Ah, sorry guys that it took so long. I was losing my inspiration for this story for a while and only managed to get back to it. So, don't worry. It's still ongoing. This chapter's a bit shorter than the rest and it took me a while to get everything all out for this chapter.

- Chapter Six -

"Isn't he a sight to behold," crooned the Dark Lord as he circled around his new toy. His heavy, velvet, dark robes swished about his legs, the sleeves fluttering with his movements as he tilted his head aside in what may be an innocent, curious gesture. Never mind that he lacked innocence but radiate pure evilness.

Chris stood in the center of the chamber, under the Imperius Curse, recently washed and now decked in rather fine, slightly opulent clothes provided by Voldemort. No slave of his was going to come off looking like he had just been digging through the discount bin at some cheap discount stores.

Frankly, Lucius thought the boy looked just ordinary. The shirt was black silk, the pants (as with every villain) was black as well and made of dragon hide. The robe that Voldemort bestowed on the boy was black (what else) velvet, a gold clasp the figure of a skull and snake threading through one eye socket contrasting sharply against all the blackness of it.

Wormtail, laid on the stone floor, stupefied and with a rather stupid expression on the pudgy face. He'd been hit with the spell earlier by Voldemort when he started complaining on how he wasn't getting enough appreciation for doing the extra work in taking the boy to the bath and why did his Lord chose to dress a muggle in such clothes? Lucius was glad for the silence once more. The man's complaints was starting to grate on him.

"And Peter, it will do well for you to just shut your mouth for once. It is rather tiresome to be questioned by one who is as dimwitted as a lemming," said Voldemort, pausing momentarily in his admiration for his new slave. "Then you won't even have to be Stupefied." Not that Wormtail could hear him at the moment.

"My Lord?" Lucius, with a swish of his own robes, came forward, bowing slightly. "May I be as bold as to ask what you intend to do with the boy now that you have him under your control?"

"There are many potentials I see for him," Voldemort said, finishing his inspection. He now stood before the boy, eyes narrowed in that thoughtful manner, an almost gleeful but malicious smile spreading across the chalk-white face. "He has the power of divination. To see into the future. I want to see whether Harry Potter has been made into the throw rug I want for my room. I want to see myself ascending to the throne. I want the Charmed Ones killed."

"Not that I doubt him incapable of killing the witches, but is he capable to doing so?" Lucius asked.

"Well, then we shall find out now, shall we?" Voldemort's grin, if possible, grew even wider.

The dragons were restless tonight, he thought. He could hear them pacing about behind the protective wards they'd put up; their breaths coming out in puffs of grey smoke and ash. They were uneasy about something. He could sense it in his veins as well. Something big was coming. Something was happening around them, a force to be reckon with and it made feeling of dread coiled around in the pit of his stomach.

Charlie Weasley looked up into the rapidly darkening sky, feeling the chill in the air seeping into his bones, despite the heavy jacket he wore. His mother was still in her tent, talking to his father who had called unexpectedly. He'd heard catches of it; something was happening back home, and it had made his worried enough that he would call his mother.

The sense of foreboding grew.

Suddenly, Charlie wished he was anywhere but here. Back home, at least, he might be able to keep tabs on the Ginny and Ron. The two were caught up in the web that was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and Harry Potter. He'd known the war was coming, but it still felt like it was too soon.

Giving the sky one last look, he strode back into his tent.

Wyatt Halliwell was the twice-blessed. He was granted with powers that were beyond the Warren-Halliwell lines. He was exceptional gifted and wise beyond his years (though his younger brother might have a say in that matter). He was the one who will bring about the greater good of magic. He was also the one who was doing the dishes with one of his aunts at the moment.

Why, he thought sourly, should he be even scrubbing the pan when those brushes can scrub it themselves? Wasn't that what magic was for?

"You okay, Wyatt?" asked Phoebe.

He remembered who he was next to. His aunt was nothing, if but perceptive. She didn't need her empathy to see what's eating you inside. That was what made her such a great advice columnist.

"Peachy. I'm doing dishes when I can be doing something like, oh, looking for a certain baby brother of mine who's been kidnaped by some evil overlord." Wyatt banged the pot against the sink a little too hard. He was worried, and the worry was going to give him ulcers and he thought Chris was the worrywart with the ulcers. The dream was disturbing, he didn't want to even look deeper into it or find out more. He wanted nothing more to charge right up to doorstep to confront the guy who took his brother, except he had no clue as to where the guy is or what he looked like.

"Wyatt," his aunt said, her tone tinged with weariness. So, she was tired and worried as well. Everyone was.

The atmosphere was high strung, tensed. Like a violin string wound up too tight and ready to snap. He could hear Harry and the others discussing something in low tones, out of earshot. He had the feeling they were keeping something from him and his family.

"Aunt Phoebe, what are we doing here?" he asked tightly. "Why are we here?"

"Because Dumbledore said..." Phoebe began only to be cut off.

"I know what he said," cut in Wyatt. "This isn't our war. This isn't even our turf. Why are we here, helping them when we could be out there looking for Chris, maybe scrying for him."

"No, you're right. It's not our war," Phoebe said, turning the tap off, setting the plates on the rack to dry. "This isn't even our place to be, to help them or fight against the Dark Lord but it will be soon enough. We're here not because we have much of a choice. We're here because we have to. This is a war that's going to involve us, whether we want to be involve or not, and we already are."

"We always never have a choice, don't we?" Wyatt asked tiredly. He rested the palms of his hands on the sink's edge, looking out at the window at the noontime sun. "It's always by the force of hand that we get involve in this huge mess, and we always end up way over our heads." He let out a short laugh. "Chris was right. Trouble is never far from the Halliwells."

"It's our destiny."

"To fight evil until the day we die of old age like everyone normal does or we got vanquished by some demon." Wyatt gave her a wry smile. "Yeah, it's destiny, all right. Just not the way we wanted." He sighed, running a hand through his blond hair. "Like it or not, we're in deep with this already."

Phoebe nodded.

Ron Apparated to London's uptown, to an apartment at the very edge of the magical community. He hadn't been there before. Not even when Ginny had moved in with Malfoy. There hadn't been much time, and frankly, he would rather not set foot into an abode of Malfoy's at all but this time, he had no choice. He'd heard from Harry that Dumbledore had finished his meeting with them both and they had Flooed home hours ago but had yet to make their grand appearance at the Burrow. Surely they knew the urgency of the matter? Unless they were caught up in make up sex which he had so conveniently interrupted last night.

His face flushed as red as his hair when he remembered what had happened last night. He didn't need a reminder of that. Seeing his sister and Malfoy all over each other was enough to last him an entire lifetime. Not for the first time, he wondered what had Ginny saw in that git. Draco Malfoy was not Harry Potter, neither was he like Ron. Malfoy had this malicious glee about him, a dark sense of humor and rather sharp tongue. He said things that can leave you feel like someone had stomped all over your fragile heart to pieces and would not even be sorry about it all. Malfoy was not the kindest person Ron knew, the boy was selfish and yet, he can surprise you with the unexpected act of kindness that he was quick to dismiss.

And yet, to Ron's puzzlement, Ginny seemed to be mad over him. Mad enough to marry him, much to the Weasley brothers's utmost dismay. Arthur and Molly didn't seem overly concerned about it; what Ginny does, is her business, not theirs. Of course, it didn't helped that Malfoy had charmed the socks of Ron's mother, and the git was an Auror as well. Score brownie points for him then.

The flat was simple decorated without the ostentatious objects that most of the rich would proudly show. There was Ginny's faint touches to the decoration here and there; flowers on the table, photos on the mantelpiece and wall. Otherwise, the place was very much lived-in and just nice. Surprisingly. Ron had expected Ming vases or leather sofas on.

"Ginny!" he called, stepping further into the living room. Sunlight filtered through the thin curtain, creating warm pools of light on the carpeted floor. Double doors lead outside to the patio to the view of greenery.

Instead of Ginny, Ron blinked when a something small and furry came out to greet him. It was rather unexpected and he wondered for a moment if his sister or her husband had gone mad. After all, why would you get something that would remind you of the bitter memory of being turned into a ferret?

"Ron, is that you?" Thankfully, this time, Ginny did appear. She looked as if she had just finished a bath, her hair was damp against her back, the ends curling slightly.

"What is that?" he asked immediately, pointing with some incredulity at the beast before him.

It cocked its furred head to one side, nose twitching as it peered up at him.

"It's a ferret," she answered in a matter of fact way. "You have seen one before, if I recall. One that bounced down the stairs of Hogwarts?"

"I know what it is," he snapped at her, ignoring her blatant amusement. "What I want to know is, why is it here? Did you turn Malfoy into a ferret?"

"Of course not," Ginny retorted, face turning into a scowl. "As if I would turn him into such a thing, and that reminds me that I owe you a hex, Ron. You are just a shameless person, aren't you?"

Ron spluttered in indignation at his sister, mouth opening and closing, trying his hardest to get words out but failed to do so. The ferret made a noise, as if it was amused by the redhead's sudden lack of vocabulary.

"Ah, shuddup, you," he managed to get out, at the ferret. Ginny smothered a laugh behind her hands as Malfoy finally appeared.

He took one look at Ron and raise a perfect eyebrow at him, expression bland. "Weasley talking to animals again? Potter and Granger must be poor company if you resort to such eccentrics."

"Bugger off, Malfoy," grumbled Ron. "You both were taking such a long time coming that I had to come over here to remind you."

"We were just about to go over," Ginny said hastily. "I'll put Ronald in his cage. Blaise will come over later to pick him up."

"What a minute... Ronald! You named the bloody animal after me?" Ron all but shouted, clearly outraged at the thought. He wasn't sure whether to be insulted or flattered that they chose to name it after him.

"Is it a problem with you, Weasley?" asked Malfoy, humor in his tone. "I'd feel that it is an honour to be named after someone, especially a Weasley. Ginny wanted to call him Bill, you see but I swayed her to Ronald."

"Malfoy, I have a good mind to punch your lights out, you smug git," said Ron, without any meaning behind the words.

"As do I, Weasley. As do I." The blond nodded solemnly.

What he would give to wring the guy's neck.

Paige had scried for more than an hour, right after breakfast. The crystal kept swinging round and round above the map she had spread out on the coffee table. It looked like it wasn't going to drop on a location anytime soon, and her arm was starting to cramp. Piper had tried for a Lost Witch spell which did nothing and left the eldest sister in frustration. Piper was now sitting in the armchair, a scowl on her face, arms crossed, looking like she might commit murder at any second. Paige let out a breath, dropping the crystal on the table in resignation.

"Well," she said brightly. "Wherever he is, it's probably cloaked. I can't get a location on him at all. Maybe you should try the spell again?"

"I tried four times and all I got was nothing," snapped Piper.

"Geez, don't bite my head off." Paige stood up, stretched and flopped onto the sofa in relief. Her back was starting to ache from the bent over position for too long.

"Sorry," Piper said contritely. "I just want to find my son. I'm worried, I'm frustrated and I'm helpless. I don't even know what's happening to him."

"Chris can handle himself, Piper," she said gently. "He's not that helpless baby anymore. He's grown up, and if he's capable to vanquishing high level demons, he's certainly capable of taking care of himself in the hands of an evil megalomaniac."

Piper had a stern look of irritation on her face, although the corners of her mouth twitched. "You're right. But I'm his mother. I still worry. I don't want to lose him... again."

"Neither do I. So, I'm going to just get something of his and scry for him again," said Paige decidedly. "Be back in a few." She orbed out, leaving Piper alone in the living room.

The boy walked down the bustling street. To the other wizards, he looked ordinary enough. He was tall, brown hair that was in want of a cutting, clear green eyes. No one seemed to notice him. In fact, no one paid any attention to him at all.

That is, until the boy brought up both hands in an unfamiliar gesture. He flicked his wrists, and chaos descended upon Diagon Alley.

In the kitchen, Wyatt's head whipped up and he got a horrifying vision of people running, screaming, flames licking at them.

"Wyatt, what is it?" Phoebe asked anxiously, sensing a premonition from him.

"Chris."

TBC...