A/N: Here it is, year 4! (PS. I really just wanted to put this out there in case some of you are getting lost: Year 1 goes basically from chapter 1 to 9, Year 2 goes from chapter 10 to 15, Year 3 goes from chapter 16 to 20 and Year 4 starts in this chapter until I don't know yet... Because even though I know what main things will happen, I have yet decided about small details and how much I will write about/lead up to the main things.)

Enjoy and please tell me what you think! I loved all your reviews! I appreciate the honest opinions and the sentiments! I'm especially pleased to know I convinced a reader that my story might just be worth the time of day! Hopefully it can stay that way!

In regards to the Pheonix mark: it can concealed in many ways Magic or not and will serve a purpose some day.

Disclaimer: Taliesin comes from Merlin and King Arthur legends. I like the name.

Aberforth was currently wiping down one of his beer mugs, eyeing his dirty customers and frowning at the brown goat that had just wandered around the counter to lay at his feet. Where the goat had come from, he had no idea. All he knew was that the goat was getting kicked out as soon as he was finished cleaning his mugs.

"A pint, Abe," one of his habitual customers hollered from the far corner.

With a nod Aberforth had a pint filled and floating over to the loud man. Suddenly, the door opened and in strolled a content looking Hermione and smiling far too jovially for such an early hour in the morning. Then again, who was he to judge? He had about five patrons in his bar far too drunk for this hour of the day. The young witch hopped onto a bar stool and leaned forward.

"Hello Abe," she greeted.

"Hermione," the old man grunted, ignoring the curious looks some of the consumers were throwing his way.

He wasn't surprised by their confused looks. Being part of the usual clientele, they were used to Aberforth always throwing out Hogwarts students, unless they were Seventh Years, but this girl was clearly not a Seventh Year. However, Aberforth merely grunted and pulled out a mug, filled it with what was obviously pumpkin juice and slid it over to the young girl. Perhaps, a few of the drinkers thought. And that was where their thought processes ended, as they were truly too drunk to think of anything more at the moment and honestly they could care less. What the barman did was his business.

"What are you doing here?"

"First Hogsmeade weekend. I'm a Fourth Year so I can come down at anytime in the morning I want. I don't need to wait for McGonagall like the Third Years," she explained.

"Should I expect you at my bar this early every Hogsmeade weekend?" He questioned as she took a sip of her juice.

Hermione shook her head. "No," she spoke. "Not every weekend. As welcoming as your bar is, I'd rather not spend all my time here."

"So why are you here? I have a feeling this isn't just a social call," he muttered, sending a glass of fire whiskey flying towards the one man nursing an empty glass near his face.

The witch sighed. "It's not..." she admitted. "I'm actually- I was wondering if you might know anything about Merlin's Book."

The crash was deafening. Hermione started in surprise, eyes wide and hands slamming onto the counter top. The clients stopped drinking and turned to face the pair at the counter. The goat jumped up from Aberforth's feet and ran away, hiding under one of the tables at the centre of the room. Aberforth's gaze was intense as he stared at the girl he had grown to care for over the past three years. Shaking his head, Aberforth waved his wand and bent down to pick up the repaired mug.

"Don't talk about such things, Hermione," he snapped.

"Why not?" She demanded. "You know who I am! I need answers- I need to know why I'm here! That book is the only chance I've got!"

Aberforth glanced around warily and cast a spell to avoid eavesdroppers. This was a very delicate conversation to be had and one that he could not risk being overheard.

"That book is not something to be trifled with."

"Perhaps not but it is the only thing that could possibly give me answers! Merlin sent me here, you know that! He gave me his Magic! I need to know why!"

Aberforth rolled his neck, shutting his eyes for a brief moment. "No, you don't. Just accept that he gave you his Magic so that you could be here. Don't worry about the Book, Hermione. Only death and pain come to those who seek it."

Hermione stood up moving closer to the man. "Please Aberforth..." Hermione pleaded. "I'm in a new time, with new Magic. I have no idea who I am anymore. Even my Magic is no longer mine. Merlin's Book - his Book could give me the answers I need."

"But do you truly need those answers?"

Hermione hesitated: she knew it was a risky business to go looking for the Book, she knew that if she found it and managed to access it, the Book would be her responsibility, hers to protect. No one had ever managed to take the Book from its resting place but all knew that if they did ever reach the Book, they could not make the decision to do so lightly. Having the Book was a lot of responsibility, a burden to carry for the remainder of the possessor's life.

"Yes," Hermione said, urgently. "Surely Merlin meant for me to have it! Otherwise why else would he write a book and hide it somewhere only his Heir could find it? What would be the point? He knew he had no Heirs! But I have his Magic, I'm the closest thing to an Heir he could get. I can feel it deep down, maybe it's his Magic or maybe it's just me, but I can feel it. That book was made for me, something the Four Founders also believe.

"Surely you understand why I need it? Of course, I have my suspicions as to why I was sent here and what I need to change, but what if I'm wrong? What if Merlin intended something else entirely? Or what if I am doing exactly as he wanted but his Book contains ideas or explanations that would make everything so much easier and faster for me?"

Aberforth watched Hermione carefully before nodding his head and placing the mug on the shelf. He would tell her what he knew. That didn't mean she'd ever find the Book. It had been centuries and still no one had seen hide nor hair of the Book. Of course, that could have something to do with the fact that any who even came close to finding the Book ended up dead.

He sighed. "Very well, it seems your mind is made up and nothing I can say will change your mind. Come back during your next Hogsmeade weekend. I'll tell you everything I know. Which is not much, anyway."

"Why not now, while I'm here?"

"It's not a conversation to have in public. And some research needs to be done."

The Delacour witch smiled at the man gratefully, knowing that she shouldn't push her luck. Jumping off the high stool Hermione walked calmly away and turned before reaching the door. "Why aren't you using the spell I gave you? Your mugs would be much cleaner," she laughed.

"Hermione," the old man sighed, shaking his head. "The dirty glasses keep the students away."

The bushy haired brunette left the Hog's Head and went straight for the bookstore, hoping for a new bit of light reading. The bell above the door rang as she pushed open the door and smiled at the owner standing behind the register and nodded to the two men standing at the counter politely in greeting. So lost was she in her thoughts of Merlin's book that she didn't really take in their appearance. If she had been more alert, she would have most likely noticed that the two men were watching her move around. One in curiosity and the other in hunger.

It was just as Hermione had found one book she wanted that a hand landed on the small of her back. Gasping in surprise Hermione turned to face the man as she dropped the book, only for a hand attached to a different body to catch it before it hit the ground. Hermione's eyes first landed on Lucius Malfoy who smirked at her.

"Forgive me, Miss Delacour," he apologized. "I did not mean to frighten you."

"I was merely surprised," Hermione shook her head.

"I believe this was yours," another deeper voice spoke from her other side, a pale hand holding out the tome she had dropped.

Hermione's heart skipped a beat when she heard the voice. It was the most beautiful and mesmerizing voice she had ever heard. It was deep, as smooth as velvet, and every word spoken was perfectly articulated with one of the most wonderful accents she had ever heard. She turned slowly as she took back her book.

"Yes, thank you, Sir," she thanked him.

Hermione's reaction to his voice was nothing compared to her reaction to his physique. She had never thought herself to be superficial, to be the kind of person easily affected by a man's looks but she was still female and this man standing before her was absolute perfection. He stood straight, with a perfect posture and he was tall. His skin was pale but unblemished and contrasted magnificently with his black locks, styled in such a way that it was brushed away from his face in what seemed to be a careless but tidy manner. His wizarding robe spoke of status and riches beyond anything she knew, a mix of black, green and silver materials that gave him a regal appearance. When her gaze finally landed on his face her breath caught in her throat when she noticed his pink lips, his pearly white teeth that would be the dream of any dentist, his nose that had obviously never been broken, his gracefully arched eyebrows, and his startlingly sky blue eyes. The man grinned smugly and victoriously when he found all the signs he usually found in a woman who was getting ready to waltz right into the palm of his hands.

"I don't believe we've ever had the pleasure of meeting, Miss... I'm afraid I don't recall what Lucius called you," he said, his tone regretful and sheepish.

"Miss Delacour, Sir," Hermione smiled, reaching out to shake his hand. "And you are?"

The man grinned, taking her hand in his. "Please, call me Tom," he introduced himself, noticing as something in her gaze shifted and she appeared a bit less dazed.

"Tom?" She asked, her heart frozen in fear as her whole body tensed.

"Yes," Tom confirmed. "Tom Riddle."

Hermione's hand snapped out of his just before he could place a respectful kiss to the back of her hand. She cursed her knee-jerk reaction when the Dark Lord glanced up at her in genuine surprised. Hoping to smooth over the incident and not draw attention to it, Hermione smiled at him and Lucius.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Riddle," she claimed, causing Tom to frown when she took a step away. "Lucius, I shall see you around but I really must get going. I'm to meet with my friends in a few minutes."

Saying nothing more, Hermione tried to leave the store calmly. But the gaze she could feel burning into her back made her incredibly nervous. Tom Riddle's gaze was half amused, half annoyed. The girl had had the same reaction to him as all women did and for a moment, Voldemort had believed that acquiring her would be as easy as everyone else he set his sights on. That changed however, as soon as they touched and he introduced himself. The Dark Lord was really quite shocked when she wrenched her hand from his. Never had someone ever acted in such a way with him. Indeed, those who knew of him as the Dark Lord would react with fear, those who knew nothing about him would blush or preen under his attention. Hermione Delacour... She had reacted in neither fashion.

Tom leaned against the shelf, his thumb rubbing against his lower lip as he smirked, staring after the girl. What a curious witch she was. Though he had not immediately recognized the look in her eyes when she pulled away from him, as soon as she forced a strained smile on her face while excusing herself, he had identified the emotion she was holding back.

Disgust. Pure, unadulterated disgust. Tom chuckled to himself. That was the first time he had ever been faced with disgust. Fear, hate, rage, respect, awe... Those were all emotions Riddle was familiar with, always directed towards him and always with a reason. Hermione Delacour had no reason to look at him in such a way. He had never met her before and he had certainly done nothing to deserve her disgust. Not that I know of, he thought.

"Well, the Rat Plan was a complete bust," James declared, dropping down into a seat across from Hermione who was in the Library with Pandora and Adrian.

"I'm sorry?" Hermione asked, at a loss.

"You're forgiven. Though, it is all your fault," he accused, with a glare.

Hermione frowned. "I don't understand?"

"The Rat Plan that you gave us the 'go ahead' on, of course!" James said, his tone suggesting this was obvious.

"I haven't a clue what you're talking about," she shook her head.

"Moony's in a right state ever since we told him you agreed with us!"

"But I never agreed to any Rat Plot," Hermione denied, the deep frown still in place.

"Plan. And yes, yes, you did! I remember, we were sitting at this very table and you told me, Sirius and Peter to: 'Do whatever you want, if it makes you happy.' And the Rat Plan made me and the boys very happy," the wizard spoke, nodding solemnly to his own words.

"When was this? How come I don't remember?"

"You don't remember?" James asked in what seemed to be exaggerated innocence. "You were reading the Hogwarts: A History book," he recalled, hoping to jog her memory.

"I was reading?! Well, no wonder I don't remember! I wasn't paying attention to a word you and the others were saying!" Hermione exclaimed.

"You weren't?" James questioned, with wide eyes full of fake surprise.

"No, I wasn't, thus I have nothing to do with this Rat Plot."

"Rat Plan," James corrected.

Hermione glared at him. "That is irrelevant."

"Perhaps, but nonetheless, you told us we could do it, and since we were counting on your knowledge to discourage us from possible mistakes: it's your fault it went wrong."

"Since when did I become your official Prank Advisor?!" The brunette demanded.

"Um, since this summer when you helped with the Petal Prank," Sirius claimed as if it were obvious as he joined the group.

"I refuse," Hermione stated.

"You can't, you've already been appointed the position," Peter claimed, as he too sat at the table.

"Without my consent!" Hermione argued.

"Doesn't matter," James shrugged.

Hermione's gaze went from one boy to another before her shoulders slumped in defeat. "You should have at least made sure I was listening!" She scolded.

"Merlin! You're supposed to be one of the smartest witches in our year! The whole point was that we wanted to ask you when you weren't listening!"

"Excuse me?" Hermione asked, confused.

Sirius sighed as if this were an explanation he didn't think was necessary for someone with a brain. "We asked you your advice on the prank while you were reading so that you wouldn't be paying attention, and since you would be annoyed with us disturbing you, you would agree with anything we said and encourage us to do it quickly. Thus, when we went through with the prank and it ended up going wrong, we wouldn't be to blame: you would. Being our Prank Advisor and all that."

"What's the point of having a Prank Advisor, if you don't actually want to be advised?" Hermione inquired, her voice exhausted and resigned.

"So that we can blame the Prank Advisor when things go wrong, obviously," James proclaimed.

"Fine," Hermione breathed, tired. "So this Rat Plot-"

"Plan," James corrected, once again.

Hermione waved him away. "-on Remus went wrong and when he woke up, he blamed all of you?" The boys nodded. "And then you blamed me?" They nodded. "And he believed you?" This time the shook their heads negatively. "Then it was pointless to blame me."

"No, it was not, because even if he didn't believe us, we know who is actually to blame: you," Sirius and James declared.

Hermione dropped her head into her hands and rubbed her temples. "You boys are going to kill me before my Hogwarts years are over," she mumbled.

Grinning, Sirius stood to leave. "That's the plan, Delacour."

"Prat," the witch snapped.

"Twit," Sirius quipped.

Taliesin always knew they would come for him. Though, that did not mean he would make it easy for them. For the first year evading the group of wizards hunting him was relatively easy. Their plans were simple and direct. Their decisions once made were final. For the first year, Taliesin was amused, dancing away from them, standing just within their grasp, mocking them and then disappearing.

By the time the second year rolled around, Taliesin was tired. It would be so simple to let himself fall into their greedy hands. Many times during that year, Taliesin considered staying put and waiting for them to come. Whenever he did think that though, he recalled his visions of the curly haired witch and departed once again. She was so young. He would not leave her to her fate. Not yet.

And so, for the rest of that second year, Taliesin avoided capture still. And for the two years after, as well. Now, after four years on the run, Taliesin sat by a camp fire, an impressive bear skin wrapped around his shoulders and his face tired and resigned. These four years on the run had taken their toll on him: his face once young and radiant was now wrinkled and used; his hair, once fair and wavy, was now grey and stringy; his body, once tall and muscular, was now hunched and scrawny. He was but a shell of the man he used to be.

Suddenly, his eyes turned black, reflecting the flickering flames, and his whole body tensed. He breathed heavily as his gaze cleared and his shoulders drooped. His time had come to an end. They were here and he could not escape them. It seemed they were not as idiotic as he had believed them and after years of playing cats and mouse they had finally found his weakness. How to outsmart him: they remained undecided.

In fact, they made no decisions at all. They wandered randomly and they separated, closing their eyes and letting themselves be guided by their Magic. No matter how great a Seer he was, even he could not keep up with the immediate futures of ten undecided men.

Taliesin had never been talented in any other forms of Magic other than divination. He was practically a squib despite being the strongest Seer since Merlin and Morgan Le Fey. So he knew, that once they found him, he would not succeed in escaping them. If he ran, they would catch up to him. He was out of options.

He sighed when, finally, the black robed wizards popped up around him and forced him violently to the ground. He may be caught and he may not be able to fight in the same way they could but there was no way in hell that he was going to give the so called Dark Lord what he wanted.

His hands were tied behind his back and then the landscape changed, instead of trees and mountains, he watched as he was pushed towards a magnificent manor. Perhaps I will be allowed to enjoy luxuries before dying, Taliesin thought with a chuckle. Or perhaps not, he realized as he was dragged down into the dungeons. However, as soon as he was shoved inside a cell, Taliesin found himself quite pleased with his accommodations.

"Yes, not bad at all," he commented to himself as he settled himself onto the cot in the corner. Having spent four years in the wild, a cot, no matter how terrible it was, was still a bed, something he had not had for a long time. He realized he was going to enjoy his final moments in life before the torture and ultimate death.

It was hours later that someone finally entered. "My old friend!" Taliesin declared, a large, pleased grin on his face.

"Taliesin," Abraxas greeted with a solemn nod.

"Am I no longer deserving of a handshake?" The old looking wizard questioned.

"I'm afraid you lost that form of respect when you ran four years ago."

"Ran?" Taliesin laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "I didn't have much of a choice, did I?"

"You could have stayed and given the Dark Lord the information he sought," Abraxas argued.

"I've never been the kind to sit around and wait when other options are available," Taliesin reminded his captor.

"You did today."

"Ahh, but I had no other options," the grey wizard informed. "All possible futures led to my capture and death. I am not so foolish as to think I can escape the inescapable."

The Malfoy patriarch stared at his friend. "You've grown old."

"That tends to happen in four years."

Malfoy shook his head. "You've been alive for at least a couple centuries. Why have four years changed you so?" He was curious.

"Fate wanted me alive for this moment. Soon, I will die, be it at your master's hand or by Time's hand, the outcome is all the same."

"You've simply accepted your death?" Abraxas inquired, shocked.

"All men must die," Taliesin stated, grave words belittled by a careless shrug.

"Not all men," Abraxas spat, glancing behind himself as if checking that no one was listening in.

Taliesin chuckled darkly, a slightly unhinged look taking over his green eyes.

"Foolish words, Abraxas. I always took you for a smart boy. I See now that I was wrong."