Chapter 3: Fire

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"In Life's name, and for Life's sake..." - The Book of Night with Moon

---

Harry gasped in shock and realisation as he recognised the girl. She stalked forwards, a predator, towards the hat, where she sat elegantly upon the stool and placed the hat on her head.

'Slytherin,' thought Harry. 'No question about it.'

The hat took a full minute to decide, and it was obvious by Genevieve's distant eyes that they were talking to each other. Finally though, a decision was made. The Sorting Hat opened its brim wide and yelled, "Gryffindor!"

The Gryffindors clapped loudly, except for Harry; Ron nudged him as the girl approached their table, and whispered, "Funny eyes, eh mate? And that definitely isn't a Bulgarian name."

Harry made a noise of agreement, without really listening to what Ron was saying. That girl; Diana Genevieve; there was no way he trusted her. Unless it was her mother, she'd been the one at the Quidditch game - the woman who'd taken the magpie's feather. But why had she come here, and why in disguise?

He was brought back to reality by Dumbledore's voice. "Due to circumstances, Professor Grubbly-Planks will be returning to teach Care of Magical Creatures for the first term; and also joining us is Arabella Figg, who will be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts." He paused to gaze around the room. "Quidditch will be on this year, at the usual time; the Forbidden Forest is still forbidden; and I believe there are a host of items on the forbidden list, including all the items produced under the title of Weasleys Wizard Wheezes."

Fred and George burst into fake tears at this, much to everyone's amusement (excluding Snape, Filch, the Slytherins, and the Bulgarians - who didn't know about the twins' endeavours of mischief).

"And finally, I have just two more words to say..." the headmaster announced. "Eat up!"

As soon as the bowls and plates of food appeared on the table, the students rushed to fill their stomachs. Harry, however, listened closely to what Genevieve was saying when questioned by the other, curious students.

"Are you staying for the whole year, then?" asked Seamus Finnigan, his mouth stuffed full of chicken a moment later. Genevieve laughed. "I'm afraid not," she said in perfect English. "Whereas my classmates are, I will be returning home in a fortnight. I am taking only temporary leave, rather than extended leave."

A few unimportant questions showed only that she would be in fifth year, and that she was an only child. A few minutes later, someone finally asked a valid question. "Are you British?" queried Dean Thomas. "You don't look Bulgarian, and your name and accent certainly aren't." Genevieve answered the question without a moments hesitation. "My parents were from London." she answered. "They moved away to Bulgaria, taking me with them."

When asked about her eyes, Genevieve simply laughed. "A spell gone wrong." she said, and no more.

---

The next morning at breakfast, the timetables were passed out, and Harry was interested to see that the first lesson was 'Divin./Mag-Lang.', which meant that as he was taking Magical Languages, he would only be having Divination twice a week instead of thrice. "Are you taking the optional class?" Hermione asked him, and Harry nodded. "Good," she said, pleased. "Ron isn't, and I was worried I'd be the only one of us."

It turned out that they weren't the only ones; two Ravenclaws, and Draco Malfoy had also deigned themselves acceptable to the class, which was taught by a teacher Harry didn't know; Professor Clayton, a stern but friendly man who had worked at Hogwarts for the past decade or so.

The first lesson was quite simple; they didn't learn anything, but had an introduction to the three languages they would learn - Mermish, the language of the Merpeople; Telepathy, a mind communication through the sending of mental images; and Phoex, the language of the Phoenixes.

"Wizards and Witches have a faster and better memory with languages than Muggles." the teacher explained, answering Harry's unspoken question of how they were to learn two languages and one semi-language in a year.

"We magic-users originally even had our own language from Atlantis, a few thousand years ago, written in Sorcerous Runes - not to be confused with normal runes." Clayton said proudly, as Harry shifted his necklace back into place, from where it had been slipping. It felt strangely warm. "The Atlantean language has over four-hundred symbols, and in the days when illiteracy was common, it was an amazing skill to be able to read them or speak the words; now, the understanding has been lost forever, since Atlantis sank. But I'm not here to teach you about that! I'm to teach you about the three languages on the curriculum." And with that, he continued into his introduction to the subject, and how quickly he expected them to progress in their learning.

Harry and Hermione left the lesson feeling pleased and confident.

---

Deep under the Atlantic Ocean, surrounded by the pillars of an ancient courtyard belonging to a long destroyed palace, fish with eyes used to the never-ending black of the murky waters swam and looked for food and mates. In the centre of the courtyard, a raised slab, on what looked like some kind of burial tomb, cracked slightly.

The slab was made of stone, several inches thick, and perfectly smooth and plain - another crack appeared, started from the underneath. The fish swam a little further away, unsure of the self-destroying slab.

And suddenly, a fist slammed up through the inches thick rock, shattering it and allowing it to crumble to pieces of tiny stone, which was swept away by the water as it rushed in to fill the now open tomb. Apparently unaffected by the pressure which should have killed even a whale at this depth, and the total lack of air, a short, skinny girl with tanned skin, long red hair, and strange golden eyes sat up, frowning at her fist that she'd smashed her way to freedom with. "Damn," she said, a large bubble issuing forth from her mouth. "I think I broke a nail."

---

Defence Against the Dark Arts was next after the short break, and Harry was sure that Professor Figg was familiar from somewhere. She had short, dark brown hair, and blue eyes, and seemed to be in her late thirties; but Harry was certain he'd met her before. She didn't show any signs of recognising him though, so he ignored it.

"For the next week, we'll be studying daemons." she announced once everyone had settled down, earning more than a few stares and cries of alarm - and a few blank looks from Harry and some Muggle-borns.

"Since I couldn't find any good books on daemons," Figg continued, pretending she'd never heard the students, "I'll be teaching you what I know about them myself. Now, what is a daemon? Anyone?"

Hermione's hand shot up, along with a few others'. "A daemon," she said when Professor Figg nodded towards her, "is an intelligent non-human, whose extreme magical powers are solely Dark. They're usually humanoid and black, with bat-like wings, and take pleasure in death and pain. There are various types though, and while no-one knows where they come from, they can be Summoned to do their caller's bidding, or banished to wherever the came from. There's rumours that Unspeakables banish daemons, though it isn't proved."

Figg nodded, pleased. "Excellent answer, Miss Granger. Twenty points to Gryffindor. Now, there are about sixteen types of daemon, but I'm going to focus on four of them in particular. The first is the most common one, which as Hermione described is black and humanoid with bat-like wings. This is called the Volucris Daemon, and is the one most often Summoned. They have high magical power - if you assume the average of Wizards is in the three-hundreds, a Volucris is usually in the six-hundreds. However, this can only be used to hurt, and they can't heal or Apparate. However, their magic is wandless, and they instinctively know where each species' weak points are."

Harry listened in fascination, taking down notes on wing-spans, food, ages, the types of cries it made, the young it had; how they could be banished using a complicated ritual, which took years to master; what magic they used, and how they could be detected. The whole class was disappointed by the time the bell rang for lunch, and Professor Figg dismissed them, telling them that they'd be continuing learning about Volucris Daemons next lesson.

"And the lesson after that," she smirked, "I have something pretty special planned."

---

The girl, who looked to be about seventeen, was shooting directly up through the water, kicking her legs furiously and bringing her arms up and down with incredible force. Her face was lifted determinedly to the air above her, away from the ruins of the city of Atlantis. Fish scattered as she hurtled past them, the water becoming clearer and more lit as she went further up, closer to the light of the Sun.

Her clothes; a long red robe, tied with brown cord round the waist, and brown boots; were soaking, her flowing hair was floating quite happily now, but would be stuck limply to her face when it was out of the water.

Yet still, she showed no sign of tiring, no need to take any breaths of air, no fear of dying here; in fact she seemed quite content to be swimming upwards from thousands of metres below sea level. At the speed she was going, she took only a few more minutes to finally splash to the top, her head in the fresh sea air.

Her hair, just as expected, was sticking to her face, and she pushed it out of her eyes. There were no ships, nor any land nearby, much to her obvious disappointment, so she closed her eyes for a second and concentrated.

A violet glow surrounded her, with black shapes like runes moving around it. The violet aura shifted in shape and size every few milliseconds, curling out and straightening at the edges - though it was only there a couple of seconds, before the girl and the glow flickered and disappeared. By a small, run-down cottage in the middle of Thetford Forest, a girl and a purple, rune-filled glow silently appeared out of no-where.

---

"Figg was brilliant." Ron declared to all the Gryffindors that lunch. "Wasn't she?"

"She's almost as good as Lupin." Harry agreed, and the other fifth-years who had been to her class nodded their approval of her. "The lesson was amazing." resolved Hermione happily. "I was a bit worried, seeing as how we've had usually had our teachers turn out to be unsuitable - but I think we've finally got a good teacher!"

Harry decided not to comment that he still thought Lupin would be better, and finished his food.

"I have to go and sort out a few things." he told his friends, getting up. "See you in Charms!"

Ron and Hermione nodded a goodbye as he left the Hall and made his way to the dormitory. No-one was in there, so he loaded his laptop and copied down the notes of the ingredients he would need for the Familiar ritual.

Three yellow candles; three brown candles; a gram of violet; a gram of cloves; a gram of coltsfoot; half a gram of sage wisdom; two grams of rosemary; a piece of black chalk; a string of red ribbon and a piece of the animal type. All of which could probably be bought in Hogsmeade, whenever they chose to go. If Ron and Hermione didn't want to visit the village, he'd have to do it by himself - although that was probably best anyway, so they didn't ask questions about what he was buying...

Harry frowned. Yes, that was probably the best way to do it. Shake the two of them off him for a while and get the ingredients from Hogsmeade on his own. His mind made up, Harry set about choosing the date for his trip.

---

"Subject FB/P/26H is nearly ready, Sir Abyssay." Tom announced, smiling proudly. "My army is ready and willing to die for the Cause, and protect the people. Your orders, Sir?"

Sir Abyssay lit a new cigar - slim, short, and costing more than the average person would make in a week - and took a breath of it, holding it with gloves that were whiter than seemed possible. "Good. How much longer?"

"A year at most. The Test will be before the end of the year - if all goes to plan, I won't be around to comment on its success. If I am around, I'll have to comment on its failure." Tom stopped grinning when he saw Sir Abyssay wasn't in the least bit amused. "I would prefer it, Commander," spoke the aforementioned leader coldly, "if you would crack the jokes outside work hours." The voice was that of the upper-class English; clipped and sharp.

"I see from the latest report that his reflexes need to be improved. Get Malfoy off, and find someone else; someone more challenging, so he'll practice a bit more. And increase his duelling training; he's going to need it."

"Lucius won't like it." Tom warned, but at a glare from Sir Abyssay, he shut up. "Yes, Sir." he acknowledged.

---

Lessons over the next two days continued as normal. Genevieve didn't try to kill anyone, and Harry had to admit he was starting to feel a bit stupid for suspecting her of anything; all she was doing was the same thing the other Bulgarians were doing - asking a few questions about the British Wizarding population, and reading the Daily Prophet eagerly for an understanding of British Wizarding media and politics (most of which involved Fudge denying Voldemort's return, and a distinct lack of Rita Skeeter).

There had been no more Defence classes yet, much to the trios' chagrin, but Harry did have one reason to be cheered up; Hermione was tutoring a second year for that afternoon, and Ron was taking part in an unofficial Gryffindor chess tournament, which meant Harry got a chance to slip away to Hogsmeade.

As a fifth year, Harry was allowed to visit Hogsmeade whenever he wanted, as long as it was out of school hours, and not too late. So at seven o'clock, he found himself entering the sleepy village and scanning the buildings for any shops that looked as though they might sell what he wanted. Being September, it was dark, but there was enough light to see by, and he quickly spotted an apothecary where he could buy the herbs. They were easily taken care of; bought in clear bags with a twist of black cord around the top.

A shop selling all kinds of objects for use in spells sold candles - Harry bought a large set, which included three of each colour; blue, brown, gold, green, orange, pink, purple, silver, white, yellow and black; when the shop-keeper informed him that different coloured candles had different effects, and helped different types of spells, which Harry thought could be useful if he needed candles for any other rituals he wanted to perform in the future.

He was glad that he only needed a length of ribbon and some chalk now; thirty-three candles and five packets, each carrying a hundred grams of herbs, was a lot of carry even with a lightweight charm on them from the helpful shop-keeper - who Harry suspected wouldn't have been quite so helpful if he hadn't have bought over five Galleons worth of candles; over twelve pounds worth of wax and string.

Harry again bought a set of items further down the road - this time a set of chalk in white, silver, black, gold and grey, the box having two sticks of each colour. Again, they affected the spell being cast.

Finally, there was only the ribbon left, which Harry bought for practically nothing in a small gift shop. It was about two feet long, smooth, and crimson. Harry put it into the bag with his herbs, shifted the other bag with the huge box of candles into a more comfortable position, and made his way to The Three Broomsticks to celebrate his victory within an hours worth of shopping. He knew just what animal he wanted to use, and everything was ready.

Ordering a Butterbeer, Harry set his bags down at a corner table, where an abandoned copy of the Daily Prophet lay. Sipping his drink, Harry scanned through the headlines. Meaghan McCormack; Lack of Pride! cried the front page, making a bad pun about her playing as Chaser in the Pride of Portree, and her recently discovered steroid addiction. The next pages were just as gossiping and scandal-filled; the only ones it seemed, that weren't, were the entertainment page which announced Celestina Warbeck's latest single ('Magic All Around You') and the sports page, which were offering three to one odds in favour of a Tornadoes victory over the Kestrels.

Harry was about to put it back down, when he heard a voice that he'd made sure to remember; Genevieve's.

He pulled the newspaper back in front of his face, shuffled closer to the corner of the room, and pretended to read, while he listened to what she was saying as she sat down at a table nearby. "I'm telling you," she snapped angrily to someone, "Potter's the one we're after, Natasha. He's got one of the feathers, and he wouldn't have taken it if he wasn't the one. It's him, no matter what Master says, and we're not allowed to do a damned thing."

Harry perked up when he heard his name said, and quickly realised who she was talking to. Natasha; Natasha Nikastal, one of the Bulgarians who had been Sorted into Hufflepuff. She was next to speak, in English tinged with a Bulgarian accent. "Maybe so," she said coolly, "but we can't do anything until Master orders it; and until we've got absolute proof, he won't let us do anything that could endanger our positions."

Harry lowered the paper slightly to get a good look at Natasha. The two girls were sipping Butterbeers, Genevieve looking livid and Nikastal just appearing bored. She had long, straight black hair, which fell to just below her shoulders, and her skin was pale from living in such a cold climate all her life. Her lashes were thick, hanging over icy blue eyes. When not in her 'sweet Hufflepuff' act, she looked cold and threatening. Harry wondered briefly why she hadn't been Sorted into Slytherin, and then lifted the paper back in front of his face.

"Maybe not," growled Genevieve, "so we'd better get some proof as soon as possible. I have a couple of weeks, and when I'm gone, you won't be able to do a thing. Your sister can only cover for you for a while."

"We could do a few tests." Nikastal suggested. "Or we could torture and interrogate Dumbledore - he'd have to know, and then we'd have definite proof of whether it's Potter."

"That would go against the rules." Genevieve grumbled, finishing her drink. "Of course, we could slip a truth potion into his drink, and then question him; and erase his memory, of course - no, that wouldn't work... This would be so much easier if Potter could just meet with an accident!" she finally sighed, and it sounded as though she'd put her empty glass back down on the table top. Nikastal sounded amused.

"I think that would certainly be against the rules, and you'd never manage it anyway - Potter's better protected than Sir Abyssay, and that's saying something."

"Which is exactly why Potter's obviously the one we're looking for!" Diana snapped. "Even if it were a coincidence with the whole 'Boy-Who-Lived'-thing, and things had just gone wrong - or if they arranged that to get us off the trail of the real boy - why would they stick so many powerful wards around him?"

"As they said, to get us off the real one's trail." Nikastal pointed out. "We can't afford to do it wrong, or everyone will see that we played right into their hands. And when they know that we know he's the wrong boy, they'll protect the real one even more."

"But don't you see?" Diana begged imploringly, "Potter is the real one! I know he is!"

Nikastal's empty glass clinked down on the table, and the chairs scraped as they got up. "We need proof, not wild speculations," Natasha hissed, making Harry's blood turn to ice. "If we don't find the right one, you'll be destroyed and I'll be turned down - or worse, I'll be destroyed with you. You may have worked for the cause longer than I have, but I'm seriously starting to doubt your abilities. If we kill the wrong one, we're screwed. Got it?"

There was a stunned silence from Genevieve, and Harry could imagine her scowl of loathing coming back at full force when she got over the shock of this insubordination.

"Let's go." she growled, seemingly unable to find words enough to express herself. With that, she turned and stalked to the door and left, followed by Natasha.

Harry waited a minute to make sure they were gone, then threw down the newspaper, grabbed his purchases and ran out of the pub, heading back to Hogwarts with thoughts of wonder and fear running through his head.

---

After packing the ingredients in his chest, Harry lay back on his bed and stared at the top of four-poster bed. It was completely unbelievable; the girls had made it sound as though they wanted to kill him for something other than being the Boy-Who-Lived - but why? There was nothing else special about him.

And what did they mean, a coincidence? It could hardly have been pre-planned; and how could 'it' have gone wrong? Who was Sir Abyssay? Who was the girls' Master? Voldemort? What rules? And what had the feather he'd taken got to do with anything? Harry groaned it anger at his ignorance, and rolled over. Maybe, he thought suddenly as he was hit by a bolt of inspiration, Maybe it had something to do with the letter his parents had sent him...

Harry opened the first compartment of his trunk from where he lay, and re-read the letter. Special; unique; the words jumped out the page. Harry felt a queasy tingling in his stomach; Diana Genevieve was right - whatever their reason for searching, he was the one they were looking for. Still, as long as Nikastal was unconvinced, he was safe.

"Harry, mate?" Ron's voice interrupted his thoughts, and Harry quickly but casually returned the envelope to the trunk, and locked it, while asking, "What?"

Ron paused for a moment. "Where were you? You've been missing over an hour."

"Hogsmeade." Harry said quickly, and Ron was silent. "Oh," he said finally, although sounding a little suspicious of this reply. They stood staring at each other, uncomfortable and challenging. "Did you get anything?"

"No. Nothing much there."

Another silence that seemed deafeningly loud.

Finally, Ron nodded, seeming to accept this information, and left the room. When he was gone, Harry let out a sigh of relief. First thing in the morning, he would have to tell Dumbledore about Diana and Natasha; the sooner Dumbledore got them out of the school, the better - and perhaps he could get a few explanations while he was there.

---

The next morning, Harry asked Hermione to tell Professor Binns he had gone to the headmaster, and left as soon as possible. Neither of the two asked why he was going; Harry knew they suspected he'd had another dream of Voldemort, one too terrible to speak to them about, or important enough to tell Dumbledore of.

Harry, now keeping a close eye on the two girls, felt their eyes on his back while he left the Great Hall after breakfast, and was relieved to enter the empty, stone corridor. He wasn't so pleased, however, when he reached the headmaster's office and realised he didn't know the password.

"Ah... er... Chocolate Frogs; Fizzing Whizbees; Sherbet lemons; Cockroach Cluster; um... Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans; Ton-Tongue-Toffee; Ice Mice; Sugar Quill; Canary Creams -" The gargoyle slid aside. Harry stared a moment in disbelief at the password, and then gathered himself together and headed up the stairs.

He knocked on the door at the top, and was glad to hear Dumbledore's voice asking him to come in.

"Harry." the headmaster smiled, eyes twinkling in an amused way. "Is there a particular reason for this visit, or have you just stopped by to exchange pleasantries?" He was seated behind his desk, and as Harry had entered, slipped a letter he had been reading away into a drawer. Harry watched curiously as he locked it.

"There's a reason, professor." Harry said, remembering himself. "It's about two of the Bulgarians - Natasha Nikastal and Diana Genevieve. I went out shopping in Hogsmeade yesterday, and they were there."

Dumbledore, if anything, looked even more amused. "I hardly think that's a punishable offence, Harry, so there must be something else. Please continue."

Harry fidgeted nervously and then went on, "Well, I went into The Three Broomsticks, and pretty soon, they came in and started talking. They were saying stuff about looking for a boy, and not knowing who it was - though they suspected me. And they were suggesting stuff like putting a truth potion in your drink to find who it was - and they kept talking about their 'Master', and someone called Sir Abyssay..."

As Harry spoke, Dumbledore's expression grew serious, and his eyes grim. "I see." he said finally. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I will make sure Miss Genevieve and Miss Nikastal are taken care of."

Harry couldn't hide an apprehensive shiver at those words. Taken care of. Just thinking about how the headmaster said them gave him the chills. "Professor," he plucked up the courage to say, "What were they talking about? And who are they?" he forced out, begging for a reply.

Dumbledore took off his glasses and cleaned them slowly, his face now expressionless. "As to who they were, I suspected nothing more of them than two Bulgarian students; and it is very likely that they are impostors, and the real students are dead. Until they have been questioned, however, I have no idea. As for what they were talking about, come up here after you've finished your lessons for the day, and I will explain everything. Is that all right?"

"Yes. Thank you, Professor." Harry said a little uncertainly. As he opened the door to leave, he suddenly paused and turned back round. "Professor?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"Is it - is it anything to do with Voldemort?" For some reason, he didn't think it was, but Dumbledore sighed deeply, as if not knowing how to phrase the answer. "Everything, and nothing, Harry. I'll explain later."

---

All through the History of Magic, break, and Transfiguration lessons, Harry couldn't keep focused. His thoughts were far away from school, and darted around ideas, fantasies and half-formed imaginings of what explanations Dumbledore might give. Perhaps they were spies from Voldemort under Polyjuice, or perhaps they were undercover agents from the Ministry, here to check up on rumours of the 'Dark Lord' Harry Potter!

Or maybe - just maybe - they were part of a secret organisation led by another Dark Lord, who was hoping to become even more powerful than Voldemort! Or they could be thieves, and Dumbledore had taken in another rare object, and they'd come to steal -

"Harry, the bell went over a minute ago." Hermione's voice cut into his reverie, curious and a little worried.

Harry, in shock at this voice coming out of the silence, leapt up and looked around, people had finished packing their bags, and were just leaving the room for lunch. Harry winced at his daydreaming. "Sorry, guys."

"That's okay. You've been acting funny all morning." Ron said cheerfully, but not very tactfully. Hermione shut him up by elbowing him in the ribs, while Harry shoved his stuff into his bag. Ron frowned as he noticed a hold-up at the door. "What's happening?"

Dean, who was staring down the corridor, bemused, replied. "It's Diana. Snape just came by and told her the headmaster wanted to see her. I wonder what's happening?"

Harry's ears had pricked as soon as Dean mentioned Genevieve. "Did he say why?"

"No," Dean answered, and left. Hermione looked at Harry curiously. "Why do you want to know?"

"Since you're such a believer in Divination," Harry said quizzically as they left the room themselves, "Here's a prediction for you. I predict that Genevieve and Nikastal - Natasha Nikastal in Hufflepuff - won't be around by the afternoon. Care to make any bets on that? 'Cause I'm pretty certain I'm on to a winner, here."

Hermione and Ron, thinking that Harry's dream of the previous night showed the girls dying, said nothing.

---

At lunch, Dumbledore, Snape and McGonagall were missing for the first twenty minutes. They came in all together, Snape looking nastier than usual, McGonagall with her lips pursed, and Dumbledore with a large smile - probably fake, compared to the other two expressions - plastered over his face.

They took their places behind the staff table, and Dumbledore rapped against his goblet for silence. Once the pupils were paying attention, the headmaster spoke. "Students, I'm afraid I have some bad news. Miss Genevieve has had to cut her visit short, due to an emergency at home, and she has already left. Also, I'm afraid Miss Nikastal; Natasha; was needed, and has left as well. I know it's unfortunate that they did not have time to say goodbye, but I'm afraid it was necessary to get them home as soon as possible.

"After they've finished lunch, I would like it if Leone Nikastal and Draco Malfoy could go to Professor Snape, who will show you to my office. You are not in any trouble. Thank you." With that, Dumbledore sat down, seemingly oblivious to the mutters and whispers that were running around the hall. Two unrelated students had to rush home on the same day, without even saying goodbye? And one of them with a twin not going back? Why?

"Harry, mate? How did you know they weren't coming back?" Ron asked in awe. Hermione clapped her hands to her mouth. "Don't say," she gasped, "that there's been an attack in Bulgaria, and their families are dead!"

Ron scoffed at this. "If their families were dead, they'd have sent Natasha's sister back as well. No, it's obviously something else. So come on, Harry, what is it? And I can understand Leone going up, since her sister's up and left, but why'd Malfoy gone as well?"

"I don't know about Malfoy," Harry admitted honestly, "It might be something completely different. But about the two girls - well, I overheard them talking in Hogsmeade, about them planning to kill m- someone. So I had to tell Dumbledore, and he's probably sent them to the Ministry."

Ron and Hermione's jaws fell open. "You're joking!" Ron breathed. "That's why Leone and Malfoy are up there, then; they think they were helping them, but they don't have the proof yet!"

"Ron, that's stupid. Dumbledore said they weren't in trouble. He's probably just going to explain it all to Leone, and - and it's probably about something else with Malfoy." Hermione scowled. "Who did they want to kill?"

Harry hesitated. Well, he'd have to tell them eventually. "Me." he admitted.

The pairs' jaws fell open even wider. "They're Death Eaters!" Ron gasped, and Harry rolled his eyes.

---

After finishing his lunch, Draco Malfoy went over to where Snape and Leone were waiting. He didn't have a clue what was going on - some girls had gone home, so what? It had nothing to do with him.

Still, he followed the Potions teacher to Dumbledore's office, where the headmaster had returned to a few minutes earlier, and crossed his arms impatiently. The headmaster had bid him and Snape wait outside until he finished with Leone, but they speaking too quietly to pick anything up, and he wasn't going to try an eavesdropping charm with Snape watching him. There were probably wards against it anyway, he thought gloomily.

He managed to catch a few things that were particularly loud; Leone's cry that sounded like grief and horror - Dumbledore calming her - some sobbing that eventually quietened down - some angry shouting from Leone ('What am I supposed to do? Does my mother know?') and a reprimand from the headmaster ('She couldn't help it, neither of them could.'). Malfoy had to admit, it didn't much sound like Natasha had just been sent home.

He hid a smirk. Whatever was going on was big, and he was going to find out just what was happening.

A few minutes later, Leone left, eyes red and raw from crying, her dark brown hair seeming limp, and Malfoy swaggered into the office.

"Yes, Professor?" he asked coolly, taking a seat before he was asked. Dumbledore gave a smile at this, and unlocked one of his drawers, taking out a letter and passing it to the boy.

Dumbledore, it read,

I do not like this arrangement, but I will have to accept. I hope you will find a suitable replacement for Draco, and that he can continue to play until said replacement be found.

Yours sincerely,

Lucius Malfoy

Draco frowned. It was short, sharp, and to the point, like all of his father's letters. It also had a tone of displeasure around it, which Draco picked up straight away. After all, he was an Empath, and this letter reeked of annoyance, but something else as well; a sort of acceptance, as though it were something he had to do.

"What does he mean?" he asked, reading it through again and focusing on the words instead of the emotions.

"It means - and I apologise for this - that you will not be playing on the Slytherin Quidditch team any longer."

Draco went pale. "For all this year?" he gasped, "Why?"

"I'm afraid I mean that you'll not be playing Quidditch for all the time you're here." Dumbledore said gently, knowing how much this would hurt him. "I am most sorry."

"I can Feel you are, but that doesn't explain it!" Draco snapped, forgetting politeness in his anger. "Why?"

Dumbledore sighed. "It is hard to explain. Please believe me, that - unless..." he paused for a moment, thinking. "It would do more good than harm... and it would happen anyway..." he muttered to himself, and Draco Felt the thoughtfulness, inspiration and excitement rolling off him. Finally, he looked back up, and smiled.

"Come here when your lessons have ended, and I will explain everything."

---

Harry was shocked, when he entered the office after Care of Magical Creatures, to see Draco there as well. On the other hand, Draco was just as shocked to see him. Harry took a seat when Dumbledore offered it; they were now all sitting around his desk, the headmaster gazing gravely at them.

"What you are about to hear," he stated, "is told to no-one. Not your friends, not your family, not your teachers. It is not to be recorded in Pensieves, or written in books or on paper. It is not to be taped onto cassettes, or said in your sleep. Do you understand, and promise this?"

Harry's heart beat faster in his excitement, and the two boys nodded eagerly. A strange tension filled the air.

Dumbledore rose and held out his wand - maple, Harry noticed absently, about eleven inches - and told them to touch the tips of their wands to his wands tip. They did so, Harry feeling confused, but Draco seemed to know what was happening. "You'll know the words when you're ready." Dumbledore promised. "This is a type of Fidelius charm. It means that the secrets I will tell you can only be discussed with those who already know of them - whether you know that they know, or not. Understand? Good. Just say what comes into your head."

He cleared his throat. "Do you accept my knowledge and my teaching?"

"I do." Harry and Draco said together immediately.

"Do you accept my discretion, and my privacy?

"I do."

"Will you keep the secret a secret, and hold it only to yourselves and those who know?"

"I will."

"Will you accept the secret as the truth, and not deny me the right to remove the secret from your memory, if I should so desire?"

"I will."

"Then I give you my secret." At these words, the tips of the wands glowed a pale blue, and the three lights merged together, before disappearing. Dumbledore sat back down, and placed his wand atop the desk.

"Nothing is what it seems." he began. Harry remembered the words immediately, from his parents' letter.

"Perhaps," he continued, "I should start ten-thousand years ago, for that is when it began. Please do not interrupt; if you just listen, it will all make sense - or at least," he smiled, "I hope it will.

"Just over ten-thousand years ago, in the year 206 AC, Atlantean time - After Creation, starting from when the city was built - there was a young High Mage named Merlin. This was the man the Arthurian Merlin was named after. He was a Seer, but instead of vague visions, he gave highly detailed prophecies, and was widely respected and admired. He was the palace Seer, and one day a kingdom called Cyrin; a fighting kingdom, which was jealous of the wealth and beauty of Atlantis; declared war.

"The rulers of the Cyrin kingdom were the royal Amarantha family. Their name means 'immortal', for the family had been rulers for hundreds of years without the surname being changed even once. However, the Amarantha king and queen had five sons and daughters, each one highly powerful. After a few months of fighting, the Cyrin kingdom, which wasn't as advanced as Atlantis, began to lose. Terrified at the thought of their first ever defeat, the young princes and princesses found an ancient spell, which required the blood of the parents of the casters. They ritually sacrificed their parents to gain the power to only die through natural causes, so they could fight for a longer time - but the spell would only work on a certain altar, in Atlantis.

"When the five had managed to break silently into the temple, and were about to sacrifice their drugged parents, Merlin suddenly Saw what they were going to do. He grabbed a few guards and ran to the temple to stop them, but he was too late. The rulers of Cyrin were dead, and the five were putting their parents' blood on their faces, to finish the spell. They became immortal, but the guards didn't know this; and as they fought the invaders, the guards were killed.

"Merlin also fought, for he was far more powerful than the average Wizard, and in the battle, he fell against the corpses of the king and queen, and before any of the princes or princesses could stop it, some of their blood went on his forehead. He was immortal, just as they were.

"Knowing that they couldn't win the battle until Merlin, who was older than them, died of natural causes, they fled back to become the rulers of Cyrin. The war continued, but eventually Cyrin gave up, planning to attack once Merlin was dead. However, something had gone wrong. The spell was intended to be used by those who were related to the sacrifices, to make them invincible to unnatural death. But because it was also used by someone unrelated, it made them invincible only to natural death. They could not die of old age, or disease - but they could still be killed by a dagger or arrow.

"This was how it worked for Merlin, as well. After the war ended a few months later, he married the princess of Atlantis, and when the King died, he took his place as a wise and fair ruler. He had a son called Murrough, who was also powerful, though not a Seer. On his death-bed - having been poisoned - Merlin had one final vision.

"Instead of his usual clear ones, this was a poem, which made no sense - or not in Atlantean runes, anyway. He was writing it in modern English, and it was like other prophecies, in that it had to be interpreted. Before anyone could ask him what it meant, however, he passed away.

"When they heard that King Merlin had died of an unnatural cause, the five rulers of Cyrin realised something had happened. They spent over a decade on research, checking what was wrong, worried that they might die, but discovered that were immortal to natural causes. They already knew they hadn't aged, but had assumed that was because of the sacrifice of their parents, making them invincible.

"After their research, they felt brave again, and declared war once more on Atlantis. Now however, they had spent time on researching powerful spells, and Summoned flocks of daemons to sink the entire city into the ocean. Some Atlanteans escaped however, including the queen and Prince Murrough - which, ironically enough, means Sea Warrior. Continuing their life in Britain; no-one is sure of which country in particular; the Prince was raised as a normal boy, for they knew the Cyrin kingdom would kill him and his mother if they knew they hadn't died.

"About three centuries ago, English had got far enough along that Merlin's prophecy could be understood almost completely. It told of a Phoenix - not literally, but someone like one - who had been 'carefully controlled and raised' to fight the Dark. By this time, the immortal siblings were still terrorising the land and sea, though they had grown bored of being rulers, and now just wished to be conquerors. They were often called the Dark, for it seemed that their evil could blot out the Sun, and chill hearts, and anyone who disagreed with them was killed.

"Finally though, the Resistance had a chance. The prophecy told them that someone had a chance of defeating the Dark, having been prepared from centuries ago. At first, an immortal was looked for, but then they realised after trial and error that the prophecy meant it must be prepared right from the start; even the ancestors should be chosen.

"They chose to have selective breeding to produce the most powerful magic-user possible; for even though they could be killed, the Dark was extremely powerful. One of the people who volunteered for the breeding was the powerful descendant of Murrough, son of Merlin. Throughout the centuries, the most powerful magic-users were carefully selected and planned to breed together for power and skill, but something happened. A century ago, one of the Resistance defected, and told the Dark what he knew of the breeding program.

"It wasn't much - he didn't know who the descendant was of the time, or who he or she would be bred with, but he knew of the prophecy, which said when a descendant came that was powerful enough, he could - notice could, not will - defeat the Dark. The Five were immediately terrified. They were still scared of Merlin, and knew his prophecy was real, and started recruiting spies and assassins to hunt down the descendant and kill them.

"This pushed the Resistance further underground, but it still continued.

"Now, each of the Dark had a spell placed on them at birth, in a ritual among the Cyrin royalty, to give them each a power. It was one of the reasons they were so feared. Dagda, the eldest son, was a Telekini, able to move objects with just a thought. Brenna was a Necromancer; able to speak to, bind, control, and raise the dead as slaves. Calhoun was a Multielemental; something extremely rare - a person who could control each one of the thirteen elements, of Fire, Darkness, Earth, Water, Lightning, Plants, Magic, Music, Weather, Air, Light, Celestial, and Void. For this, he was one of the most feared of the Dark, though he didn't have the raw power of Dagda. Melanie was a Possessor, able to Possess bodies of animals, and finally Lucretia was an Auramagi - able to see people's Auras as an area of colour around their bodies.

"All the same, the Phoenix was said to be able to defeat them at the peak of his power, and free the people."

The headmaster leaned back in his chair and gazed at them, looking worn out from such a long speech. Harry and Draco themselves, were speechless. "That's terrible," Harry said finally, after five minutes of quiet, "to just... breed people like that, with no respect for their feelings."

"Not so." said Dumbledore gently. "They weren't forced to, or put under a love spell. The Resistance just made sure that they grew up around a choice of prospective husbands or wives, none of them thinking they were forced into anything. I believe there was only one time the descendant didn't fall in love with any of them, and as she had a twin who was married, it was perfectly acceptable."

"There's something I don't get, here." Draco pointed out. "All this is a very nice story, but you must have left something out. I don't see what this has got to do with Potter, I don't see what's got to do with those two girls, and I don't see why I've got to be kicked off the Quidditch team because of it. I mean, I'd never heard of the Five before this, so they must have been defeated ages ago."

"It does explain it." Harry said suddenly, his eyes glazed over in shock as he realised what he was saying. "The girls... they were looking for a boy. They were looking for the descendant, that's who it was. Because they wanted to kill him... because - because they -" He gulped. "Because they work for the Five. And the Five haven't been defeated yet. They're still terrorising the world, but none of us are allowed to know."

"The descendants must grow up unknowing of their destiny." Dumbledore explained softly.

Harry took another deep breath. "And you're - you're part of the Resistance. You're looking after the descendant, to make sure the Five don't find him; but the two girls - you said they were dead, and they were killed and raised by the Necromancer - they were looking for the descendant, because they'd tracked him to Hogwarts. And they were saying - they were saying it was me. I'm one of the descendants." He looked up.

Dumbledore smiled gently at him, while Draco just looked shocked and terrified. "No, Harry." said the headmaster gently. "You're more than just a descendant. You were, but then part of the prophecy came true because of you. You, Harry, are the Phoenix."