I do not own Harry Potter or his world, JK Rowling has that honor. I own all that you do not know. I also do not own any songs that are printed at the beginning of each chapter, they belonged to their respective artists.

Unholy Purity

Part One: Demon Blood

Chapter Three: Escape

Paradise
Singer
Vanessa Carlton

Once upon a year gone by

She saw herself give in

Every time she closed her eyes

She saw what could have been

Well nothing hurts and nothing bleeds

When covers tucked in tight

Funny when the bottom drops

How she forgets to fight . . . to fight

And it's one more day in paradise

One more day in paradise

As darkness quickly steals the light

That shinned within her eyes

She slowly swallows all her fear

And soothes her mind with lies

Well all she wants and all she needs

Are reasons to survive

A day in which the sun will take

Her artificial light . . . her light

And it's one more day in paradise

One more day in paradise

It's one more day in paradise

One last chance to feel alright . . . alright

Don't pretend to hold it in just let it out

Don't pretend to hold it in just push it out

Don't you try to hold it in just let it out and

Don't you try to hold it in you hold it in

And it's one more day in paradise

One more day in paradise

It's one more day in paradise

One last chance to feel alright . . . alright

Once upon a year gone by

She saw herself give in

Every time she closed her eyes

She saw what could have been

4 Privet Drive

Harry made a mental note to one day clean his wardrobe. He had spent most of the morning in the uncomfortably small space, making sure Aunt Petunia wouldn't come up to try and pry him form the bedroom. She had come up once, early in the morning, to give him his usual list of chores, only to find an empty room. He had held his breath to try and keep silent, listening to the muggle housewife's ramblings to the air.

"The freak probably snuck out and drank himself into a coma. Oh, if the neighbors hear this . . ."

He had to bite his tongue to keep laughter from escaping. There was the fact that she was sounded insane having a full-blown conversation with the air about his criminal qualities, and the fact that her precious son was out doing that exact thing. Dudley had been getting drunk almost every night since the first week of July, and now it was almost the end of the month and Harry's birthday. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had swallowed all of his honeyed lies about having innocent fun with his gang, though Harry was sure they'd notice the bags around their son's eyes and the sunken look his face had taken on from various drugs. Of course the neighbors realized what was going on, it was their children being beaten to a pulp by the massive boxer.

When he was sure she would not come back into the room, he pushed the door open and took in a deep breath of fresh air. The brilliant summer sunshine filtered in to his room through the open window, upon whose sill rested three owls. Two he recognized, his own Hedwig and an exhausted Pigwidgeon, but also a brown owl carrying a package wrapped in black material. He pulled the two letters from Pig's leg, seeing they were from Hermione and Ginny, before turning back to the small owl. "I suppose you don't want to be sent off again?" He hooted in response, looking pleadingly up at him. He turned to Hedwig.

"I hope you don't mind sharing a cage with him for the moment being." She gave Pig a disapproving look, reminding Harry strongly of how Hermione had glared at he and Ron when told they had been faking their Divination homework. With a sigh, he untied the two notes (from both Ginny and Hermione) before he turned to the unfamiliar owl.

Its eyes had a strangely empty look to them, giving the feeling he was staring at a possessed bird, and his eyes quickly turned to the black envelope tied to the package. In silver ink and curvy handwriting were the words To: Harry, From: Khalida. Assuming this was the same Khalida as from his dream, he untied the package and the owl took to the air, flying remarkably fast. The letter was written in the same curvy hand, reminding Harry slightly of Dumbledore's handwriting, and it was not very long.

(To whom it may concern,

Consider this as an early birthday present. Inside is some protection for you and clothing that should fit you. Have a nice sixteenth birthday.

Sincerely,

Khalida Thantos, Queen of Oblivion.)

He imagined what a muggle might think if they ever got a chance to read the signature. He himself had a little trouble believing her as to be kind, but trusted his parent's judgment. If they could stay with her, then he could put a little trust in the shadowy being. Untying the ribbon (ribbon that looked to be made of the same fabric as an Invisibility Cloak) and prying open the wooden box beneath the velvet, he found his jade gaze lying on three guns ontop of scarlet material.

There was a rifle; the barrel polished deeply and carved into it was the symbol of a raven with outstretched wings. Next to it were two identical black handguns, polished similarly. Picking one up, he found it not to be heavy at all, the handle seeming molded to fit his hand perfectly. He had never touched an actual gun before. Dudley had certainly; the Dursleys had bought him one for his birthday a few years back. He'd been furious at the lack of bullets though, something Harry was eternally grateful for. The rifle's handle was of a similar state. Next to them were boxes of bullets. Laying them to the side, he unfolded the cloth they had been perched upon.

It was a long coat, tailored to fit him perfectly. At the very bottom of the back there was a small slit, turning either side into tails. It was made from a firm material, red as brandy, with a golden trim. He smiled slightly at the Gryffindor coloring. The edges of the coat flared out a little. A bit of black stuck out from the pocket and, grabbing it, discovered it was another note from Khalida.

(This coat is bulletproof and will deflect most jinxes and hexes. May it come to use)

Also inside were two pairs of jeans, both black in color, and three button down shirts (one red, two black), a new pair of boots and a strange sort of tri-cornered hat in colors of brandy red and golden yellow. At the bottom of the box was a rather large case for glasses. Actually, it was more like a visor then glasses, the lens tinted crimson and the wiry frame gold. Harry smiled slightly as he exchanged his current pair for those and dressed. A slight problem arose with his tail, which he simply shoved down his pants leg.

He had to admit, the clothing did look pretty good on him. The hat had forced his conical ears down on either side of his head, which gave the appearance of hair that twitched on occasions. His eyes glimmered strangely behind the glasses with an ethereal, animalistic sort of power, the tips of his elongated canines pressed against his bottom lip. All in all, he thought he looked more like some vampire then a muggle's version of a werewolf. Turning back to his desk and the three guns, his fingers curled around the barrel of one and took a close look at it.

He was not at all familiar with the mechanics of a gun, but he did have the generally idea of what did what. Putting them back inside the box they had come in (it appeared to have been magically expanded to fit all the belongings) which he then put in his trunk. His attention then went to Hermione's reply to his panicky note.

(Harry,

Tell Dumbledore! I have absolutely no idea what could have happened to you, but my greatest guess is an incomplete Transfiguration spell. TELL DUMBLEDORE!

Hermione)

Ginny's reply did not at all answer his question, but rather gave the same advice. He remembered Sirius telling him the same thing and scowled darkly at the paper clutched in his hand (in her rush, Hermione had used regular muggle computer paper). He would only go to Dumbledore at the last resort, which was rapidly coming closer and closer. With a sigh, he sat at his desk and began to write to his headmaster. He tried to take as long as he could possibly. He could imagine the response he'd receive and it would just be more cover-up lies and possibly a simple potion to restore his human form. He'd be told nothing, nothing at all. He glared darkly at his hands.

His palms had stopped bleeding and were coated in a thick layer of dried blood. The fang that had pierced them in the dream was siting innocently on his desk. The letter finished, he gave it a dark look before ushering Hedwig out of her cage. She looked smug at the possibility of delivering a letter and gave a look at Pig, who was asleep in the cage. "Take this to Dumbledore," he said, "Take as long as you want. There's no rush."

Her liquid amber eyes peered into his jade colored and she hooted gently before taking to the air outside. Harry leaned back in his desk chair, watching her white form grow smaller and smaller as she flew off into the horizon. There was little he could do today, with no homework (OWL results had yet to arrive, so he had no homework for the NEWT classes) and he certainly couldn't leave his bedroom with his new . . . appearance. He closed his eyes, intent on falling asleep again, but his ears twitched and he heard voices conversing as loudly as they would have been had he been in the same room.

"Petunia Dursley I presume?" said a female voice, a voice he knew only to well. His blood boiled and he stood at once, moving to his bedside table where his wand lay innocently. The slim holly wood felt good against his fingertips.

"Who are you?" Aunt Petunia's shrill voice was panicky and the opposite voice gave a bitter laugh.

"The last face you'll ever see. Avada Kadarva!"

Harry bared his teeth in a very canine fashion. Bellatrix Lestrange's cruel voice had ushered the words that had killed his aunt. His last blood relative was dead and, with a thrill of horror, knew he had no more divine protection from his mother. Moving swiftly to his trunk, he grabbed one of the handguns inside and ran out on the landing. In all her dark glory stood the only female Death Eater Harry had ever had the misfortune to lay eyes on. She wore no mask, her long raven hair spilling down her back with long bangs falling across her heavy-lidded eyes. Cracked lips the color of dried blood pulled back to reveal yellow teeth, her blue-black eyes glittering horrifically.

"My, my, little baby Potter, don't we look impressive," she said with a horrid whisper, kicking aside the lifeless cadaver of his aunt. "All dolled up in funeral clothing the color of blood. How . . . fitting." There was something different about her, something more confident and prideful lingering in her skull-like face and he tightened his grip on his wand.

"What's this?" asked Bellatrix, true surprise in her eyes but a mocking version on her face, "Do I spot fangs on the world's savior? Has he lost his mind and joined the darkness as a vampire?"

His temper burst and he pointed his wand at her. "Stupefy!"

"Protego," she said innocently, the red light bouncing innocently off and hitting the mirror by the door, which shattered into a million pieces. "Seven years of bad luck, Potter, too bad you won't live that long."

His index finger curled around the trigger of the gun. No, he'd wait to use it. He ducked her own curse and he clambered down the stairs. "Impedimenta!" Bellatrix flicked her wand and the spell bounced back at him. He dodged just in time and ground his teeth. Slipping the gun into the coat pocket, Harry fired as many spells he could, yet not a single one seemed to hit.

"Your weaker, Potter, no surprise! Come and get me, if you dare. Don't you want revenge for your precious godfather?" Her cruel laughter followed. "Crucio!"

He dodged and looked at his wand. What was wrong with him? Why wasn't his magic working? His eyes flickered to his longer nails. He'd have to work with what he had. Throwing aside his wand, Bellatrix laughed in triumph. "So you give up!"

"Not in your life," he said with a snort of dark laugher. He didn't at all sound like himself, but he had no time to puzzle over such trivial matters. He charged low at the woman and flung his leg up to kick her in the stomach. Her eyes widened, she had not seen him coming and the pain was immense. This was impossible! He looked like any unhealthy teenager, he couldn't possibly give that much damage to her . . .

One hand wrapped around her throat and she gagged. "Who's the weak one now?" he hissed in her ear but a curse to the face knocked her free. There was a nasty looking cut across his right temple, but the blood that poured down his face was a dark, brandy red, not at all the color of a human's blood. She hid her fear by casting another Cruciatas curse, one that hit him. His teeth were clutched tightly together, the tips of his fangs pressing into his lips so tightly that more blood was drawn.

"That's right, suffer, your suffering brings me power, Potter," she sneered but saw his eyes dilate with inhuman power. He flexed his hands and flung a leg up to her stomach again. When it made contact, she screeched in pain as she felt a rib or two break. He snarled and slashed her face with his long, claw-like nails.

"Such a pathetic woman," he sneered, sounding not at all like the small boy she had fought but four weeks ago and much more like some sort of horrific demon. His eyes were bright with malice and power "And this is the human Dark Lord's most trusted slave?" He tilted his head back, fangs catching the light and giving off a pearly light.

Bellatrix's own temper snapped and she grabbed her wand. "You. Will. PAY! AVADA KADAVRA!" The blast of green light, fueled by her fury, exploded against the wall behind Harry, for the young wizard had gracefully ducked and his foot slammed against her arm, which broke.

Bellatrix smirked as the flames began to engulf the house. "Your too late, Potter, none will survive this inferno, not even you."

"Then I suggest you leave," he said cruelly, pulling from his pocket a muggle gun, "Or you will be the first to perish."

With a crack, Bellatrix had apperated away. It was seconds before the bullet had smashed against the floor. Harry smirked and seemed to snap out of a daze, staring at the burning house. It felt as though he had been asleep for the past couple minutes, having a dream he could not remember. He frowned, ignoring the pounding in his head before, with a crash, the staircase collapsed.

He knew he had to get out of it, and fast. His eyes stared at Aunt Petunia's dead body and felt remorse stir in his chest. She had never liked him, he had never liked her, but she had been his last remaining family. Grabbing her arm, he dragged her out of the collapsing rubble as easily as one would drag a rag doll. Leaving her body on the front lawn, he stared at her for a moment before there was a blast of flames as the heat hit the kitchen and its gas stove. With some relief, he saw Pigwidgeon fly out of the window and off into the sky, fluttering like a gray tennis ball with wings.

Harry pulled his coat collar up and grabbed his mother's pendent. "Someone, please! Sirius, I-I don't know what to do. Privet Drive's gone and Aunt Petunia's dead. My wand's inside."

Get the hell out of there! Go to Mrs. Figg's, fast!

Her home was a good few blocks away and he ran as fast as he could, making sure his hat was in place for the reason it kept his ears down. The houses past in a blur but as he rounded a corner he felt a hand grip his arm sharply. Nearly falling down, he saw, in shock, that the would-be assailant was a dark haired woman with navy eyes. She wore clothing from at least a hundred years ago, looking like someone's grandmother, though she could only have been a few years older then himself. "Little boys shouldn't be wandering the streets," she said with a strangely seductive note in her voice, stretching her long fingers.

Fearing her to be another Death Eater, Harry flung his claws at the woman's arm, only to have the hand be griped by her empty hand. "My, my feisty one. I am no ally of Voldemort's, nor am I one of Dumbledore's. Call me a friend if you wish, call me a foe if you want. I simply offer you aid."

"Let go of me!" snapped Harry and gave a very canine yelp of horror when he saw the woman's teeth grow into fangs.

"My name is Makai, and I will get you away from this place, Harry Potter, looking as human as your birth." She reached inside his trouser pocket and slammed a small amulet he knew he had never had inside Harry's hand. It was engraved with runes of old, runes he could not read but was sure Hermione could decipher. As he griped it, he saw his nails shrink to their normal length with a gentle prickling.

"If this is on your person, it will keep you human." Her voice was low, a purr to it. She seemed in no hurry to convey her words.

"Why should I trust you?" he snapped. Makai gave a feral smile, eyes glimmering horribly and spoke in a quick voice, hardly pausing for breath.

"There are many things about me that you should not trust, and very few you should. I will be honest without, I did not think you to be much of anything and I have yet to change the idea. You are brave yet scared, confused yet understanding, traits revealing the turmoil of light and dark within us all. There is dark work afoot and many feel us to be evil creatures. I am not human, never was and never will be, and you are becoming less human with each passing moment. It is the will of the gods above, their wish that if you not be born a demon you become one."

Harry bore his teeth, still animalistic in look, and Makai continued, speaking faster still. "I will send you to London and you are to do whatever you wish. Worry not about any, for I am sure you will know how to defend yourself. After all, you have both inhuman power and a Daimon 09, nothing to worry for. Do not let shackles bind your feet and use the skill of the lycanthropes, the skill of the beserker, to its best. Beware the White Princess, she wants nothing but ill from you for what you are. Take care, we will meet again."

Harry squirmed in her grip. "Can you tell me what you, erm, we are?" Makai's eyes lit up in excitement; a horrid smile twisted her pointed face as her body began to shake. Her eyes twitched and then widened to the size of dinner plates. She threw back her head and laughed long and hard. It was the sort of laugh that could make Voldemort run and hide under a desk, the laugh of a mad genius. She let go of him and cupped her hands.

"We are greater then humans, Harry! We are born from darkness, born from the shadows and spirits of this world and the next! We are death, we are destruction, we are evil! Demons, youkai, whatever the name, we are what we are!" Her form began to morph, her navy eyes turning a brilliant metallic color, a mix of gold and silver colors, her dark hair turning platinum white from its roots. Her fingernails stretched into claw-like nails that rivaled his own and her teeth elongated further, the tips deadly sharp.

"I am Makai Mitsukai! I am the hell angel that my name suggests! You will remember me, Harry Potter, and perhaps some day we will meet on the field of battle, though as allies or enemies?" Her shoulders shook and she laughed again, sounding madder then ever. She curled her hands into a vague talon shape, palms up and trembling. "I DO NOT KNOW!"

He found himself being violently thrown forward but when he landed, it was not on the sidewalk of a Surrey suburb, but in a London alleyway. The muck that covered the concrete caught the hem of his coat as he stood and placed a hand in his pocket, feeling the cold metal of the gun. He was still holding the small amulet Mitsukai had thrust into his palm and pocketed it. What the hell was he supposed to do? The part of London he had arrived in was crowded mildly, though it was certainly nowhere near the Leaky Cauldron.

"I could use a little help about now," he snapped to nobody in particular, touching the lily pendent.

God you get into more trouble then I ever did, said Sirius with his bark-like laughter, Where does Hermione live?

"I dunno," he said, glaring darkly at the man who had given him a strange look, "She might live in Liverpool for all I know."

Check a phone book. If you're lucky, she might live in London.

There was a phone booth at the edge of the street. He hurried towards it, sidestepping a woman and frantically looked at the thick paperback book. The print was small and blurred, but as he ran a finger down a column in the 'G' section, he found three Grangers. Two lived in Kent, but one did live in London, at 14 Willow Avenue. Looking around for any change, he nearly skipped with joy when he found about a dollar's worth of cents under a hamburger wrapper. Shoving the money in, he punched in the number and listened as the tone rang.

"Be there, be there, be there," he hissed until a female voice picked up on the other line. "Hello, Granger residence, Hermione speaking."

"Hermione! It's Harry, listen," he said, quelling her excited shriek of his name, "I'm in London with no money. Bellatrix Lestrange just attacked Privet Drive and - "

"But your aunt and uncle lived in Surrey! How on earth did you get to London so fast?"

"I'll explain later!" he snapped, not wanting to go into exact detail about Makai Mitsukai over the phone. "I'm at the corner of," (he checked the street sign outside), "Lockwood Lane, near Carlton's Book Store. Any possible way you could come and get me?"

"I could ask my dad . . ."

"Great! Please Hermione, hurry."

"I'll be there as fast as I can." The line went dead. He slammed it back on the receiver and sat on the semi-empty bench by the street, waiting for Hermione. He did not know what her car was, or how she would recognize him. With a sigh, he looked at the other occupant of the bench. It was a girl, a year or two older then him, with black hair that was pin-poker straight, the tips and roots orange while her skin was near African-tan. She was dressed head to foot in very tight black clothing, odd for July, and listening to gothic music by use of the CD player on her lap. Her face was expressionless, except for her lips, which were mouthing the words to the song pounding ridiculously loud in her ears. He listened to the words for a while before she turned to him, the headphones peeled from her ears and a scowl on her face.

"What do you want?" she snapped testily. She had an American accent, a sharp one at that, like the no-nonsense tone of Professor McGonagall's.

"Nothing," he said quickly, turning away from her.

"Damn lycanthrope . . ." she muttered and he turned sharply back to her. "What?" he hissed through clenched teeth. She raised a dark eyebrow and sniggered. "Wolves really are stupid creatures and I guess half a wolf is still as stupid as a full one."

"I don't have a damn idea what you're talking about."

She turned to look at his face, more specifically, his scar. "Harry Potter, 'eh? Imagine that, the light's savior a dark demon." She snorted in laughter.

"What do you mean demon?" he said, as low as he could make his voice.

"You are a stupid one. Demon. Dark. Being," she said slowly, as if speaking to a mentally ill child who was about to burst into tears. She tossed back her braid. "Now, I didn't think your parents were demons. How'd you become one, sired by whom?"

"I've only been like this since this morning," he snapped through clenched teeth. She raised an eyebrow. "Testy. Very well. I am Samantha Chesterburn, cat demon." That explained her attitude. "I pose as a witch, age nineteen." She didn't bother lowering her voice at all, which surprised him. "You have interesting clothing, especially your glasses. That cut on your temple looks very fetching as well."

He touched the temple she had pointed at, pulling the fingers sharply back when he felt a sting there. His fingertips were coated in blood that was a deep, dark red, not at all natural for a human being. Chesterburn gave a smile that could rival the Chershire cat's. "I always love to see a kitten play with its new claws. It brings me such joy."

"Is there a sort of community for people like us?" he asked quietly. She raised an eyebrow.

"A walnut farm, you mean? I'm afraid not, little puppy," (her smile widened as his scowl deepened), "There are sets of us. The mau, my people, live in Egypt and eastern Africa, though yours dwell in the confines of North American cities like caged beasts. I'm here to watch the fun brew, though." He didn't like her smile.

"Fun?" he asked, staring at her with a raised eyebrow. She tossed back her hair and gave a bitter laugh he didn't like. It reminded him of Mitsukai's.

"Why, with the Dark Lord back and demons pulling the strings behind it all, we'll gain all the spoils, won't we? The die have been rolled and the world waits to see what will come up." From the back pocket of her jeans she pulled a small business card. He snatched it and read the curly indigo type.

(Chasers of Beyond. Store of the arcane arts. Located at 666 Diagon Alley.)

It was interesting that the store was located there, of all places. He looked up at Chesterburn. "It's run by a friend of mine, Raul Winters, who is as stupid as you are, the taint of canine blood must dim your intelligence." She turned on her headphones and ignored all his attempts at conversation.

He scowled. What did she mean by fun when the Dark Lord comes back? He stared at the business card. It sounded interesting enough. He pocketed it, his fingers slipping on the cold metal of the gun. He shivered for a moment before a high voice he recognized cried out his name. Turning sharply, he saw Hermione pushing through the crowds. Clad in baggy jeans and a pink windbreaker pulled over an emerald T-shirt, she flung her arms around his neck. He heard Chesterburn snigger.

"What happened to you?" she asked, staring at his soot covered clothing and bleeding cut, "Why is your blood that dark?"

"Not here, okay?" he hissed quietly, "I'll explain everything later, okay? I promise." She noted the seriousness in his tone and nodded. "My dad drove me, he's right over here." Hermione grip was outrageously tight on his fingers when she lead him to a black Sabb, a middle-aged man in the front seat. He looked at them from behind almond shaped glasses. Hermione had inherited his face shape and intelligent, proud eyes.

"What on Earth happened to you?" he asked to Harry, looking at the blood on his cheek and the ash discoloring his coat and shirt.

"Fire," he said simply. Hermione forced a smile. "Dad, this is Harry. Harry, this is my father."

Mr. Granger shook Harry's hand. "Yes, Hermione's told us so much about you. I must thank you, for saving her life so many times." A faint blush entered Harry's cheeks and Hermione smiled as she took the passanger's seat. Harry sat next to the young girl in the back seat, one who had barely acknowledged his presence. She was about ten or eleven with very straight dark brown hair that fell to her chin and light brown eyes that had a dulled tone to the edges. She wore very neat clothing, the skirt crisp and tidy, the short-sleeved shirt under the gray sweater vest looking as though it was made of plastic. It was a school uniform, which was odd for the summer holidays.

"Harry, this is my younger sister, Amelia." Amelia turned and gave a jerky nod to him before turning swiftly away. She was about as social as Snape. Mr. Granger spent the car ride to Hermione's house in silence, apparently sensing the tension between the two teens.

14 Willow Avenue was a fairly large home, but quaint. The flowerbeds out front were untidy and the oak tree in the front was gnarled and in need of pruning. Amelia slammed open the door and walked silently up the stairs, slamming the door behind her. Hermione was quiet until they entered a room on the second story, one that made Harry's jaw drop.

It was medium sized, the walls painted peach, a canopy bed neatly folded in the corner next to a desk covered in parchment and quills. Her trunk was at the foot of the bed, Crookshanks curled on the smooth surface of the trunk. But what caught his attention were all the books. Three walls were filled with bookshelves containing both subject matter of the magical and muggle world. Most of the shelves were filled, though on the west wall there was space for more.

"Why does this surprise me?" he asked to Hermione, but her brown eyes were narrowed.

"Tell me what happened. All of it. You promised."

And so he did, beginning with his dream the night before. She held onto every word, especially about the demon Makai Mitsukai.

"Can I see the amulet she gave you?"

He paused for a moment, before reaching into his pocket and taking it out. The minute it left his hands, he saw the fingernails grow out and Hermione gave a small scream. "Quiet!" he hissed, ears twitching. Her shriek had seemed louder then normal for a human's, or was it that his hearing had improved?

"Good lord," she hissed, eyes still horribly wide. All the color had fled from her skin, "Do you mind if I . . .?"

He blinked. "Mind what?" She gave an impatience tut and ran fingers across the silky fur of his ears. They twitched and a startled look entered her eyes.

"You did owl Dumbledore?"

"Right before Bellatrix attacked, yeah."

Hermione sighed and ran fingers through her bushy hair. "This is making my head hurt so much . . . I don't know, Harry, I just don't know."

It was the first time he had ever heard her usher those words.

Hogwarts Castle

Professor Sybill Trelawney had never been held in high esteem with the rest of her staff members. They had treated her with better respect then years before, after Umbridge fired her. Currently the overdressed Divination professor was eating lunch in the Great Hall, a very rare occasion in itself, seated next to Shirahime Shirogane. The albino was eating a bowl of plain tofu, her red eyes lingering on each of the staff members, apparently examining them. A vein was twitching in McGonagall's temple as Shirogane's eyes lingered on her.

However, all eyes flickered away when Trelawney's cup of tea fell to the floor with a smash. The seer's eyes were misted, her tongue lolling from her pale lips. Flitwick turned his attention to her, even Shirogane's attention had shifted from the chopsticks positioned midway from her mouth.

"Sybill?" he asked nervously.

She did not answer but began to speak in a deep voice that certainly didn't suit her, or a woman of her age for that matter.

"The sun sets as the soldiers ride to battle

The glow of the moon will turn red

Blood, blood for the kin of the king

The humans have fought their battles

Battles they deserved for the mistreatment of their own

One destined for the darkness defeated his own

And arrogant silence echoed throughout

A decade and three, these long summers passed

But all is not gone

All is not lost

For He still thrives

Thrives for the host to grant him the power

Power, never to be held in his life

Beware the rat, for the cat failed to come

The light born ones ignored the gypsy's warning

And evil they knew arose once again

Soon the sun will shine, but the light shan't come through

The sun will turn black, black as the shadows

Blood, blood for the queen of the damned

The true masters of the world control the lord

By webs of deceit and puppet strings of the living

The fire-winged king will manipulate all

And the sobbing reality twister will laugh and soak in the glory

Glory, long since passed away

She wants death

She wants revenge

Revenge on the White Princess's seventh born daughter

Lucky seven, unlucky seven, who knows the truth?

Ichor will stain the pale

The stars will cry for a crippled man

Six should be

Three born at the beginning

Three born at the end

A hero in a wolf-man's body, not knowing what he wants

A messenger of death with charcoal hair and an inferno temper

Sired by the king, the son of the devil, the genius behind them all

The playful vixen, sister to the reaper

Born from moonlight, a fledgling dragon

Riddle-born fire, taken from evil, tainted pure

As the wolf and the human murder the snake

Merged with one to form true power

Power of the beserker of the Earth

Yet there is no silence after the battlefield clears

Darkness will cover the light

And shadows will obscure the moon and sun

Bringing forth the eclipse prolonging the Apocalypse

All will tremble before the might of the Fallen Angels,

Catastrophe and Calamity,

And the dead will wander the Earth that has become hell for all

Those with souls will plead for mercy

As heroes die in the arms of their beloved

None can escape

None can survive

Their hope lies in the redemption of a child

With the sword of Truth."

Trelawney's eyes rolled to the back of her head as she curled in a graceful arc to the floor. The hall rang with silence after her prophecy before McGonagall stood to run to the Headmaster. Only Shirogane's voice broke through the still silence.

"Could you pass the pumpkin juice?"

End Chapter Three: Escape