All right, people. I'm posting two chapters up since I won't have time to do so in the next few days. The Chinese New Year is creeping up in a couple of days and I'll be very, very busy. Plus, I'm going back to my grandparents' hometown and they have no computer or internet connection.

- Chapter Four -

When the lights faded from his eyes, Harry could see the other two groups had arrived before them seconds earlier. He had never experience something quite like orbing before. With Apparating, you need to concentrate or else you'll splinch yourself, leaving your solid form behind and your apparition arriving at your destination. Portkeying gave him a dizzying sensation of being tugged at one place at super sonic speed, at least that was what he often thought. Floo travel was messy and saying the wrong destination name meant you could arrive at some poor soul's fireplace, scaring the socks off them. Orbing – now that was altogether a different matter. It was much more precise and less sooty with no yanking feeling to make you hurl.

It was like flying but not really. Like flying through an astral plane where only souls and spirits and other entities go to. The lights were almost blindingly bright when he opened his eyes to peek. He could see nothing but he could feel a delicious sensation running through his entire body. There was a kaleidoscope of colours which danced behind his eyelids during the travel and the light melodic tune which soothed his nerves. It was an entirely new and exciting experience for him.

"Harry, you made it!" Hermione exclaimed, hurrying over to him. She looked radiant and flushed, her eyes shone with the excitement of orbing with Paige and Phoebe. "That was simply wicked! I'm going to be writing it all down. What a way to travel, instead of Apparate or Floo or portkey."

"It's a crummy way to travel, I tell you," groaned someone from their left. They looked to see Ron sitting in one of the hard backed chairs in the kitchen of No 12, Grimmauld Place. He looked slightly green.

"Oh, chin up, Ron," Harry said, patting him on the shoulder. Ron turned even greener if possible. "Oh, sorry."

"Where are we?" asked Piper, studying the kitchen with an appreciative eye. As a chef, she loved nothing more than a good, functional clean kitchen. This one made the one at the manor seem pale in comparison. It was undoubtly old, with wooden shelves that looked worn with wear and whitewashed wood. The stove was old fashioned using wood to burn. She touched one of the China plates along the shelf.

"No 12, Grimmauld Place," Hermione answered her. "This is where the Order used to stay and we always have meetings here in the kitchen with the stove burning and tea being made."

"Tea. I like tea." Piper nodded approvingly.

"Dumbledore will be along shortly," said Harry, striding towards the kitchen door. "In the meantime, why don't we get you all settle down. You'll probably be staying here for the next few days or so."

"I didn't even pack!" Paige grumped as she followed them all out. The place silenced any more grumps from her though. It was amazing. If she thought the manor was old, this was even older. The lights seemed to turned on themselves as they made their way towards the foyer of the house. Everything in it seemed old and – and elegant was the word that came to her mind.

"Oh, wow." Phoebe stared transfixed at the portraits on the wall. She had just reached out to touch it when the woman in the picture let out an unearthly shriek at her, jabbing a finger at her. Phoebe screamed in surprise, jumping back, clutching at the nearest person who happened to be Ron.

Harry chuckled at the expressions on their faces. "I'm sorry, we should have warn you. Welcome to wizarding England, where everything is either charmed or enchanted and will either come alive or float or talk or fly around."

"He's sounding like Dumbledore now," Ron whispered to Hermione who bit back a snort.

"You're allowed to use magic freely?" Wyatt asked in wonder, looking this way and that, expecting something wondrous to happen. Sadly, other than the shrieking woman in the portrait, nothing else happened.

"Only in the magic zone," Harry explained, leading them up the stairs to their rooms. "Magic are not allowed to be used before muggles or in public places. The less exposure of magic, the better. The muggles have no need to know there are flying cars or dragons are real."

"Dragons." Phoebe coughed nervously, recalling the dragon Wyatt conjured when he was barely a year old. "Heh."

"You have rules of using magic as well," Piper said, nodding sagely. "See, Wyatt, the rules of personal gain and magical exposure applies here as well." Wyatt rolled his eyes at his mother.

"This will be your room, Ms Halliwell." Harry opened the door to a room nearest to the stairs. He smiled at Phoebe. "It used to be shared by Hermione and Ginny when they stay over."

"Please, just call us by our names," Phoebe said, clearly delighted to have such a handsome young man's attention on her for once. "Ms Halliwell will sound confusing since they're two of us."

Harry showed Piper, Paige and Wyatt where they will be sleeping. Each room was equipped with the essentials of a bed, dresser drawer for the clothes, a trunk at the foot of the bed and a chair. The windows let the late evening light in, casting everything in grey shadows.

"Nice," Paige admired her tartan bedspread. She bounced on the bed a few times, trying to get a feel of it. "Not bad at all."

They made their way back downstairs to see a man with a flowing white beard and glasses standing at the steps, waiting for them. Although he looked old, there was a youthful twinkle in the eyes behind the glasses. Paige suddenly felt as if she was seeing Father Time for the first time, if Father Time looked like the man before them. His clothes were highly eccentric, nothing like what they have seen before, the robes seemed to flash a rainbow of colors whenever they swirled around him as he moved. The hat on top of his head would have looked ridiculous on anyone else but on him, it looked perfect, as if it was made for him.

"Ah, Piper and Phoebe Halliwell, Paige Matthews and Wyatt Halliwell." The man beamed up at them as they came down. "Welcome to England. I hope you had a pleasant trip. My name is Albus Dumbledore. Come, come, why don't we sit down at the kitchen and have some tea."

The sisters and Wyatt had been surrounded by magic almost their lives but they have never seen magic being so utilized freely here without the worry of a consequent. The kitchen seemed to spring to life as soon as they sat down in the chairs at the table. Fire sprang up at the stove merrily. The teakettle floated itself from the stove to the sink, its cap opening and the faucet turned itself, filling water from the tap into the teakettle. Meanwhile, the cabinets opened and tea cups (with tea appearing inside already) and saucers came drifting out from the shelves, lining themselves neatly before them all. The spoons followed from the drawers. A jar of milk, some cream, jam, a loaf of bread, butter, slices of cheese, butter and sugar appeared on the tabletop. It was an amazing sight for the sisters, one that was appropriately described as magical.

"Magic, magic, magic everywhere," Paige said, watching as the water boiled and the teakettle proceeded over to the table, pouring hot water into their teacups. The soothing aroma of camomile filled the air.

"Indeed, Ms Matthews, magic is everywhere." Dumbledore smiled at her, angling his head towards her direction. "You are one who is most intrigued by magic and most willing to delve into the craft."

They helped themselves to the food and tea.

"Why do you need us for?" Piper finally asked, sipping her tea.

"To help us in the coming war against the Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore answered simply. "You vanquished the Source before, someone with the same evil as Voldemort."

"In other words, get a bit more firepower," Wyatt said.

"There is a war coming up, Mr Halliwell," said Dumbledore gravely. "It concerns not just us but everyone who practices magic around the world. The very balance of good and evil depends on your hands."

Somewhere in the wizarding community of France, at a villa by the beach, the honeymooning couple were going at it like there was no tomorrow. It was their third day at this quaint little hideaway from the world and they were enjoying themselves immensely without the interruptions that were friends and family. The moon was incredibly bright tonight, shining its pale light down on sea, making thousands of tiny lights twinkle on the waves. The light streamed through the see muslin curtains that fluttered around the archways that served as doors to the balcony. The fire was crackling away in the stone fireplace at the end of the room. A tray of half eaten dinner sat on the ornately craved round table.

The room was large and opulent, something out of books or magazines. There was a Greek bust sitting on top pf the marble mantelpiece. Rose petals were strewn about all over the cool marble floor of the room, leading into the equally opulent bathroom and scattered about around the bed and on the bedspread. Everywhere were expensive pieces of furnishings and decorative pieces, most handmade, and none of them enchanted. Nobody wants a talking bust in the room. It would be distracting.

The young couple on the bed noticed none of the opulence the room offered or the lovely moonlight view outside. They were too busy on the bed doing things to each other that would put anyone to shame, should someone saw them. The bed was creaking wildly and there were loud moans and groans.

The woman arched her back in ecstasy at her partner's ministrations on her, eyes closed, head flung back with abandon. The man was as clearly as worked up as the woman although he seemed to control some himself somewhat.

"Ooh, yes, a bit lower, lower... Ahh!" The woman cried out. "Yes, like that, love."

"You're being all hot tonight," remarked the man, following her garbled instructions, sliding one pale hand lower down her thigh, slipping it under her rather thin, lacy nightgown.

"Shouldn't I?" She waggled her hips at him on the bed, at the same time jiggling her breasts under the nightgown she wore. If it can be called a nightgown, being all see through and all lace, leaving nothing to the imagination, and she was wearing no bra.

"Naughty, naughty, dearest." The man grinned at her before he proceeded to ravage her in an animalistic manner.

"Ahem... I beg your pardon?"

The woman's eyes snapped opened at the strange voice and her cries died in her throat as her head whipped around towards the fireplace to see a head and shoulders there. Her companion immediately cursed out loud, summoning the covers and throwing it over their half naked forms, embarrassed, shocked and startled all roll in one. His eyes were as round as tea saucers as he stared transfixed at the fireplace. The woman's mouth opened and closed like a goldfish gulping for air, unable to form words from her mouth. Instead, she gurgled sickly, still staring in stupefied horror at the fireplace.

"R-Ron!"

Ginny Weasley had never been so embarrassed and humiliated in her life. She was now sitting on the chair, having hastily pulled on one of Draco's shirts to cover her lace clad body. The hem of the shirt ended just mid thigh. She sat glowering in the chair, arms crossed, a murderous expression on her face. The light from the fire reflected in her brown eyes and brought out the colour of her rich red hair. She could hardly believed that her own brother had the audacity to come calling without warning. Her cheeks burned as she thought of how much he had seen and heard.

"Weasley, I'd swear, you'll find yourself growing warts instead of spots when I get back," Draco Malfoy said, waving a hand about. He had worked himself up cursing in French and Latin before calming down considerably. Still, the bust on the mantelpiece had found itself flung over the balcony down to the foaming sea below.

"Oh, shut it, Malfoy, as if there was anything to see," Ron said irritably. Even in the flames, Ginny could see that his face was as red as his hair. Good. He should be ashamed of himself.

"Why, didn't our little show turned you on a bit?" Draco suddenly grinned wickedly at the redhead.

"Malfoy!" Ron sputtered indignantly but he didn't deny it either. Ginny shuddered, not wanting to think her brother could be a perverted, peeping tom. She uncrossed her leg (careful not to give him an eyeful), coming to knelt by the fireplace, jabbing at her brother in the shoulder where she could see, hard.

"It must be of utmost important for you to interrupt our honeymoon," she said crisply. "Now, spit it out, Ron or I'll do what Draco said and give you warts."

"Pah, newlyweds," Ron grumbled. "Dumbledore said that it's most important both of you come back at once."

"But the wonderful offer to stay is still on for two days! We can't just up and go, we'll be forced to pay back the amount of two days' stay plus other expenses." Draco scowled. "Do you know how much I pay for this little gateaway, Weasley?"

"Draco, please." Ginny sighed, running a hand through her red hair. "All right, Ron. Let Dumbledore know we'll be back in London by tomorrow morning."

"Ginny!" Draco looked positively scandalized, as if he had been told that the Minister of Magic had just had sex with a monkey on his desk in his office.

Ginny grabbed his hand, giving it a hard squeeze of warning. He shut up at once, knowing better than to argue with her. She always come out top in their arguments. Ron grinned, made a whipping gesture and disappear from view. Draco childishly stuck out his tongue at the fireplace, even though Ron was no longer there to see it.

"Why did you tell we're going back tomorrow?" he demanded as soon as Ginny had gotten up and went to their trunks by the dresser drawers.

"Because, Dumbledore gave an order." She bend over, yanking open one drawer and baring her black clad lace bottom at him. He swallowed hard, suddenly remembering what they had been up to before they were rudely interrupted. "We're supposed to come as soon as an order is issued."

"Ginny," he began in a strangled tone, reaching for her.

Ginny turned, saw the hungry look in his eyes and smiled. She shut the drawer, leaned against it, lifting up one slender pale leg, running it up against the other, watching as her husband let out a groan. She tossed her head back, letting the mane of fiery red hair fell over her shoulders, looking at him from under her lashes, giving him her best 'come get me' look, unbuttoning the shirt one button at a time in an agonizingly slow manner.

Draco grabbed her by the waist, lifting her up and marching over to the bed. He threw her down on the covers, pining her slim wrists with his large hands. She looked up at him, a mischievous smile on her freckled face, her eyes dancing.

"Now, where were we?" he said to her.

Piper sat in the little kitchen later that night. Everyone had retired to bed a couple hours ago, worn out from the discussion they had. She place her head in her hands, feeling a migraine coming on. A powerful dark wizard was rising, trying to rule over the magical and non magical world. Another new Source to vanquish, another new war to win. Except this war was much more serious. The fate of the magical world depended on their victory. If they lose, everything they knew will fall spiraling down towards an endless darkness. That was what Dumbledore had said. Piper had been more adamant to go and rescue Chris, arguing ceaselessly with the old man before he finally silenced her with the gravity of the situation they were in.

Frustration, worry, anxiety and fear which had been pushed aside during the entire trip here threatened to swallow her whole. She wanted to blow something up, to vent her anger at anyone, anything at all. She was torn between crying hysterically and laughing madly at the situation she had found herself in.

"You don't need us to help you to defeat this warlock," she had said to Dumbledore. "You got him, don't you? He's supposedly the one who will vanquish the Dark Lord."

"Ms Halliwell, I think that you do not understand the gravity of our predicament here," said Dumbledore to her somberly. "Christopher's kidnap was no coincidence. The Dark Lord knows who he is and will use him as a leverage against us or turn him against us. You have no choice in this matter, Ms Halliwell. Like it or not, we are all fighting in the same war. Sacrifices are made in battle, whether we are ready to face it or not."

Piper felt something wet soaking between her fingers and she realized for the first time since that day, she was crying. Quiet, shuddering sobs that she couldn't seem to stop, no matter how much she tried to. She wanted Leo to be here instead of back there, taking care of things. She wanted his arms around her, whispering words of comfort in her ear like he always does, assuring her they were going to find Chris. She felt arms circled her, absently noted it was Phoebe holding her and poured her heart out into her sister's shoulder.

"It's okay, Piper, it's okay." Phoebe soothed, rubbing her back.

The eldest sister's sobs soon subside into hiccups. Piper wiped her eyes as she leaned back into the chair. Phoebe came around the table, sitting across her. The red polka dotted teapot flew towards her, tipping to one side as if to inquire whether she wanted tea.

"No thanks," said Phoebe, smiling a little then wondering if the teapot could see her smiling. It tipped to one side again as if acknowledging her and drifted back next to the teakettle.

"I'm sorry to have woken you up," Piper said, after recovering from her outburst. Her eyes were red from crying and there were shadows under them, indicating she had been unable to sleep and she was letting her worries getting the better of her.

"Don't be sorry, that's what sisters are for," Phoebe said airily, hoping to diffuse the heaviness around them.

"I'm a terrible mother," Piper began. "I let my son be kidnaped by some cult wearing black robes halfway across the ocean."

"Piper, stop." Phoebe put up a hand, hoping to stall her sister's tirade. "You're not a terrible mother. You're wonderful and kind and loving. Wyatt thinks you're fantastic and Chris just adores you. This wasn't your fault."

"How do you know it's not my fault? Maybe the crazy woman across the street cursed me because I didn't want to listen to her rambling about death."

"What, you mean, Old Aggie the fortune teller?" Phoebe's lips twitched. Piper frowned at her sister's undisguised smile. "Piper, you know better than to beat yourself up over something that woman says. She's not even a real fortune teller, and you and I know it. As for the death thing, she probably meant the Death Eaters coming, not death."

"Still, I could have prevented it somehow." Piper was staring morosely into her teacup, only half listening to Phoebe.

"Piper, listen to me." Phoebe grabbed her sister's hand. "You can't change the future or the past anymore than we can stop the boys from growing up. Things often happen without our knowledge and admit it, we can't just stop every big, bad evil out there if some fortune teller starts spouting nonsense to you. Like I said, she's not even a real fortune teller."

"You're jealous because she can make a living out false fortune telling while you can't make a living out real premonitions." The corners of Piper's mouth turned up into a smile.

"Okay, humor aside, don't worry so much." Phoebe gave her an earnest look. "Chris had always been able to come out top. He's not just any witch but a Halliwell witch. He'll be okay, I promise."

Piper bit her lower lip, nodding her head. She felt the twinges of anxiety inside but Phoebe's words and comfort made her feel better.

"Do you think it was wise, Professor?" Harry asked. Even after years of leaving Hogwarts, Harry couldn't still drop the habit of calling him by that title. "To bring them here, to join us in our fight against the Dark Lord."

"I would not say it was a wise decision or not, Harry," Dumbledore answered, gazing up at the stars in the sky above. "Perhaps it was, perhaps it wasn't. What is done is done. The Charmed Ones are here, and they are more involved in this fight than they wish to. They cannot deny the fact."

"This war may be our first and last, won't it, Professor? I can feel it inside me." Harry grasped the stone railing, peering down at the street below. People who past by the house would give it no second glance, seeing nothing strange about it. "It's going to be fierce, and many lives are going to be lost in this war. I feel the people's expectations on me, much more than before."

"You've always carried the burden with you, ever since you were a mere baby, Harry. It has been your destiny to face the Dark Lord again." Dumbledore's tone was tired, sad even. "But remember, you do not carry it alone. You have your friends to stand beside you, they will be willing to bear the burden your carry, to help you up when you fall."

"And yet, in the end, I will have to do this alone." Harry's grip tightened, his eyes staring ahead. His shoulders had sagged wearily, of shouldering such responsibilities and duties that had been bound to him long before he can talk and know who he is.

Dumbledore place a hand on his shoulder, silently telling him he was not alone in this. The former headmaster of Hogwarts sighed quietly, a sound barely heard above the wind. Such a burden to be carried by someone so young, a burden that someone else should have carried instead. He felt pride as well, knowing Harry would see this through the end, and Harry's friends – old and new – will help him when in need.

"Not alone, Harry, not ever alone," he said softly, giving the shoulder a squeeze.

Paige turned away from the window where she had been standing for the last hour, staring out at the streets below and the people walking home in such a late hour. She had heard Phoebe heading downstairs earlier then come back up again, passing her room without a word. She knew it must have been Piper. While she wanted to go down to join them, comfort her sister, she didn't. Instead, she chose to remain in the room, staring out the window while Phoebe headed downstairs to sooth Piper. She couldn't. It had been partly her fault, and she was still wallowing in guilt of not being there at home when it happened. Instead, she had let Richard talked her into staying the night at his place, and looked what happened. Some mad cult in robes and waving wands broke into the manor and stole Chris right from under their noses. Bad enough Paige felt guilty, Piper didn't seem to blame her. Paige would rather have her sister scream at her right now than this unnerving forgiveness shown.

She headed back to her bed, flopping down on it, staring up at the ceiling now. The entire house was lit using torches along the walls. It made the room glowed a warm orange that soothed her out of sorts emotions. She had been more than thrilled to be here, in London, to discover it was one huge magical community she was staying at. Magic seemed to be everywhere when she turned to look. Talking portraits, floating teapots, talking mirrors (the one in her room had creeped her out when she stood before it). Everything here was worth a study, an examination of a closer kind. It would have been if the worry about her missing nephew wasn't hanging over her head. She was just as worried as her sisters and Wyatt but she hid it well behind quips and bad timing of humor.

Paige sighed heavily, climbing further into bed. She will try to talk to Piper tomorrow morning, she promised herself. She had to, or she'll be worrying like the worrywart that Piper was supposed to be. There wasn't much to do at the moment so she decided to get some shut eye.

"A broken toy is not much of a use to anyone, is it, Lucius, Peter?" Voldemort walked around the boy on the floor.

"Of course, my Lord." Lucius eyed his master warily. The Dark Lord was prone to doing things according to his whims and mood. It was best not to upset him too much, like what Wormtail did just now.

The fat man had paid with a hex which made his already not very handsome face covered with boils. He was now sitting at the corner, whimpering and begging for forgiveness from Voldemort for his insolence. Lucius let out a breath. Peter would never learn how to keep his mouth shut when needed. The only thing that redeemed the man had been his years as a rat in the Weasley house, gathering information and his traitorous betrayal towards the Potters.

The boy was now laying limp on the floor, the invisible cords having cutting through skin, coating the wrists and ankles with slick, wet blood. There was drying blood on the boy's lip where he had bitten down during the torture Voldemort had inflicted. His eyes were staring unblinking on the ceiling. Broken like a badly abused toy but still able to be fixed. Voldemort marveled at the boy's strong will and defiance at his torture. It wasn't until the last few hours that the boy's mind began to crumble, the walls broken down in rubbles, unable to hold up anymore.

"Nevertheless, it can be fixed up," continued the Dark Lord, stopping at the boy's head, peering down with the red coal eyes of his. "Repaired, made into new again."

Lucius kept silent, not wanting to get hex like Peter did. He simply waited and watched. Voldemort moved again so he was standing on the boy's right. There was some sort of expression on the bone-white face, akin to malice or cruelty. Lucius had always thought cruelty to be beautiful.

"You will be of much use for me, child," said Voldemort. "Your power of visions of the past, future and present."

The boy turned his head towards the Dark Lord, eyes hardening slightly, burning with hate. "I have no such power."

"Oh, but you do." Voldemort almost but purred, and Lucius was given a very disturbing image of a fat ginger cat wearing the chalk coloured face and red eyes. He banished the thought away hurriedly. "It just hadn't come to you yet. The Higher Powers have not granted this power to you, and yet, they give the power of empathy. Tell me, child, what do you feel?"

"Your spittle on me," answered the boy. "And your foul stench."

Peter made a sound like a strangled rat in the corner, eyes growing as round as tea saucers in terror at the boy's gall. Lucius shot him a warning glare, and the man fell silent.

Voldemort did not turn purple with rage. He seemed merely amused by the remarks. "I would advise against trying to make my blood boil, child. It will not do well for you to suffer another bout of the Cruciatus Curse. People have gone mad from prolong use of the curse before."

The boy squinted up at him. "Of course, you're mad as a Hatter as well."

Voldemort's left eye twitched slightly. "Your wit is trying, boy."

"Can't blame me for trying." The boy shrugged as best he could, considered he was bound to the floor.

"Perhaps it will do to inflict the curse on him again, Master?" Lucius suggested from his position by the mirror. "To shut him up."

The Dark Lord looked thoughtfully down at the boy who stared back at him boldly and unblinkingly. "No, it won't do at all, Lucius. I don't wish to break him or have him become a gibbering idiot like the Longbottoms. I much rather have him with his wits about."

Peter looked disappointed at not seeing the boy suffer anymore. The boy looked relieved but the relief was short lived.

"As I have said, child, you will be of much use to me." Voldemort pointed the wand at him. "Imperio!"

The sun was shining down hotly from the cloudless sky. There was no wind and no other sound for miles around, and yet the grass seemed to ripple in the unseen and unfelt breeze. It didn't feel hot at all. In the middle of the meadow stood a tall oak tree, its branches reaching up high into the blue, cloudless sky. Its leaves rustled despite there was no wind. Everything stood out in vivid colors, the yellow swaying wildflowers which dotted the green sea of grass to the summer sky and the deep green of the leaves in the tree. Like something out a technicolor world where the artists had splashed on layers and layers of vibrant, vivid colors.

Laughter drifted in the still air as two boys ran towards the tree. The older boy had hair that shone like spun gold, gleaming under the bright sunshine. His eyes were blue like the sky above. His mouth was turned up into a laugh as he raced towards the tree. The younger boy had hair like the rich color of earth beneath their feet. The green of the leaves reflected in his eyes, and he, too, was laughing as he followed the older boy. Both looked like picture perfect children.

Reaching the tree, the older boy began to climb, while calling out encouragements to the younger boy. The younger boy grasped hold of the lowest branch, pulled himself up after the older boy. Higher and higher then two of them climbed up, hands grasping for hold, foot planted firmly for support, pulling and pushing. Somewhere during the climb, the older boy stopped, looked down to see four people had come to stand at the foot of the tree.

Three women and a man. Their faces were all turned upwards and they all shared the same, bright smiles on their upturned faces. The plastic Barbie like smiles disturbed the boy. He continued climbing up until he heard a small choked sound below him. He peered down to see the younger boy holding on for dear life to the branch below, tears staining the round face, an unhappy look in the eyes. The younger boy's hands were cut and bleeding from the rough bark of the branches.

Hold my hand, little brother and I'll pull you up, the older boy commanded kindly.

I can't, my hands hurt, the younger boy sobbed. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to.

The older boy watched in horror as the younger boy's hands, already slicked with blood, slipped, letting go of the branch. No! he shouted in despair.

The younger boy's body was thrown apart from the tree and plummeted down to the earth below at blinding speed. The tree itself had somehow shot up during the climb for the ground now looked so very far away and the people below so small. The older boy let go of his hold as well, diving after the younger boy in a childish desperation that he might stopped him from falling any further if he caught him. The younger boy kept falling faster and faster while he was falling at normal pace. The ground was zooming up at them both at frightening speed. The younger boy hit the ground first with a sickening thud, black red blood pooling under the still broken body. He followed next, hearing the loud crunch of bones snapping then blackness then light and then, he was looking at the two bodies before him.

Standing beside him were the four people who had turned to look at him. They still wore the same eerie smiles on their faces, as if what had just happened, they had seen it before. He darted to the broken bodies, cradling them in his arms, tears running down his face as he whipped his head around to face them, anger and horror and pain written across his face.

Why didn't you help them? he shouted at them. Why?

Wyatt jerked awake with a strangled cry stuck in his throat and tears wetting his cheeks. Disorientation filled him as he looked this way and that in the unfamiliar room he was staying in. It took him several heartbeats to finally remember where he was, the remnants of the dreams still remain in his mind. He held out a hand, made a motion and light up one of the torches along the wall. His heart was still pounding erratically in his chest. He ran a shaking hand through his blond hair, wiping away the wetness on his face as he took in several deep breaths in calm himself down.

The tight knot in the pit of his belly had tightened. As he stared at the flickering shadows on the walls, he came to one realization.

Chris was in terrible danger.

TBC...

The-Cheese -Fairy - I have no idea as to what Paige did but just assume she did something for personal gain and got the magic rebounded back to her, like Phoebe always did. It was just a spur of the moment thing I put in for Piper to reprimand the boys.

charmedsisters - I'm glad you love it. I was afraid I might get flames for potraying both wrongly. I love HP/Charmed stories as well but really good ones are a dime a dozen.

andy20 - Your wish is my command! Two chapters for your enjoyment.