events of the first year play out as normal, and Tim (with no prompting from Molly at all) takes steps to see that nothing like that can happen again. With friends like Constantine and Nick Flamel backing him, it takes very little pressure on the Board of Governors to put Dumbles in his place. John is hired on as the Defense teacher over Lockheart, the Phantom Stranger takes over as a temporary instructor for History of Magic, and Tim manages to get a few other "friends" hired on in new and resurrected classes. Things go smoothly until the end of the term in Second year, when Ginny is taken. Harry, Tim, and John tackle the Riddle diary – without the aid of Fawkes and the sword of Griffindor. Ginny dies though and Harry confronts Death for her soul."
"This is where Death falls for him, isn't it?" Toltiir grinned.
"Nope. This is where John Constantine flubs everything up and somehow manages to broker a marriage contract with Desire on behalf of Death. Destiny shows up and says it's binding, and Ginny Weasley is the dowry." Toltiir was laughing so hard, he fell off Eirene's lap.
"…beautiful…[pant]…just beautiful!"
"Third year's even better. John doesn't come back, due to complaints from parents about his smoking and a little engagement in Hell's fifth circle. Lupin however steps in and bolster's Dumbledore's hopes that some form of control can be garnered with Harry through the werewolf's past with Harry's parents. It doesn't really happen though, in spite of the friendship that develops. Thirteen being the age of majority in Faerie, brings more wifely candidates coming out of the woodwork. Sirius Black escapes and rampages until one of Bastet's daughters, finds and exposes Pettigrew. Timothy is beyond upset at the thought of Dementors around his son and does something about them. He then calls Fudge on the carpet for endangering the children of England. The Minister doesn't recover from the political blow, especially when someone (cough-Molly-cough) uncovers the politician's questionable banking practices. Lupin's found out by Malfoy and sacked, bringing Dumbledore under the scrutiny of the public eye. He weathers it better than Fudge, but Lupin still gets the boot. Molly and Tim talk to Zatanna, and she hires him as a stage hand for her shows."
"Love interest?" Toltiir asked.
"Possibly. Lupin becomes an indispensable part of her crew, and eventually she will help him find a cure. At the very least he is more stable than Constantine."
The cat nodded.
"Fourth year?"
"More fiancées from Faerie. Titania and Auberon make a contest out of the idea, and the entire Faerie Court takes it to the extreme to find Harry Potter the best wife possible. Couple that with the Tri-Wizard Tournament and things get really out of hand. The Veela covens, tied as they are to Faerie, toss in their own contestant for Harry's hand. The fact that she is also a participant in the tournament is anything but a happy coincidence. Harry's name is still dropped in the Goblet by Crouch, but between Tim and Sirius the whole school understands that something is wrong about Harry's participation. Events play out, with a marginal adherence to the original event. More deviations occur due to the number of women vying for Harry's heart and attention. Hermione Granger is one of the chief among those looking to get close to the Boy-Who-Lived. The fact that she reminds Harry of his adoptive mother seems to give her an edge."
"What happens to Moldy-shorts?" The cat frowned.
"He's resurrected. But instead of Pettigrew handling the ritual, it's Crouch. Cedric dies as per the norm, but this time around Fleur and Victor are tag alongs. Harry saves them and manages to escape with Cedric's body, but not before getting a nice comforting kiss from Death before returning. With that many witnesses and a much more competent Minister (Amelia Bones), Voldemort's reign of terror is really hindered. It takes him two years to gather the resources and the personnel necessary to raid Azkaban, but by then the lines are pretty well drawn in the sand. Dumbledore reveals the contents of the prophecy and the final conflict starts to build from there."
"So what's the final outcome?" The Elder God of Mischief looked up from the comfort of Eirene's arms.
"See for yourself." Dike motioned towards the pool, causing the waters to glow brightly. Toltiir did as he was bade and his eyes widened dramatically.
"Whoa!" He chanced a look at each of the sisters and grinned. "You can't be serious!"
Dike winked at the laughing cat.
"Wanna bet?"
