Disclaimer: Don't make me say it again, Chuck…or I will have to launch random objects in your direction…Good boy. Now get me coffee.

Thank you sooooooooooooo much for your reviews. They make my day…no seriously they do.

AN1: About Chris's random Spanish outbursts—there is a reason. And it will be revealed. When you ask? ….uh I'm not sure yet, I just know it will be.

AN2: Chris is not 13 here, he's 14 going on fifteen. I'm trying to sort all the age thingys out but with the blended timelines it's a little difficult, but I'm working on it. I know I stated all their ages in an author note earlier, but I er may have gotten it wrong, I'll fix it…besides all you really need to know is: Wyatt is the oldest, Ron, Hermione, and Harry are in the middle, and Chris is the youngest.

AN3: Response to reviewer PB: You stated that my prologue was, well off, because I have the Wiccan world Chris and Wyatt belong to beginning in 1498ish. Now, I know that is what it said, but I don't want you to take me for an idiot. While I may not be completely familiar with the Wiccan world background, I know it's been around for a looonnnggg time. I have an, ahhh, thing planned that Chris will be discovering and such so if you will stick around and read up until that point, (I'm not sure when that will be) I'd be most grateful to hear your thoughts. If not…then thanks for the Good luck wish.

Enjoy! And please R&R

Chris walked aimlessly down the corridor. He'd deduced that the Head of Slytherin's office was probably in the dungeons which he could find if he could locate the history of magic class room. And he could find the history room if he could find the Great Hall, which he could find if he was in the dungeons. But were he in the dungeons he wouldn't have the problem at all.

Chris stopped by a window, gazing out over the grounds. Rain pattered down almost silently and a light fog covered the grounds obscuring most from Chris's view. A strong wind blew, howling around the castle. Chris shivered involuntarily stepping away from the glass.

He continued his wandering, figuring he would find something he recognized or run into someone he could ask for directions besides a painting that talked in circles. He rounded the corner sharply walking down yet another hallway. A door flew open suddenly to his right just as he walked by soundly smacking Chris in the face and sending him to the floor. Chris yelped as the door sent a spike of pain through his already aching head.

"Oh my god!" someone gasped overhead.

"You can call me Chris," Chris replied instinctively, voice muffled by his hands. He opened his eyes to see who the 'someone' was.

"Harry," he said unsurprised. He winced accepting Harry's help up with one hand keeping the other clamped over his injured nose. "You know a simple 'I don't like you' would have sufficed."

"It…I…the door…I would…I didn't…I'm sorry…I didn't know you were there," Harry managed finally. "I'm so sorry. Are you alright? I'm sorry."

Chris removed his hand from his face frowning slightly at the crimson liquid on his fingers.

"Bloody hell, you're bleeding," Harry said quickly.

Chris rolled his eyes, refraining from saying that yes, bleeding was what one usually did after being hit with a hunk of wood.

"I'll take you to the infirmary," said Harry moving to grab Chris's arm.

Chris shook his head immediately regretting the action as it caused the pounding in his head to intensify. Great, he thought, now I have a migraine. "No, it's just blood. My nose isn't even broken." Amazingly, he added silently.

Harry looked uncertain. "Chris I really think you should go—"

"No. I'm fine," Chris said offering Harry a small smile. "Really I've been punched in the face harder than this." Granted it was usually a demon who punched him, and Wyatt usually healed him right after, but who cared about little details.

"If you're sure you're okay…" Harry said doubtfully watching Chris unsuccessfully try to wipe the blood off his face.

"Peachy," Chris replied.

"What—where were you going?" Harry asked suddenly realizing class wasn't over yet.

Chris glanced around. "Uh…I have no idea. I know where I need to go, but I don't know how to get there. Well short of dropping through the floor…which I'm not all that keen on doing."

"Oh…Where's that?"

"Snape," Chris said holding up the pink scroll.

"You got detention?" Harry said disbelievingly.

Chris nodded slowly, "Apparently I am a arrogant disrespectful pighead."

Harry laughed. "She said that?"

"No, not in words, but I could tell. It's all between the lines. Those Ministry folk are word-warpers."

"Word-warpers?" Harry asked lost.

"Yep. She said I needed to learn 'proper classroom conduct' and 'respect for my elders'. Translation: I am an arrogant disrespectful pighead. They all go through extensive training."

"Right…okay then, Snape's office is—" Harry broke off as Chris walked by him, continuing in the direction he'd been going.

"Uh…Chris?" he called. Chris stopped looking back to the wizard. Harry silently pointed in the other direction.

"You're kidding?" Chris asked scowling. He'd always fancied himself a first class navigator, but this castle was seriously kicking his butt.

Harry mutely shook his head. Chris's scowl, if possible deepened, and he stalked back towards Harry. Another gust blew causing the wind to moan again.

"Oh for the love of creation, shut up. You've won again. There's no need to gloat," Chris snapped seemingly at the wall of the castle.

Harry stared at Chris. "I think the door hit you harder than we thought. Maybe we should—"

"No."

"Chris—"

"Just show me to Snape's office please."

Harry shrugged leading the way down the corridor, the stairs, and then to the dungeons. He came to a halt outside a nondescript wooden door turning back to Chris who had followed him silently.

"Well this is Snape's office."

Chris arched an eyebrow. "Really? You sure this isn't just a pit stop?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "No. I'll just leave now. I take it you know your way to the Great Hall from here?"

Chris nodded his head, waving his hand dismissively. "Yes."

Harry nodded as well taking a few steps away. "Right, err…I'll see you around, Matthews."

Chris gave a slight half wave in Harry's direction and opened the door to Snape's office.

He slid the door open quietly, mindful to keep it a good distance away from his face, instinctively moving silently into the dark room. His eyes traveled over the room habitually picking out the details and searching for any signs of danger.

The walls were covered floor to ceiling with cabinets and bookcases displaying leather bound tomes, jars of undistinguishable substances, and a number of other various objects. A bulky desk was set across from a large table cluttered in an organized fashion with several caldrons, papers, and books. There was a closed door tucked into a heavily shadowed corner of the room and no windows.

Chris stepped farther into the room allowing the door to swing close behind him. The professor wasn't in the office. Chris walked past the table tossing only a fleeting look at the books and stopped at the desk. Glancing around the room Chris confirmed he was alone before leaning down to flip through the papers.

True, Severus Snape was a 'loyal' member of the Order. True, Severus Snape held Dumbledore's unwavering trust. True, Chris held Dumbledore in high regard. True, the old wizard held Chris's trust. Equally true though, Snape did not.

Neither he nor Wyatt had met Snape as anything more than students. Dumbledore had felt it prudent that the lowest number of individuals possible knew Wyatt and Chris's true identities or purpose at Hogwarts. So perhaps the ill feelings Chris got from Snape were purely because he was just a student, and thus Snape and he harbored inherent distaste for one another.

Phoebe didn't like Snape either though, hadn't since she and the sisters were first introduced to the Order and people they would be working with for the next year or so. The fact that Phoebe too, was skeptical of Snape was enough to make Chris want to learn more about the former Death Eater.

It wasn't that Chris wholly believed Snape to still be a servant of Voldemort. In fact he was almost positive that Snape wasn't. But he didn't know; he couldn't read Snape, and thus that 'almost' was enough to make Chris wary of the dark haired professor.

The first pile of parchment was the grade slips for the Draught of Peace potions he and the other students had done that morning. The next contained a mixture of documents. Potion instructions, letters of no value, lesson plans, notes on unimportant studies, and a half written report to Dumbledore. Chris paused eyes skimming quickly over the words on the paper.

Voldemort was seeking an alliance with an unknown party in the western hemisphere. He had deployed a group of Death Eaters to the Americas with instructions to locate a core of Croatoan. The mission was ultimately unsuccessful. The Death Eaters had located a core, but were unable to harness any power. Six muggle casualties are connected to this mission. That would be the case Darrel had him and Wyatt check out. He'd told Dumbledore about it once he'd made the connection himself. Detected movement for unknown reasons in England. Suspected nefarious actions with Ministry personnel for unknown reasons. Blah, blah, blah…for unknown reasons. Wow, did these people know anything?

Chris blew his bangs out of face once again thumbing through the stack of paper. The report hadn't told him anything he didn't already know, not that he expected Snape to tell Dumbledore in a report 'oh by the way I'm actually a triple agent and loyal to the Dark Lord' or something of equal proportions.

Finished with the papers, Chris pulled out the top drawer beginning to search the desk itself. After three drawers of nothing Chris found a small wooden box at the bottom of the last drawer. He opened it up shifting through the odds and ends objects in the box. Several folded papers, a simple silver ring band, a small stack of moving photos. Chris stopped, one photo having caught his eye. In it was a young Snape, possibly in his mid-teens, smiling in a strained manner and a laughing young teen girl. She looked to be around the same age as the Snape in the photo with red hair and striking green eyes. What had caught Chris's attention though was not the beautiful girl or young looking professor, it was the fact that the picture wasn't moving. It was a muggle photo. Interesting. He stared closer at the girl. She looked familiar, Chris was certain he'd seen her somewhere. Chris tapped the picture thoughtfully before replacing it and the box back where he'd found it.

A presence drifted through his mind, hovering on the edge of his consciousness. Snape. Chris slid the drawer closed quickly, checking to make sure everything was as he'd found it, and moved over to the bookcases just as Snape strode through the door in the corner of the room. Snape slowed to a stop at the sight of a student in his office. He masked his surprise well, but Chris still felt it with his empathy. Once again it was all he could read however, nothing deeper.

"Explain yourself," Snape said curtly.

Silently Chris held up the garishly pink scroll and extended it to Snape. Snape took it just as silently, breaking the seal and reading the contents.

"It would seem you made quite a remarkable impression. On your first day too. You may have broken the record," Snape said inexpressively.

"I'm honored," Chris replied sardonically.

"Don't be. It's nothing to be proud of. I suppose you would like me to see if I can revoke some of the detentions?"

Chris cocked his head to the side. "Not really, sir." When Snape raised an eyebrow Chris explained further: "I wouldn't dream of asking someone else to resolve the consequences of any of my actions."

"A boy who takes responsibility for his mistakes. How noble," Snape said practically hissing the last word.

Chris smirked at him. "I never said it was a mistake, sir."

Snape stared at Chris for a moment. "Consider me informed," he said, "What happened to your nose?"

Chris blinked, momentarily lost. "Oh," he said, "a door hit me."

"A door hit you?" Snape repeated.

Chris mentally shook his head. Wasn't that what he'd just said? "Yes sir," he replied aloud.

Snape stood crossing the floor to one of the many cabinets. He removed a small potion vial and handed it to Chris. "Drink it," he instructed when Chris merely stared at it.

"What is it?" Chris asked suspiciously. Accepting unknown potions from a suspected Death Eater was one of the top things on his Don't Do List.

Snape's lip curled in distain. "It's a simple healing draught. As it's clearly labeled."

A healing draught; a Wyatt in a bottle. Chris looked back to the vial. Huh, it was labeled. Didn't mean anything though. You could label anything whatever you wanted and it wouldn't change what it was.

On one hand he could just drink it, after all it was probably a healing draught. Or it could be poison. Wow, Chris thought, paranoid much?

Snape was still staring at him so Chris uncorked the vial and upended it swallowing the contents quickly and nearly gagging at the rancid taste. The thought that it could be poison ran through his mind again. Shouldn't healing potions taste good? Well, if it was poison he'd be dead soon and would no longer care so it didn't really matter. He hissed slightly as a burning sensation grew around his nose and head becoming nearly unbearable before fading. Chris blinked. He felt…great. Even his headache was gone.

Snape slipped the vial from Chris's hands. "Leave now," he said waving a dismissive hand.

Chris exited the room letting out a breath of air he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He figured that DADA was over by now and there would be no point in returning. He dug out his schedule having no idea where he should be.

Oh joy, he thought looking over it, free time. Today he had from now until dinner to himself. Tomorrow he'd have a study period. Then after dinner he was free again unless he joined some group or had detention. Of course he did have the latter for the rest of the week so from around five o'clock to whenever his time was now Umbridge's. Yippee.

He recalled vaguely McGonagall saying something about students being allowed to spend free time in the common rooms, the great hall, the study hall, and the grounds.

Chris opted for his common room which he assumed would also be in the dungeons. Having no idea which way to go he spun around in a circle and walked off in that direction.

He navigated through the labyrinth of underground corridors for ten minutes before stumbling upon a group of Slytherin girls who were more than happy to show him the way to the common room.

"Yeah, thanks for uh, well directions," Chris said hastily all but running up the stairs to the boy's dormitory escaping the clutches of the girls, particularly one Pansy Parkinson. Chris shuddered, closed the door, and leaned against it. He scanned the room, immediately spotting his trunk at the foot of one of the beds. He crossed over to the trunk pulled out his familiar clothes and quickly ditched the stupid wizard robes. Who the heck decided wizards should wear these freakin' dresses anyway?

He took off the black slacks and white dress shirt, slipping into the way more comfortable cargo pants and long-sleeved shirt. He pulled a plain hoodie over his head, wrenched on his usual sneakers, and, as an afterthought, tugged on his favorite black beanie hat. He hoped the school didn't have any rules against hats in the building like his school back home. He shrugged then deciding he didn't care.

"Wyatt?"

There was a short pause: Here! What ya needin' bro?

"Nothing. Just wondered where you were?"

Um, I'm in the Gryffindor common room now. Ron and Hermione showed me the dorms and the way up. Its seven floors man! And we have portrait of a fat lady to guard our porthole. Really. Chris could picture his brother shaking his head in mock disappointment.

"Huh…well ours is just a stone wall," Chris mind-said. "So what are you doing now?"

Uhhhh….Ron's teaching me to play wizards chess. Needless to say I am not faring well.

"Well strategy and thinking were never your strong points."

Yeah, you're telling me. We've established this before haven't we? You—brains. Me—brawn.

"Right. Anyway I'm gonna pay a visit to Teresa so if you sense me just fade that's why, Kay?"

Sure. Why are you going though?

"Just a visit." Chris said offhandedly.

Kay. Have fun. Tell her I said Hola. By the way…any tips for this chess thing?

"Move the pieces."

Thanks bro…wait what does that mea—?

Chris broke the connection off and sat on the bed, pulling the curtains closed. He folded his legs Indian style, straight back, hands resting lightly on his knees. He breathed deeply, clearing his mind, letting his consciousness fly free.

He had never tried to mental project this far before, but he'd been practicing a lot lately trying to attain the same amount of control over his mental powers he had over his telekinesis, and Wyatt had over all his powers.

Chris let his breath out slowly, feeling the familiar sense of weightlessness. He reappeared in the heavens, several of the golden cloaked Elders looking up at his arrival.

"Christopher. Blessed be," one intoned, inclining her head, "Teresa is in the Archives."

"Thank You, Dawn." Chris said inclining his head in response.
He headed down the halls barely stopping anymore to admire what would have most visitors gawking. Soaring white columns, intricate statues rescued from various Earthly eras, artwork, grand doors leading to unimaginable spaces. All of this held no wonder to Chris though as he had seen it many, many times before—and if there was one thing he knew for absolute certain about Up There/Here it was that it never ever changed.

He entered the Hall of the Archives feeling immensely at home among the thousands upon thousands of scrolls, books, and documents—most of which he was prohibited to look at, but still the feeling was there.

Chris spotted Teresa at one of the multiple tables and heaved a mental sigh of relief. The Hall was very large, containing aisle upon aisle of bookshelves and he was not in the mood to play a game of Find the Elder.

"Blessed be Teresa," Chris greeted her from behind.

Teresa spun around, one hand flying to her throat. "Cristóbal! Tenga cuántas veces yo dije no hacer eso?" Giving him no time to answer Teresa wrapped her arms around Chris already spouting off, "Ha sido un rato. Cómo estás?"

Chris smiled. "Bueno, y tu?"

"Muy bien," Teresa replied. "What brings you here today, Cristóbal?" she asked, switching to Chris's native tongue instead of her own. Teresa was a Spaniard. Born and raised in Spain she had moved to Peru when she was twenty-eight, where she had died some years later and thus became an Elder. Teresa's strength was in her passive powers and she was a bit more radical than most Elders which was the reason she had been chosen to tutor Chris in controlling his Elder inherited powers. The other Elders figured Chris was less likely to ignore or randomly spell an Elder he got along with better. Chris had spent many of his summers and free time up here, which is why he had picked up on many of Teresa's Spanish phrases and now used them instinctively as a Brit may say 'blimey' or an American says 'OMG'.

"Well…a lot actually," Chris said. "Wyatt says 'Hola'"

"Ahh…the only Spanish word he knows," Teresa said shaking her head. "But surely you didn't come just to say your brother said 'Hola'."

"No. The dreams are coming back," he said bluntly.

Teresa looked up, only a slight trace of alarm visible. "Which ones?"

Chris sighed heavily, sinking into the seat across from the Elder. "Both," he replied tiredly.

"Both?" Teresa repeated. She frowned, "Does the one have to do with the fact that we are approaching the date of your birth and the anniversary of the…event?"

"Probably. I mean it makes sense. But what about the others?"

Teresa shook her head. "I haven't been able to find anything substantial anywhere. As I said before though, you are a dreamwalker. We can't be absolutely certain the dreams are even yours at all or have anything to do with you."

"I told you. I'm in them. Wyatt's in them. Mom, Dad, the aunts…Unless there is an identical family out there somewhere the dreams are mine," Chris said.

"I know, Cristóbal. So the amulet is losing effect?"

"Yep, just like all the others. The spell, the rune, the herbs, the hex bag…the all work for a bit and then they don't. Almost as if they repress the nightmares but then the dreams fight through it and are back."

Teresa sighed. "I'm running out of options. If I could talk to someone else—"

"No. No…I don't want anyone else to know, okay?" Chris said.

"Why?"

"I just don't. I don't know why. But I don't, Teresa."

"Of course Cristóbal, but it may help if you talked to your family or someone older than I," Teresa said smiling wanly.

"Maybe," Chris said skeptically.

"I'm certain…you could talk to Wyatt," she suggested.

Chris bit back the instant 'no' he had been about to say. If there was one person in the entire world he would never ever speak to about his dreams it was Wyatt. Teresa wouldn't understand though, because he hadn't even told her everything about the dreams. He'd told her who was in them and that the Source of All Evil was destroying the world and killing his family. He never mentioned the Source was his brother.

"You know about the Wizarding World I take it?" Chris asked changing the subject.

Teresa nodded, "Yes, all Elders are familiar with it even though we are not actively involved with its subjects."

"And are you aware of my mother and aunts working with the Wizards—"

"And you and Wyatt being undercover at Hogwarts?" she interrupted. "Yes, I was told about that."

"Good," Chris said, "Now I don't need to explain anything. I want you to tell me everything you know about it and Voldemort."

Teresa paused staring at her young friend. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."

Chris cocked an eyebrow. "I want you to tell me about the worlds and the powers within them. Why we don't know about each other? Why we both exist? You know informational stuff."

Teresa sighed. "I can't. It is prohibited to speak of such matters with a mortal. And by mortal I mean someone who is not an Elder."

"Oh…and why is that?" Chris asked.

Teresa narrowed her eyes. "Because."

"You're one of the most powerful beings of good and the best excuse you can come up with is 'because',"

Teresa huffed but didn't answer.

"Well, then you're a lot of help."

Teresa sighed, "I can't tell you myself Cristóbal, but I can tell you that you may be able to piece together everything if you look in the right places. Try the library at Hogwarts or another Wizarding library. There aren't as many restrictions for them as there are for us."

Chris nodded. "Thank you," he said striding back to the doors, "It's such a shame you couldn't help more." He winked at the Elder as he exited and heard her mumble something in Spanish.

He shook his head and allowed his projection to fade, returning his consciousness to his body at Hogwarts. He sighed heavily and slouched deeply. He'd underestimated how tiring it would be to mental project that far. At least he hadn't passed out or anything. He stretched gingerly, scrubbing at his face.

Teresa had said to try the library. Wonder where that is, Chris thought sullenly. Well he'd never find out sitting here on his bed. Resolutely, Chris left the Slytherin dorms and made his way determinedly to the library.

†††

Harry watched, careful to retain his laughter, as Wyatt's chessmen were once again slaughtered by Ron's.

"Oh…NO WAY! I totally should have seen that coming," Wyatt said loudly as more of his pieces were, uh, dispatched rather violently.

"That's Wizards Chess, mate," Ron said. "So you've really never played this before have you?"

"Nope," Wyatt answered moving a pawn right into a trap set by Ron. Ron moved his knight forward capturing Wyatt's pawn.

"You never played Wizard's chess?" Harry asked. "I thought your family was Pure blood."

Wyatt looked at him. "I never said that. Why do you think we are?"

Harry bit his lip. Wyatt was right. No one had said anything about the Matthews family. He'd only assumed they were Pure bloods because Chris was a Slytherin. "Well," he said truthfully, "Because your brother is in Slytherin and most Slytherins are Pure bloods."

"Really? I thought the hat just picked your houses randomly," Wyatt said curiously making another brainless chess move.

"You know what, mate," Ron said taking another pawn, "This is almost pitiful."

"Only almost?" Wyatt asked with a good natured smile as Ron took one of his bishops. He turned his attention back to Harry still waiting for a response.

"The Sorting hat places you into the house that stands for your most prominent traits," Harry said remembering how Hermione had explained it to him.

"Oh…and they are?"

"Well," Harry began awkwardly. Usually it was Hermione giving the lectures. "Hufflepuff is loyalty and er, patience. Ravenclaw is wit and intelligence. Gryffindor is courage and chivalry."

Wyatt nodded. "Charming. Sounds like me too…charging in bravely to rescue the damsel in distress," he said airily.

Ron snorted as he picked off Wyatt's queen, no doubt picturing Wyatt in gleaming armor waving Excalibur over his head like King Arthur and rushing in to save the innocent women of Camelot.

"Awww…" Wyatt moaned, "I liked that one. It could move just about anywhere."

"Too bad," Ron said taking yet another pawn.

"What about Slytherin?" Wyatt asked. "You said Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor but you skipped Slytherin."

Harry hesitated. He skipped it on purpose since the only things he could think of were lying, scheming, Pure blooded scumbags. He really didn't want to say those things to Wyatt in relation to his twin brother. It seemed slightly insulting. Actually, he didn't want to say those things about Chris at all. Chris hadn't seemed like the typical Slytherin. "Well…," he said.

"How about scheming, cowardly, scumbags?" Ron suggested cheerfully, probably forgetting Wyatt's brother was in the house.

Wyatt raised his eyebrows. "I don't think any of those really apply to Chris," he said slowly.

Ron opened his mouth and—

"Hermione!" Harry said brightly beckoning her over and saving Ron from having to respond. "Can you explain the houses to Wyatt. Like the characteristics and stuff you bored us to death with first year?"

"Err…yeah sure. Well," Hermione replied launching into lecture mode. "Gryffindor values courage, bravery, loyalty, nerve and chivalry. Hufflepuff values hard work, tolerance, loyalty, and fair play. Ravenclaw values intelligence, creativity, learning, and wit. AndSlytherin values ambition, cunning, leadership, resourcefulness and most of all pure wizard blood."

"Cunning, resourcefulness, and ambition," Wyatt repeated, "Now that sounds more like Chris."

"Chris didn't seem very ambitious and cunning to me," Hermione stated dubiously.

Wyatt shrugged. "Chris says part of being cunning and deceiving is to not seem cunning or deceiving. And just because Slytherins are ambitious doesn't mean they're ambitious about anything bad."

Hermione looked at Wyatt considerately. "I never thought about it that way," she said.

Wyatt shrugged. "People rarely see things beyond one perspective."

Hermione smiled at him, "Insightful. I didn't peg you for the philosophical type."

"I'm not," Wyatt said with a grin, "But Chris is."

"Oh. Hey Ron, do you want to come to the library with me? I need to get some books." Hermione asked as Ron struck the final defeating blow in his and Wyatt's chess game.

"Sure. Why not?" Ron answered gathering up his chess pieces.

"We should play cards next time," Wyatt said reclining in his chair. "I'd kick your butt at poker."

"You're on, mate," Ron called over his shoulder as he and Hermione left. Wyatt glanced at Harry and leaned down to pull his books out of his bag. He shuffled through them, staring at a sheet of paper that had all the assignments written on it.

"Do you usually get this much work on the first day?" Wyatt asked.

"Not really, but this is O.W.L. year so I suppose there should be a lot of work." Harry took a deep breath. "How much do you know about the war here?" he questioned suddenly.

Wyatt looked at him guardedly. "I'm not sure I know what you mean by that," he said lightly.

"Yes you do. Chris was talking to me about it before Divination." Harry watched Wyatt's face carefully noting the small flicker of surprise that was quickly replaced by a devil-may-care grin.

"Oh he was he."

Harry detected a hint of anger in the words and wasn't sure if it was directed at himself or Chris. "Yeah," Harry said plowing on ahead. "He said that he thought Hogwarts would be a target for Voldemort since Dumbledore and I are here."

Wyatt, like Chris, didn't flinch when Harry said Voldemort's name.

Maybe it's because they're Americans and don't know Voldemort's history, Harry thought. Or maybe they just aren't afraid of his name, like you or Dumbledore. Or maybe they're on his side, a small voice whispered in the back of his mind. No. Chris may be in Slytherin, but Wyatt was a Gryffindor. Ginny is a Gryffindor. Voldemort had been able to influence her with just a memory.

Stop it, Harry told himself firmly. You're being paranoid. Not everyone who shows up and has secrets is in league with the Dark Lord.

"We know the basics," Wyatt responded. "We know about Voldemort, about his reign of terror, and his untimely half-dead demise thing with you, and about how he's back again in flesh to go another round with the warriors of the light. We believe you and Dumbledore."

"You do?"

"Of course I do. What kind of idiot lies about something like that?" Wyatt said rhetorically.

Harry shrugged. Why couldn't more people have Wyatt's thinking on the whole thing? Really what kind of person would lie about the most feared Dark Lord coming back from the dead/undead/non-dead?

He would be lying though, if he said that Wyatt telling him that he believed Harry's story didn't make him feel better. To just have one more, well two counting Chris, people on board with him definitely raised his spirits especially since most of the Wizarding community thought he was a lying attention seeker.

"What's 'The Borgarth Campaign'?"

"What?" Harry asked having no idea what Wyatt was talking about.

"The Borgarth Campaign. Chris wrote down that we're supposed to write an eleven inch essay for History on The Borgarth Campaign. I don't even know what that is," Wyatt said disbelievingly.

"Brilliant," Harry sighed dragging his bag over to him and pulling out his own History textbook. "Let's see if we can't figure it out."

†††

Halil sighed utterly bored with the proceedings commenced around him. He rolled his shoulders in a useless attempt to loosen his stiff shoulders. They'd been at it for hours, yet no agreement had been reached. He shifted again in his seat for the umpteenth time turning to look at the Source.

The demon had only held the proverbial throne for several months, but he was already proving himself to be one of the finest the Demonic community had ever seen. Halil should know, he'd served most of them as he served the current one now.

"I do not believe we can trust them, m'lord," one demon said loudly.

"I never said anything about trust, Zargot. We can use them to achieve power. It's all about power. Whoever has the most wins and I intend to make sure it is us." The Source's voice was low and soft but easily heard over the clamor of the chamber.

"But m'lord—"

"Be quiet, Zargot, or I may not be able to resist the urge to vanquish you, something I would loath to do as you have much to offer me," the Source said. The words were devoid of emotion making them even more frightening. The thing that made this Source one of the best was his ability to control the demons beneath him without vanquishing each one that toed the line. That meant he could keep the demons who actually knew what they were doing. The Source bowed his head in thought for a moment before looking up, face still shrouded in the traditional black hood. "Leave," he commanded, "Except you Halil."

Everyone immediately obeyed, shimmering, flaming, blinking, or orbing out. Halil remained seated. After everyone was gone he turned to the cloaked figure cocking an eyebrow in amusement.

"I really don't know how you do it," he remarked. "How you keep them all in line without vanquishing at least one an hour. I've never seen anything like it in all my years."

"Fear," was the emotionless reply he got.

Halil digested that, deciding that the Source was right. Fear was a powerful thing. All the demons were terrified of the Source. Even he was. The Source was an Old-being, one of the most powerful demons in existence, and one of the few to have crawled out of Hell.

The Source turned to Halil. "What do you think, Halil? I want to hear your thoughts."

Halil drummed his fingers on the table. "I think," he said, "that we can gain a lot from Tom Riddle."

Chapter 12 to come soon :) Let me here your thoughts.

I want to thank all my reviewers, Thenchick, PB, Binx23, A Midsummer Night's Dream, red*robin, Ollie912, crlncyln, Mitsu-Aya33, Starowner, allora123, nimby, phil, FirePony16, DestinYJaI, yaoifanboy, mclaughlin, and Mickey. Thank you sooooo much, I really do enjoy every review.

Chris and Teresa's conversation translation:

Teresa: "Cristóbal! Tenga cuántas veces yo dije no hacer eso?" : Christopher! How many times have I said not to do that?

"Ha sido un rato. Cómo estás?" : It's been so long. How are you?

Chris: "Bueno, y tu?" : Good, and you?

Teresa: "Muy bien," : Very good.

I'll update as soon as possible….ohh what do you think about Halil—he'll be the main demon character :)….sooo anyway *waves*