Ron watched as Harry left, shaking his head. You bound the elements to you. You didn't bind yourself to them. That was folly and madness. They were primal forces, not something you wanted to be under the sway of. That path led to madness.

Approach, Ronald Weasley. I bring you glad tidings.

Ron looked to Nobundo. When the old shaman nodded to him, he reluctantly stepped before the floating wind chime.

"What do ye want with me?"

"Ron," Mylra said softly, poking him in the back. "He's a great bloody elemental lord at the very least. Show some respect lad. Ye would no talk to a greater spirit like this back home."

"I mean, greetings, A'dal o' the Naaru. I am Ronald Weasley, of Clan Wildhammer. Ye seem to have taken a shine to me friend Harry. I do hope ye have no sent him off to his death."

Light willing, it will not be so. But we are here to discuss your own fate, Ronald of Two Worlds. You may not walk the path of the Light, but the Light shall guide you, nonetheless. My tidings are thus: You shall see your family once more.

A lump rose suddenly in Ron's throat. His accent suddenly softened, though a hint of the Wildhammer brogue could still be heard. "My family? You mean, mum, dad, Ginny, my brothers?"

Your sister, at least. The others in time, if you act now, and swiftly. Ronald. A darkness lies in the heart of Azeroth. A darkness that has designs upon not just Azeroth, but Earth as well. It is this darkness that saw fit to bring about events that lead to the poisoning of Earth. Do you know why you were brought here?

"I was brought here?" Ron asked, stunned. "It wasn't just some sort of accident?"

There are no accidents, Ronald. I am but a servant of the Light, no matter how great I may appear. But I know for truth that the Light guided you to Azeroth by the hand of another servant, and has revealed it's will to me in this: You must put the sleeper to rest once more, and find the hidden king.

"What?" Ron asked, confused. "That doesn't make any sense."

Darkness rises. The Lich King is not his own master. His mind is bent by shadows. Those shadows have many plans, many designs that would lead to darkness for all worlds. You too must journey to Northrend. Find Brann Bronzebeard: tell him that the sleeper must be put to rest once more, and he must find the hidden king. If not, darkness will engulf your world, and destroy your family.

"I...guess I can do that?" Ron said, looking to Mylra.

The other dwarf was frowning, and stepped forward. "The hidden king? Brann Bronzebeard? What does that mean?"

I can say no more. Go to Ironforge. There, you shall find Brann. Join him, and aide him. He shall require those who can bend the spirits to their will.

"Ron is too bloody young to be going on some mad adventure. The lad's only 14, wee for a human or a dwarf. Send me instead," Mylra declared.

"Mylra, I have to go!" Ron said desperately. "This could be a way home for me! Hermione, Harry, they like it here. And spirits know I love you like my own sister. But...if there's a chance, I'd take it, just to hug my mum one more time and tell her I love her, or to have my dad tell me a silly bedtime story or even to have the twins turn my teddy into a spider. Please."

Mylra looked at Ron, pained, but then bowed her head. "Very well." She turned back to A'dal. "I don't suppose ye have a portal handy for us do ya?"

The magisters outside will see to your needs. They await you by your mounts. Make haste. Time is of the essence. The spirits of Northrend must be called to order. The hidden king must be found. The sleeper must once more slumber. Go.

Ron and Mylra turned to Nobundo, who stroked his chin tendrils, then nodded. "Do as he says. A'dal is wise, and powerful. I will stay here, and rest, for a time. I still honor the Light."

The Light has never forsaken you, my brother. Though what befell you was meant for evil, the Light shall turn it all to good.

Nobundo smiled then, and sat upon the floor, closing his eyes. "Yes. Rest. Go now, young ones. Find your king, and put evil to rest."

Ron and Mylra departed, leaving Nobundo to meditate, his eyes half closed as for the first time in years, the burdens of time and pain lifted. As he meditated, he saw two shadowy figures approach A'dal, one short, the other human sized, but both hidden in dark cloaks.

"Thank you. Perhaps that will be enough," the taller figure said, its voice muffled by its hood.

You are welcome, child of fate. We must all serve the Light. We must all hope that the dark future can be avoided.

"Fate is already fluctuating. I don't know, do you feel alright? Have we changed to much?" the short figure said, turning to watch where Mylra and Ron had gone.

"I'm still here." The taller figure stretched out an arm, revealing a gauntleted fist. "We can only pray they survive, or an even darker fate will doom us all. But we have other tasks to attend to."

"Yes, yes, we can't stay now anyway," the shorter one said, withdrawing small vial of golden dust from its robes. "Too dangerous. If things don't happen in just the right way, we could destroy everything!"

Fear not, scion of the sands. The Light is with you, and shall guide you. You have not mistepped. Keep upon your task. The fate of two worlds rests upon it.

"Changing destiny is a fickle thing. We can never know all the consequences of our actions," the taller one proclaimed. "We must use caution, or all our efforts will be for naught."

"Oh dear, oh dear, I'm almost out! We don't have many trips left," the short one fussed, examining the vial.

Let this journey be upon me, young one.

The little one gasped. "But if you ran out, then-!"

My time is already appointed. The Light ordains when I too shall pass into the next life. Nothing can change that. Peace be with you.

The two figures vanished in a swirl of golden magic, and Nobundo frowned. He felt the spirits grow restless, then calm as A'dal's presence soothed even them.

Fear not my son. All that is, is, and all that shall be, shall be. The Light wills it, and it must be so. In the end, we shall all go into light, or shadow. Our choices guide this. Those two have merely made their own choice, and helped others maket theirs as well.

"Something great and terrible is happening, is it not?" Nobundo asked. He started to rise. "If that is so, I should return to work. There is much to do."

There is time enough for that later. You will be needed, Nobundo, Caller of Spirits. But for now, rest. You must be prepared when the time comes.

The portal to Ironforge felt the same as the Dark Portal: a bit hair raising, but like stepping through an open door. They found themselves at the gates of Ironforge, looking up a the great carved gateway. The frozen peaks above them had more stone buildings, each seeming to grow from the stone beneath.

However, they did not have long to take in the majesty before entire gateway was a bustle of activity, as dwarves, gnomes, and various mechanical creatures raced back and forth. The gryphons and their riders had to hurry off to the side as a parade of steam tanks chugged forth, their engines roaring loudly as they went by with columns of heavy dwarven infantry alongside them. Overhead, gryphon riders and flying machines flew in patrol patterns, keeping a wary eye out.

"Where'd you two pop out of?" a dwarf in a guards uniform demanded as he came forward.

"Outland," Mylra answered. "We were sent here to find Brann Bronzebeard and give him a message from A'dal of the Naaru."

"Naaru? Never heard o' such a thing," the guard growled. He eyed the gryphons, then shrugged. "Well, ya look like riders o' the clans sure enough. Bran's party is down in Kharanos where they're staging for Menathil."

"What's going on?" Ron asked, looking back and forth. "Did the Scourge strike here as well?"

"We had a bit o' the plague, but we took care o' that. No, the Scourge hit Menathil a bit, but we're mobilizing to support King Wrynn of Stormwind. King Magni has declared a full military expedition to go forth to find out what happened to Muradin. And, in all likelihood, avenge his death."

"They I suppose we'll be joining them," Ron said, nodding slowly. He and Mylra mounted their Gryphons and soared off down the mountainside.

It was about a half hour's ride on gryphon back to Kharanos, and they passed over a steady stream of dwarven and gnomish military might, from gnomish spider walkers to dwarven sharpshooters.

Kharanos was normally a sleepy little town before the gates of Ironforge that acted as a waystation for travelers. Now, however, it was crammed with legions of soldiers and was a mad nest of chaos. Brann's camp was at the southern edge of the town, set up close to the tree line. Unlike the military camps, which were all ridgid rows of tents and carefully staked out into sections, this one was a sprawling mess that looked like someone had haphazardly dumped a bunch of tents and wagons out of a crate and had simply set them up wherever they had fallen.

"What is it now?" a harassed looking gnome demanded as soon as Mylra and Ron landed in a small clearing near the camp. "We already told you military types we're not leaving, we were here first! For the love of gears the king's brother is leading us so he out ranks whatever general is yelling about it THIS time!"

"Actually, we're here with a message for Brann from A'dal of the Naaru," Mylra said. "And we'd like to join your little expedition."

"Really?" the gnome eyed them suspiciously. "You're not going to rant about the placement of our wagons or how we're clogging up some highly important maneuver?"

"I swear on my gryphon's feathers we've no such intention," Ron promised. "Please, we need to see Brann. It's urgent."

"Oh very well then," the gnome said. She sighed and pointed off towards the center of the encampment. "Just look for where the most yelling is. It's probably Brann."

Leaving their mounts at a makeshift nest from hay that had been strewn around the clearing, Ron and Mylra made their way into the camp. Mules brayed and people shouted as they raced back and forth, seemingly moving supplies about at random.

"NO YE DAFT IDIOT, WE NEED THE SUPPLIES FIRST OR THE DAMN MULES WON'T HAVE ANYTHING TO CARRY!"

"That sounds like the loudest yelling," Ron observed.

Mylra nodded, and they made their way to a giant mount of boxes, atop which a dwarf in rugged leathers and a wide brimmed hat was waving his arms, attempting to direct traffic.

"Brann Bronzebeard?" Mylra called.

The dwarf turned and glared at her. "Oh what does Magni want this time? I told him, I'm not leading a legion, I'm after the very secrets o' the titans themselves!"

"We're not from your brother," Ron shouted over the noise. "We're from A'dal of the Naaru. He has a message for you, and we want to join your expedition."

"A'dal? The Naaru? Does he know something of the titans?" Brann hopped down the boxes to stand on one above Ron and Mylra, planting his fists on his hips and glaring down at them. "Well, spit it out then, I don't have all day."

"A'dal told us to tell you to find the hidden king, and put the sleeper back to rest," Ron said nervously. "We don't rightly ken what that means."

"Hmmm," Brann stroked his beard. "The hidden king? That could be...no, he's long dead by now. But if he isn't... wait, did you say the sleeper?"

Ron and Mylra nodded uncertainty.

"Come wit me," Brann ordered, hurrying off. He yelled over his shoulder as he ran; "Ye damn idiots better get that mess sorted out by the time I get by or by my beard I'll use YOU for mules!"

Brann let them through the maze of tents and wagons to a large tent, emblazoned with the sigil of both the Clan Bronzebeard and the twin crossed pickaxes of the Explorers League. Inside books and scrolls lay scattered about a desk, cot, the carpet, and various crates and boxes. Brann began rummaging through them, muttering to himself.

"The sleeper...the sleeper, I know I read about that…ah ha! Here it is!" Brann took out a musty old scroll, unrolling it and whispering to himself as his eyes darted back and forth.

"There!" he proclaimed, pointing. "'Within Ulduar sleeps the many maws of death, with in the halls the dreamer lies in slumber. Wake not the dreamer at your peril, or it shall consume all with its thousand maws.' It goes on for a bit like that, the world getting eaten and dying and such. But the dreamer...it sounds like what the Silithid unearthed in Ahn'Qiraj. C'thun. The eye that sees beyond madness."

Without waiting for an answer, Brann put the scroll back and hurried to his desk, pulling out a battered leather journal. He paged through it for a bit, then nodded to himself. "Yes. Muradin wrote of such. The servants of the sleeper. The faceless ones, those that the Nerubians served. Spider like beings. I've long postulated that there was once a global empire of insect like beings that predated the trolls, beings that worshiped the Old Gods, the ones the titans sealed away."

Brann snapped the book shut and looked up. "So, you say that A'dal, the most powerful of the Naaru we know of, warned you to find the hidden king and the put the sleeper back to rest?"

"That's what it said," Ron agreed hesitantly. "He also said you'd need the help of shaman to calm the spirits of Northrend on your expedition."

"That's likely," Brann agreed. "I've gathered the greatest explorers and scientific minds, but I don't have many with an aptitude for the more spiritual aspects of the world. Priests, shaman, druids, mages, they're not really attracted to this line of work. But we sure could use your help. You up for coming? You seem a bit young, and, well, human to be a proper shaman."

"Ronald of the Aerie is my adopted younger brother and my apprentice," Mylra declared. "And I assume you'd no deny I'm a proper shaman of the clans." Lightning echoed outside, and Mylra's eyes sparked with power.

"Oh stop it," Brann growled. "Yes, yes, I'll no deny you look the part, what with your kilts and plaid and all. And I'm certain ye can both sling fire and lightning with the best. Very well. We'll find a place for ye. We leave as soon as we can."

"When's that?" Ron asked.

Brann shrugged. "I've managed to secure us two ships and an airship. The trip to Menathil will take us at least 10 days, then voyage will be a few weeks for sure. It will be a month, maybe more, before we even arrive in Northrend. Once we get to Northrend, who knows. We might find ourselves neck deep in undead and have to fight our way all the way to the titan ruins at Ulduar. So, who knows."

"Well, perhaps we have time to write to ma and da then," Ron said, swallowing. "Let them know I might have found a way home. I would like to see them again, but…"

"They'll understand, Ron," Mylra said, smiling and putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. "And they may cry, but it will be tears o' joy."

Ron nodded, but that evening, he took time to compose a note to Douglas and Isla.

Dear Ma and Pa

The Conclave of the Elements was exciting to say the least. Saw some great big elementals, learned some new spells for calling spirits, but that's not why I'm writing you. As you've probably heard already, the Alliance is going to war with the Scourge. Mylra and I are with Brann Bronzebeard and his expedition to head to Northrend. I know you think I'm too young for this, but I'm not going just to fight. Really, if I could avoid all that I think I'd sleep better at night.

While in Outland, a wise and powerful light elemental called A'dal of the Naaru told me I might be able to see my birth family again if I went to Northrend. So, I'm going, and Mylra's coming to help.

You two have been great. I love you both like a new set of parents. And I love the Aerie as well. But, if I can find a way back home, I'm going to have to take it. I'll risk whatever it takes. I've got to find some lost king and put a sleeper back to bed. It all seems like a load of nonsense, but this is the first time I've ever had a chance. I'm sorry, I hope I do get to see you again someday to say thank you and work the forge with da again.

Oh, it also seems I'm not the only one here from Earth. My friends Harry and Hermione are here too, and safe. They want to stay on Azeroth though. Harry never had much of a family and Hermione seems to be a few feathers short of a chick if you know what I mean. She always was an odd bird.

I'll write again soon. Address any return letters to the Bronzebeard Expidition.

Love, your son,

Ronald

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\\/\/\/\/\\/\\/\/\/\/\/

Life at Hogwarts proceeded much as it had once before, absent a student or two. Professor Lupin ended up finding an odd old rat in the castle one day thanks to a map he confiscated from the Weasley twins, and Sirius Black had been set free. However, Lupin's lycanthropy had still come out thanks to the Defense Position Curse, and he and Black were currently off in Majorca, some said mourning the loss of Harry Potter who had vanished along with five other children three years ago.

Still, it was the Halloween feast, and the Triwizard Tournament was an exciting prospect the entire school was looking forward to.

Well, almost the entire school.

"I'm telling you he's back," Igor Karkaroff hissed to Severus Snape as they slunk through the shadows of the corridors late at night. "Something changed about the Mark last year. It went cold! Like ice gripping your heart."

"Impossible," Snape sneered. "He vanished after the Azkaban breakout. No one has heard anything from him or those since then, not even I, his most trusted servant."

"Perhaps no longer," Karkaroff muttered. "I'm telling you, something is wrong. And this tournament is just the situation he would use to make his comeback! He always did have a flair for the dramatic. Look! Touch your Mark! It is like ice!"

Snape shrugged, maintaining a nonchalant expression, but he was deeply disturbed under the surface. His Mark was like ice lately. He would have to talk to Lucius again. After the Dark Lord showed up and took back his Diary, Lucius Malfoy claimed to have heard nothing, but….

"This is not the place to discuss this," Snape told Karkaroff. "Come to my office tomorrow. Until then, keep your mouth shut."

"Fine," Karkaroff snapped, and hurried off away from Snape, who resumed his patrol. Once outside the castle, Karkaroff did not return to his ship in the lake, instead heading for Hogsmeade. He needed something to help him relax, and he had finished the last of the spirits onboard the night before.

Making his way to the Hogshead, where he took a bottle of firewhiskey to a darkened corner to nurse. Most of the other patrons ignored him; this wasn't his first visit, and he had a reputation for hexing first and asking questions later.

Once his bottle was gone, Karkaroff started the short walk back to Hogwarts. He had not gone far when an icy chill permeated the air, despite it being late March. He huddled in his cloak, and took out his wand, looking around in concern. Suddenly, his left arm seemed to turn to ice, and Karkaroff cried out in pain, dropping his wand as he fell to his knees, clutching his icy limb.

"Ah. Igor. So good to see you once more."

Karkaroff looked around, a chill running through his veins. "No. No you're dead. This is impossible!"

"Oh, yes, I am dead," the voice said, and from the side of the path, Karkaroff heard a clicking sound.

He scrambled for his wand, letting his frozen limb hang limpy as he stood, ready to fight. "Show yourself! Crouch! You're dead! A ghost! You cannot torment me!"

"I am no mere ghost," the voice growled, and the clanking sounded again from behind Karkaroff.

He spun, conjuring a shield and readying another spell. His jaw dropped. Before him stood a pale skinned man with eyes that glowed an icy blue. His features were coated with a thin layer of frost, which rimmed the dark plate mail he was wearing. "Crouch? What are you? An inferini? No matter. Reducto!"

Crouch raised a blade that dripped darkness, and a shimmering green shield enveloped him. "Ah, Karkaroff. So predictable. I have looked forward to this moment."

Losing his nerve, Karkaroff attempted to Apparate, only to have his mark flare up again. He gasped in pain, dropping his wand once more as he hunched over, unable to even think any longer.

"Yes. You feel the pain I felt. The pain I knew for years," Crouch Junior said as he came over, his blade resting atop Karkaroff's neck.

"I don't understand. You were killed when your fathers home was raided months ago. I saw you buried. It was the second time you were supposed to have died!" Karkaroff gasped, glaring up at the black armored Death Eater.

"I did die. But Death is only a temporary setback for those who serve," Crouch declared.

"Voldemort is gone! Dead!"

"Dead? Yes. Gone? No. But he is not who I serve. You too shall serve our Queen."

"I'll die first," Karkaroff spat.

Crouch smiled, but it never touched his glowing blue eyes. "That was the plan. Do scream for me. I enjoy that ever so much."

At first, Karkaroff tried not to scream, but as the agony wracked his body he couldn't help it. In the end, he died bleeding from every poor as his eyes melted from his body, leaving only tortured flesh and bones behind.

Crouch plunged his blade into the remains, then withdrew it. A moment later, Crouches body shuddered, the rose. Slobber dribbled from his lips, and his sightless eyes looked about as glowing green magic filled them.

"Come, Igor. You have been given a gift. You shall never know it, perhaps, but as a ghoul, you shall serve, as shall all others. Come. We have work to do. The Death Eaters must now partake of the meal set before them. You are merely the first."

The slavering ghoul followed after its master as the soul of Karkaroff screamed silently, unable to escape the prison his body had become. The Death Knight walked off into the Forbidden Forest. There was more work to be done that night.

Draco Malfoy had always thought he was destined for greatness. When the supposed Chosen one had vanished three years ago, he had rejoiced and laughed at others. The disappearance of Harry Potter and his three friends should have paved the way for Slytherin glory, starting with their victory in the house cup that year.

But that old fool Dumbledore had given Harry and the other three Gryffindors a ludicrous amount of points for "opposing darkness itself" and "achieving greatness through sacrifice" whatever that idiocy meant. And so, Slytherin had been denied its right, and Potter had won even when he wasn't around.

The next few years instead of greatness, Malfoy achieved only mild notoriety. He hungered and thirsted for power and fame, a drive the feeble minded around him lacked. That was why he was here, in the forest: He was going to achieve greatness, at any cost. Even if his father didn't approve. He said it was time for Draco to grow up. Well, Draco would show him. He would show them all.

"I'm cold," Goyle complained.

"Me too," Crabb whined.

"Stuff it you two," Malfoy hissed. "We're here to meet with the minions of the Dark Lord. I'll not appear as some sniveling brat."

Personally, Draco was fairly certain they'd be meeting with his father and his friends. Draco felt very clever for having manage to contact the Dark Lord's servants by sending an owl to Bellatrix Lestrange. Why no one else had thought of just doing that Draco didn't know, but the reply had said to meet the emissary here at midnight.

Just as Draco was feeling very good about himself, the forest went silent. The insects and night birds hushed. Even the wind stopped rattling the branches of the trees. A minute later, a chill sank into Draco's bones. He shivered, both from the cold, and from the icy hand of fear that gripped his heart.

"M-m-maybe this wasn't such a good idea, Draco," Goyle said, shivering and looking around, his small piggish eyes wide in terror.

"You idiots, this is what we came for!" Draco hissed. He had been thinking the same thing, but now that Greg had said it he obviously couldn't agree. He was the leader, and all the ideas had to be his. "Now kneel before the Dark Lord! Quickly!"

The three youths sank to their knees, peering up occasionally in terror, and wondering what fate was about to befall them. There was a shuffling sound, and a horrific figure covered in blood and with its entrails spilling out sprung into the clearing.

Draco nearly wet himself and screamed in terror, until he realized it was Igor Karkaroff, that fool of a headmaster from Durmstrang.

"What is this?" Draco snapped, coming to his feet with his wand gripped tightly in his fist. "Some sort of sick joke? Who conjured this inferini?"

"That is no infernie, boy," a voice said. The tone was colder than the grave, and a strange echoing sound accompanied it. "That is the ghoul of Igor Karkaroff. He refused to serve in life. So he shall serve Her in death."

"Her?" Draco demanded, glaring as the figure in dark armor entered the small clearing they were in. "You mean the Dark Lord, don't you?"

"Lord Voldemort is now merely the majordomo of our Mistress, the Lich Queen," the man said. He stepped into a patch of moonlight, and Draco saw he had pale features, with eyes that glowed an eerie blue.

"Crouch?" Vincent gasped. "But you're dead! I saw it! The ministry killed you!"

"Indeed, boy. I am dead," Crouch Junior said. "But the Mistress has granted me unlife eternal. Is that what you seek? Power over both life, and death? The power to bring this world to its knees, where it must serve you?"

Draco eyed the ghoul of Karkaroff, which was sniffing the air and slobbering. "You mean, I could make anyone I didn't like into something like that, and it would have to do whatever I said?"

"Yes. That power and more, will be opened to you," Junior declared. "All you must do is swear an oath, and drink of the cup of unlife."

Draco imagined transforming that idiot Dumbledore into a ghoul, and grinned wickedly. "I'll do it."