Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me except plotlines, clans and their members, and Grey Tower along with any characters that you don't recognize.

Elemental Prophecies
Chapter Two: Should've Known Better

There was no risk that I wouldn't take
Not a promise that I didn't make
All I asked was that you just hold on
Now I'm wondering what I did wrong

Should've known better
Than to fall in love with you
Now love is just a faded memory
Should've known better
Now I'm a prisoner to this pain
And my heart sill aches for you

-"Should've Known Better" by Richard Marx

She was a tall, regal woman with strands of silver within the black and dark brown hair, her face holding a timeless dark beauty. Melania, the goddess of darkness, strode down the marble halls of her castle in the land of the dead; the stars shining their ethereal light through though the windows. The forest green fabric of her gown swept across the floor, the black cloak that was draped over her shoulders. Her gait was swift, angry and purposeful, her expression of that of tight annoyance. A set of doors burst open at her approach, leading into the Great Hall of Annuvin, the sweeping staircase and the large entries at the top of the stairs and within the large portico. She was making her way across the enormous room when a grumpy voice called out to her.

"I hope you were actually doing something constructive while you were out. Not that you usually do anyway."

She scowled at Black Wolf, the persistently caustic statuette that sat on the stairway. It never liked anyone, least of all herself. The only exception to that rule was her mother, probably due to the fact that her father would have probably destroyed the spirit if the venerable goddess of the night had not intervened. "Unfortunately, I haven't. But it's hardly my fault!" she defended, angrily. "Eris says she wants to speak to me and never shows up! But it isn't as if I like talking to the goddess of discord, anyway."

All that time she spent waiting. Styx was hardly a river that she usually liked to be near, even if she were dark. No god or goddess did, neither light nor dark. Its waters were binding, the most sacred of covenants always sworn on the cursed black waters. She herself had been bound to several promises through the dark power of the Styx. They weren't pledges that any immortal enjoyed taking.

It was a horrible time. The river gave no sustenance to the land, but fed upon it. Unlike Annuvin, which was the land of the dead, the earth that Styx flowed through was barren and desolate. The only plant life that managed to grow in that inhospitable soil were twisted and deformed, their leaves and stems brown and withered. Rolling clouds perpetually loomed in that realm's sky, the thunder sometimes so loud in volume that the ground trembled from its strength. The only place of refuge was a small shrine, built on a precarious cliff ledge, consisting of only a simple stone altar reaped with such trifles as maryoku and vivere crystals. It was a wide spread belief that the magic and life energies contained within those stones would appease whatever nature the river possessed, maybe even nullify the oaths made.

But it was useless to ever think such a thing. Styx was a ruthless mistress, blind and pitiless justice personified.

"You know sometimes I wonder even why I put up with you."

"First of all," she pointed out dryly. "You're part of my staircase. And second, who is putting up with who, here?"

"I won't even bother. Because you were out, doing nothing I might add, a message came for you." The wolf statue bristled visibly in indignation. "I am not your answering machine and that blasted bird shouldn't peck me in the head just because I said that she could stand to lose some weight!"

"Bird?" Melania questioned, pointedly ignoring the rest of the surly spirit's rant.

"White Owl. Apparently, some bloke named Sirius Black kidnapped your little descendant from wherever you had hidden him away and brought him straight to Hogwarts." The wolf paused. "Black. Same as Nathaniel Black, which was that alias that good-for-nothing god of death took when he went to Earth twice? Figures. Even his descendants are trouble! That must've been why Eris never showed. She'd tricked you, girl."

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE'S AT HOGWARTS?!"

"I'm not repeating myself again, you know. And I think you got the gist of the situation already."

"I'm going to find that worthless, self-centered, and absolutely mental, idiotic excuse for a wizard and when I do, he's going to know exactly why I am the Black Dragon!"

The water held in the streetlights of Hallenby Drive glowed brightly in the falling dusk, colored circles painting the road in their luminance. Of the houses that were lined down Hallenby, many curious eyes were peeking through the blinds and curtains of their windows, their shadows giving them away. There was a reason for why they did not join the small group of people clustered outside on the sidewalk. A deathly cold wind gusted down the avenue, so strong that the trees bend precariously, close to breaking, leaves tearing off of their branches. Of the individuals that were gathered around this area, six being the leaders of the Arashi-Tenku Dragon clan, none were surprised at all by this occurrence. Wind elementals sometimes transferred their rage to their element when they were mad.

Or, as in the case of wind elemental Zylle Hawking, when they were enraged.

She paced in short, angry strides, her high heels clicking loudly in the silence that pervaded the street. Her dark hair was in disarray, made messier by the wind, and her gray eyes were flashing in unadulterated fury. Zylle's suitcase was abandoned on the lawn of a house, the professionalism that exuded from her bright scarlet jacket and matching knee-length skirt making the woman seem even more intimidating. Her long cashmere waistcoat was unbuttoned and open, moving with her as she strode two and fro in her incensed state. Though most agreed that she had a reason for being in such a mood. Her son, albeit adopted but her son nevertheless, was just kidnapped off the streets of Grey Tower Town. If one was taken, how safe were their other children?

And the deeper worry of what was happening to her son was also preying on her mind. She never really forgot how he arrived in Grey Tower, in that whirlwind, bleeding and half-dead. What if those people that had done that before wanted him back? And would she find the boy that she held dear to her heart dead this time?

Don't think about that!

"Don't worry, Zylle," Hans Claybourne, in his typical violent lime green bathrobe and slippers, said confidently, his slight German accent more noticeable in his belief. "We'll get Night back." The elemental beside him, the owner of the house where the abduction took place, looked over at him with silent awe and blatant disbelief. The older man, with his eccentric personality, wasn't one that many believed to be one of the most influential elementals of this time. Yet, this man (who had a habit of donning a saucepan as a hat) was indeed, that important.

Beside him, Sarah Hawking agreed silently, the lines of her face set in the determined fashion that all who knew her well recognized that she wasn't going to give in lightly. "You said that you think you know how they vanished?" she asked, kneeling down to touch the place where her grandson had vanished. The aura of wizard magic stood out to all of them, completely foreign and strange to an area where elemental magic reigned supreme. She recoiled from the magical spore when she tried to touch it with two curious fingers.

Hans nodded grimly. "They call it a 'portkey', I believe. Some enchanted item takes them from one place to another. I may be wrong, it's been quite a few years since I was around wizards."

"But how did he get through?!" Zylle demanded, ceasing her pacing. "We've warded Grey Tower against Phantom Elementals and all wizards that are part of our own community or relatives that we trust. How could he have gotten through those, if no one knows who he is?"

A red-haired woman, striking in a butter-colored leather jacket and a long black skirt, also knelt down towards the strange remnants of that foreign magic with curiosity. "That man I told you about, who I fought while the finals were going on – Sirius Black. He managed to get through the wards. Saying that he was looking for you, Zylle. Something about a person named 'Harry'." She emphasized the next part, "He was wearing red wizard robes."

"That doesn't explain the breaching of the wards, Mirai," Jonathan Smythe pointed out, looking up at the now greenish-light emitting from the streetlamp. "It only means that he had come through once before. And the wards were up during that time, I believe. How did he get through?"

The icy voice of Lavinia Coulter answered stoically. "Maybe he has some elemental power. You said that when he vanished, it was in a burst of flames." The blue-eyed brunette leaned against one of the posts belonging to the houses, her white lab coat standing out in the early evening. "Your son was a wizard, maybe there are others that are – "

"ZYLLE!" the buoyant voice of a man called from down the street.

Not even turning around to look, Zylle cursed under her breath. "Not Crowley. Please not Crowley. I do not need this right now…"

"Who does?" her mother muttered.

"Zylle!" the newcomer, a handsome blond man with a flirtatious grin on his face, skidded to a stop in front of her. "I had just heard what happened –"

"Wonderful," Lavinia interjected. "Don't we all just love gossip?"

Crowley shot the chemistry professor a glare, which she shrugged off with grace. "It was a wizard, right? That's what everyone is saying."

"Yes, Crowley," Zylle ground out in frustration. "It was a wizard."

"Well, your son was a wizard before that freak accident brought him here, right? He's back with his own kind! Maybe it's best that – OW!"

Whatever David Crowley had to say was silenced by a swift punch in the face, in which he fell to the ground sprawling. If anyone was listening they would have heard him dazedly muttering about fairies, but no one was really paying attention to the fallen leader of the Rekka-Ki. Zylle, massaging her knuckles, gave the group a cursory glower, daring anyone else to say anything. Granted, it was ruined by the loud exclamation of "That's my girl!" and "Idiot deserved that one!" by Sarah and Hans.

"What's that cat doing?" Zylle's attention turned downward at the sight of the family cat. The black feline was sniffing the magical signature and then looking at the sky with narrowed vivid green eyes. She could have sworn that the gold tips of its ears and tail were glowing. The moment was shattered when Shadow hissed in a feral manner, something she had never heard the cat do before. It swished its tail in agitation before leaping on to her shoulder, its slinky body tense and on edge.

The message was as clear as day. That cat knew where Night was.

Wizards and elementals had rarely ever gotten along. Countless centuries ago, when magic was more common and viewed with less prejudice, the two used to coexist with each other. But the two types of magic became too different to deny, the theories of the wizards going against many of the unwritten laws of nature that the elementals followed, and so the wizards and elementals going their divergent ways. Eventually, the wizards hid away and then forgot about the other group. The elementals, whose primary location in England was the community of Grey Tower Town outside London, were actually pleased by this development.

That had changed recently, with the new rise of the Phantom Elementals and this new 'dark lord' that they now paid allegiance to. One of their own was in the clutches of a wizard, the son of one of the most influential clan leaders, and the successor to the post of Black Dragon.

Zylle, however, was livid and wanted her son back. And if that meant following a cat and razing the entire area where her son was kept, so be it.

But one thing was for sure: that wizard in the red robes – Sirius Black – was going to get it.

A handsome young man in black robes and cloak stood on top of the highest onion dome of St. Basil's Cathedral, looking over the lights of Moscow. The crescent moon, a sliver of white nearly hidden behind the veil of nebulous clouds, adorned the night sky in its simple mystery. Dark blue eyes, flecked with gold and silver, closed briefly, reveling in the darkness of the nightfall, a small contented smile gracing his face. An errant breeze from the west ruffled his unruly black hair, causing his cloak to billow in the zephyr.

A hand reached into a pocket, drawing from the depths of his robe a small drawstring bag of unknown material. Nimble fingers undid the shining silver thread, opening the small pouch, before turning it slightly so its contents would fall into his hands. Silver colored sand poured slowly until he had a small pile in his palm, shining in the dark, a radiant unearthly beauty contained in every grain. With practiced poise, he brought the pile to his face. He blew gently and the sand was dispersed over the luminous city, the particles making an earthy river of silver before descending to the earth like slowly falling stars. Nodding in satisfaction, the man closed the pouch and placed it in his pocket once more. He looked prepared to jump of the dome, when a cheerful voice broke the silence that he had visibly enjoyed.

"Oy! You're still working?! Take a break, or better yet, a vacation!"

The man stopped in mid-action, placing his foot back down on the solid colored surface, and an expression of exasperation crossing his face to stay. With a flurry of cloak and robes, he turned around to see his double. There were some differences between them, but these were more of mannerisms than features. The newcomer's face was open, smiling enigmatically, his movements just a bit sharper, a little more danger veiled in good humor. He also wore mostly muggle clothes: a long black coat, a white shirt, and dark blue jeans, a black cloak identical to the first's thrown over his shoulders. Other than that, they were practically identical.

"You know that I can't very well just decide to take off," the first chided. "I actually do my job unlike you."

"Why does everyone comment on my taking of little breaks?" the other sighed out.

"Because," the first said dryly, "you spend what time you should be doing your work to annoying the rest of us. Go do your job."

"Just because you're older by a few paltry minutes doesn't mean you can order me around, Hypnos," was the indignant reply.

"So, we're twins. Those minutes still count. I believe it gives me some degree of influence, Thanatos. Now what have you done this time? Or do I want to know? Your shenanigans during the 1800s were enough for people to lose sleep over. Particularly what you pulled when you visited Singapore and Hong Kong."

Thanatos smirked mischievously. "What makes you think I did something?"

A harsh wind blew between the two, identical twin brothers, so alike and yet so different.

Sleep and Death stood on equal ground.

"Because you look like a cat that just caught the mouse and finished it down with cream," Hypnos commented, his blue eyes narrowed in suspicion, locking onto blue eyes that were the same shape and color as his were. "Seriously, can you for once in your existence give a straight answer? What did you do?"

Screams filled the air, high and full of unimaginable pain, ripping at the souls of all who heard them. In the quickly darkening sky, a symbol of a skull and snake sparkled, emerald stars twinkling grimly against the purpling heavens, spectators of the evils of mankind.

Of course, they did not affect those whose hearts were tainted with the love of evil. Nor did they extract any kind of sympathy for a being that did not have a soul at all.

A family was surrounded by a group of black-cloaked specters, white masks serving as the blank ruthless visages that covered their base humanity. The small family was unmagical in everyway, but they stood together, two trembling children hidden behind their crying mother and their father, standing tall, wielding a large meat cleaver. Its blade glimmered in the pale lights that lit the tips of their attackers' wands, the last defense against the hunters. Their home was torn asunder: the front door was lying on the floor in splinters, furniture upended, glassware and crystal shattered, walls were riddled with holes, the television and light bulbs blown. A family portrait hung over the mantle of what used to be a majestic fireplace was slashed and ripped to shreds.

The black-cloaked murderers moved aside, revealing a shadow in the door. When the figure stepped into the light, the father dropped his weapon in a silent scream. His wife behind him gasped, wails issuing from the mouths of his children.

Before them was not a man, but a monster. Pale skin, white and holding a dry scaly quality, was stretched tightly across the skull of a fiend, his nose flat like that of a snake's. A thin mouth was smiling in a sinister fashion, grotesque joy contained within that small curve of lips. Red eyes, the pupils were slits like those of a cat's, did not hide the delight that beastly figure was feeling. Pale spidery figures grasped a wand, glinting a blood red in a ruthless metallic luster. The body of the man was lost in the voluminous robes, almost as deep a black as those worn by the Grim Reaper himself.

"So," the nightmare made reality said cackling, his high-pitched voice making all those with him become uneasy. "This is Silvanus Fudge? The brother of that inept excuse of a minister, Cornelius Fudge?" He then laughed, his mirth carrying into the murderous silence. "The squib?"

"Please," the man pleaded. "I'm the one you want, right? Let my family go! They've done nothing! They have nothing to do with anything!" The last was a desperate appeal; the man was on his knees, begging.

Voldemort laughed once again. "Do you honestly think I would spare your pathetic muggle family? I am Lord Voldemort!" That cruel smile appeared once again. "If you must blame anyone, blame your idiotic brother. He is partly the reason why you – and your family – will not see tomorrow." He brought up his wand, their deaths certain.

The Maleficus watched with glee as the slaughter took place before his eyes. Four bodies fell to the ground, lifeless, their eyes blank, the faces capturing the primal essence of fear for eternity. After the Death Eaters and their Lord had left, the handsome man with the black armor and insect-like wings approached the abandoned corpses. He stood above the fallen body of Silvanus Fudge, his mirthful smile still on his face. A tanned hand, covered in a multitude of scars and healed cuts, reached out to grasp something from the air. A small globe of yellow light appeared in his hands, solidifying into a golden star-like crystal, its radiance now illuminating the entire wrecked house in a serene light.

The air around him shimmered and two more figures appeared beside him, a man and a woman. They were like him in their black armor and wings, their jovial grins at the sight of the carnage that had taken place both within and outside the walls. The first Maleficus closed his hands around the crystal, squeezing it, attempting to shatter it.

A flash of silver light enveloped the three, causing them to close their eyes and scream. Their shrieks reverberated through the earth, the sky, and the frightful sound making blood of any kind run cold with dread. The first Maleficus dropped the crystal, before the trio of winged evil spirits disappeared. Two figures then appeared in the destroyed home, their gray cloaks covering their all-black attire. One was a girl with a curvaceous figure, long auburn hair tied up in a ponytail, her amber eyes surveying the area. The other was also a girl, but she was taller and leaner, with the look of a tough athlete. Her skin was dark brown, her eyes a similar color, strength radiating from every part of her manner. Simple clips held her black hair back.

The gloved hand of the pale-skinned girl gently picked the crystal up, bringing it up to her face for examination. The auburn-haired one sighed with relief. "We got here just in time, Falcifer."

Falcifer snorted. "I say that we're pretty lucky then. What is this, the sixteenth one this month?" She raised her hands towards the heavens, a fierce glare sent towards the heavens. "We aren't exactly in our true forms! We would've been able to do this before, but not in these weak mortal bodies." The black girl then turned to the other, her gaze intense and inquiring at the same time. "When did Darius say that we get back our real forms, Megami?"

Megami shrugged. "We don't know. The Relics of Judgment have yet to reveal themselves." Her gaze turned towards the lifeless Silvanus Fudge. "I think when all the loyal Harbinger souls that underwent the Verdict have returned to full consciousness is when it all happens. And there are still quite a few of us that aren't awakened yet."

"And I bet one of them is Nuitari. Right when we need the little bugger, he doesn't show. Great. Bastard."

"C'mon, let's return to Empire City." Megami turned a doleful glance at the golden crystal. "We've done our work. Now we need to awaken Isaiah."

"Good," Falcifer muttered. "Just what I need. Someone else mentioning this stupid reincarnation change again. It didn't help that freakin' Hiroshi actually laughed for once in his life. Moronic, macho, dogmatist idiots!" She stamped an offended foot to the ground. "They think it's easy being a female?!"

"Welcome to the club. Really, I don't think Isaiah would do that. Besides, he might already know. He is the Prophet Harbinger."

The white was oppressive, its brightness stinging his eyes. Where was he? Beds lined the sides of the room, windows letting in the waning afternoon light of the setting October sun. Jars and bottles of multicolored potions glimmered in liquid hues. On one of the beds, prone and still, lay his faithful owl Hedwig. He had her to thank after all for returning to consciousness. When she did whatever magic she had done, he received a jolt of intuition that he should leave her behind and get out. He felt her presence gone though…her body was there…but where...

"Harry-"

Night's attention snapped up again to the strange people. There was a plump-looking woman, wearing a kind of nurse's uniform, looking at him with concerned eyes. Another was an old man, his beard snow white and long enough to tuck into the belt of his robes, half-moon spectacles sitting on a long nose that looked as if it had been broken quite a few times. The one that spoke was the man that brought him here, the one that changed from that familiar dog into his abductor. Was this a trick? To lure him in with something that was vaguely familiar to this unknown place?

"Where the hell am I," he demanded, his voice hissing angrily, "and who are all of you?"

This seemed to catch the others by surprise. Well, most of the group. The old man in the purple robes looked more sorrowful than shocked. The woman or nurse – whoever she was – gave a short gasp before sinking onto one of the beds, her hands held to her mouth in a horrified stare. The man in red made no move: his face went pasty white and his blue eyes seemed to be lost, seeing through him.

"Hogwarts, Harry," the older man said into the tense silence. "This is Hogwarts. Your home." He gestured around the white room, a type of infirmary or hospital wing. Needless to say, he preferred the more comfortable and less glaring rooms of the hospital at Grey Tower than this one. Cleanliness seemed to overload the senses, the scent of pine and lemon cleaner a fierce contrast to the crisp cool air and the perfume of late roses and lilacs that had pervaded Hallenby Drive.

Hogwarts. There is a school up north for wizards; the name is something dealing with a pig. But when we sent our kids there, they were constantly sick. That wizarding school to the north Gran had talked about before. "My home," Night replied back, "is Grey Tower." He backed up from them towards the wall, a bad feeling twisting the insides of his stomach. Behind his silver rimmed glasses, he kept alert emerald green eyes on all of them. "And I'm not Harry!" he affirmed forcefully. "I'm Nuitari Hawking!"

The adults shared a look, the eyes of the older man hardening to a determined clear blue. "Don't move, Harry," he said, his voice oddly calm. So much so that Night was immediately tensed for anything. A wrinkled hand reached into his purple robes, a thin wand slipping out of a pocket. "This won't hurt at all."

As quick as lightning, the white-colored jet of light was reflected off a shield of swirling winds, his dark hair lifting slightly as the zephyrs churned and whirled around him in a protective dome. The pages of an open book on a desk were fluttering, the loose papers falling to the floor, the curtains around a few beds moving in the breezes. The sizzling of the diverted spell was loud in the deathly silence, the impeccable white of one of the walls charred with black.

It was at that moment when he felt something…something undeniably wrong.

Beneath his control, he could feel his magic being twisted and pulled, so much so that it made him cry out in pain. The pain culminated into his right hand, vicious slice marks appearing on his lower right arm and his wrist, as if slashed by a razor-sharp invisible edge. Blood gushed from the deep wounds in torrents, the red liquid of life dripping off his arm and pooling onto the floor. The bottles of potions were shaking violently before being flung towards him, shattering against his wavering shield of wind in multicolored splashes.

Cursing quite eloquently, he opened his mouth to demand that the wizards stop their assault on his person immediately. However, it was easy to see that they weren't doing it. All three of them were chanting spells to block the potions, to stop the beds from flying at him, to prevent the scalpels that were shooting out of the desk from impaling him. They weren't the ones doing this at all. But then, why was he the only one being attacked?

There's just something there at that particular school that causes them to be ill. If they aren't sick, they attract trouble like the plague…there is a presence there that does it. It reacts to our children, who though can't use elemental magic, have it in their blood.

Was it reacting to him? Those who weren't ill attracted trouble, according to Gran. And as he winced, barely avoiding a nasty potion that hissed and shot up smoke as it floor, he definitely qualified this as trouble. Granted, he assumed this was a bit more extreme than Gran had put it. Maybe it was because he didn't just have it in his blood, but because he could use it as well.

It made a bizarre sort of sense. It all started when he summoned the air shield. It was the only thing that he could do. Especially, he noted with some contempt, the wizards obviously weren't going to succeed in preventing their castle from killing him. And they claimed that this was his home?! He felt that he knew himself reasonably well and was very sure of the fact that he was not a masochist. Training sessions with his mother or Professor Coulter did not qualify.

Taking a deep breath and readying himself to move, he prepared to let down the air shield, all the while grasping the hurt arm that was throbbing in agony. Waiting for the right moment, the air shield disappeared. Abruptly, the chaos ceased. Whatever objects that were previously airborne crashed to the ground, courtesy of gravity. The beds stopped moving, the windows ceased their fierce shuttering, and the bottles of potions stopped flinging themselves at him. The once impeccably neat and functional infirmary was destroyed.

Night was not concentrating on that, though. Widened eyes were focused on the steel scalpel embedded deeply in the wall, in the space right where his head was. Undoubtedly, a close one.

A strong calloused hand fell onto his shoulder, catching his attention immediately. Looking up, he found the man in the red robes looking at him with concern and worry, something he recognized instantly, largely because the same emotions showed in Zylle's face whenever something happened to him. He blinked languidly; green meeting blue, trying to figure out why he was feeling déjà vu. Had this had happened before…the man had changed into a strikingly familiar animal…maybe these people did know him…but the memories…

"Harry, are you alright?"

Whatever revelation had just been barely beyond the grasp of his mind's fingers flew away again, like the ever-elusive shadow of the moon. Night roughly shook off the hand and made for the door, jumping over two beds (one in its proper place, the other crashed in the middle of the room), evading the two red spells that he knew to be stunners and a pair of hands that tried to grab him before he could escape.

But he was a wind elemental and wind elementals were naturally speedy and quick. In no time, he was on the other side of the room, approaching the doors, the other three running to catch up with him. He ignored the pain that was stabbing through his entire right arm, disregarding the blood spilling from the open wounds, a hand reaching out to grasp the handle of the door-

It was just his luck that the door decided to burst open at that moment. He was flung immediately backward, the edge of the door catching him excruciatingly on the chin, so that he went sprawling onto the floor of the hospital wing.

What is this 'Kidnap and Attack Night' day?!

Gingerly trying to sitting up with an injured arm, he was once more struck by the amazing fortune that he had missed the scalpel lying not three inches from where he fell. He was being helped up into a sitting position by the younger man again, the woman now fussing over him like an overprotective mother hen. Night balked at the reprimanding glare that she was giving him. What?! I didn't ask to be attacked! You people brought me here in the first place! The old man, was kneeling down beside him, carefully examining the silver and green scarf wrapped around his neck, analytically scrutinizing the fabric through those glasses. Why, he didn't know. And in addition to a hurt arm, his chin now joined the list of injuries.

"Headmaster, Silvanus Fudge has just been – Potter?!"

The loud exclamation brought the already pissed-off Night to look upward, annoyance clearly showing in his face. Towering above him was a man in pure black robes and sallow skin, his face showing a distinct expression of shock that didn't seem to fit his demeanor. He had greasy black hair, his nose decidedly hook-shaped. Where was the decency here? Not even one 'sorry' from this guy? Who taught him manners, a goat?

Wait, wouldn't be demeaning to the goat?

Why was Night being so antagonistic? He felt he had the right to be. His escape was thwarted by this man just swooping in like bat and then settling for just staring at him. He would bet anyone else in his situation wouldn't be too happy either.

"Potter. I can't believe it. Black finally found Potter. It's a miracle. So did this 'woman' Black was searching all over the greater part of England for the key as he thought?" the man sneered. Black, whom Night assumed his kidnapper was, growled in a very dog-like manner, dislike practically painted in large letters on his forehead.

"You were saying, Severus?" the old man asked, still looking over the scarf. He would have grabbed it away, but that infernal woman kept poking at his right arm and Black had a firm hold on both, so the left arm was out of the question as well.

"Silvanus Fudge is dead. Elementals are thought to be the culprits, though they weren't the ones who did most of the damage. They said something about those missions being 'beneath their dignity to even think of deeming it worth their time.' So far, all I've seen of those infernal people have just shown them to be a bunch of arrogant imbeciles with a lot of firepower."

"Hey! Wizards, here!" Night interjected crossly, drawing the surprised glances of all four adults. "In case you haven't notice between kidnapping me, knocking me out, your castle attempting to kill me, and this guy sending me flying by being in my way, I'm an elemental!" Four amazed blinks. Well, if he was stuck here for the moment, he might as well make sure that he would give them a hard time of it. "And you're one to talk," he continued. "Like we would even care to associate someone who opens a door in someone's face and doesn't even apologize about it. No, he goes on and insults him like a complete and total ignoramus!" Under his breath, Night muttered audibly, "Loser."

This Severus character gave him a cursory glance before turning to the old man. "This isn't Potter."

"I've been saying that. But none of you seem to be listening to little ole me, now are you?"

"The Potter I know is disrespectful, but not that much," Severus continued, ignoring him. Black really wasn't paying attention to the man either, stuck between glaring at the greasy-haired man and at him. "And Potter isn't smart enough to know what an ignoramus is to even spell it, much less say it. Though I doubt this look-alike does either."

"For your information, I-G-N-O-R-A-M-U-S," Night taunted, once more getting annoyed at the fact that he was being treated as both a fragile child and as if he weren't there. "Or maybe I am wrong. It may be Y-O-U."

A scowl was sent his way, which was received with a stoic glare. "See?!" Severus maintained. "Not Potter."

"We've already established that! I'm Nuitari Hawking and I have no idea who you people are!"

"Shush, child," the woman scolded, "you're just confused! Everything will be fine in a moment and we'll get this all healed up! Such deep wounds, it's taking a while to heal. Why must you always get into trouble? You've always been a delicate boy…"

"I am not confused, you are! Wait…delicate? I am not delicate!"

The old man was grinning slightly, shaking his head, which didn't help the aggravated teenager. "We believe that Harry maybe under a spell, possibly a Confudus charm or a strong memory charm. He was probably put into the care of the elementals by the Dark Lord to brainwash him to the dark side."

"Dark side? What is this, Star Wars? Lemme guess, this Dark Lord fellow is some kind of imitation-Darth Vader."

"Is it possible to break it?" Black put forward, the hands gripping Night's arms strengthening his hold. "He isn't going to be like this for his entire life, is he?" The expression on the red-robed man looked extremely grim, his eyes shadowed.

"Hopefully not, Sirius."

"Elemental to wizards, elemental to wizards. I'm Nuitari Hawking, not whoever this other kid is! Is this getting through?" He winced as the nurse swatted his shoulder, he had moved too much. So far, three of the wounds were healed. There were still a multitude of them left, including two nasty looking ones carved right on the inside of his wrists, a facsimile of an "X" engraved into his flesh.

Black suddenly yelled out, "What do you think you're doing, Sna-"

A wand was pointed in between his eyes, the hook-nosed man saying, "Legilimens!"

The Legimens spell. Tom had mentioned that during his lessons. They were actually going to try that soon, but it was difficult. It wasn't as if Night could practice it on anyone around him after all. Images of a person's mind were made visible to the spellcaster…

He needed to do something. They could find out where the leaders of the clan lived! Concentrating, he tried to summon a shield of some kind. Maybe he would get lucky and one of those killer objects would hit the infuriating man over the head.

That was the idea, until he noticed the vestiges of silver at the edges of his vision beginning to cloud over everything else…

…Mirage Searle stood on the deserted Shade Boulevard, when it was in its prime, standing tall and proud, though beaten and bleeding in tattered and slashed black clothing. Laughing, she then smirked, saying, "Am I really the only Sekai-Kage Wolf left?"…She, a man, and a young boy were walking down a busy shopping street, but the young man's eyes kept drawing to a darker street…A funeral, the son grown up, the grandson holding the hand of an older Mirage…

"What the hell did you do, Snape?!"

Everything came back into solid focus. He blinked and tried to rub his eyes, but his arms were still held back. Worse, Severus' eyes were looking directly into his own, the man kneeling to look at him at an equal level.

"I didn't do anything, Black! He said he was an elemental, have you ever thought they would react differently to different spells?!"

"He isn't an elemental, he's a wizard, you greasy-haired git! And you must've done something wrong because no one's eyes ever turn silver when they're under that spell!"

"Face it, Black, you kidnapped some random kid! If the Headmaster would allow me permission, I'd like to ask the boy – whoever the brat is – something that has been on my mind for a long time. It appears that he holds the answer to my questions."

"If you feel it's necessary, Severus. But I am quite certain that this boy is, indeed, Harry Potter."

"You, Potter, if it even is you," he whispered threateningly, drawing the glower of Black. Why was that man so protective of him anyway? "How do you know about the Sekai-Kage? Or Mirage Searle?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that, Severus?" he returned flippantly, refusing to be intimidated by the man's daunting black eyes. Professor Coulter's icy blues were in their own way more terrifying. Probably because she combined her punishments with ice in someway. And Night personally knew what the woman was capable of due to training, though she was probably not really fighting as if she would in an actual duel. It would be funny if both were potions makers. "Why would a wizard know about the last leader of a fallen elemental clan?"

It was a good question. But there were a few others that he would love to get answered quite soon. Ones that were more important. Who in the world was this 'Harry Potter'? And second, how was he going to get out of this mess?

Sorry for the long wait. I've had to take awhile to study for my finals and end-of-the-year tests. And my brother's high school graduation is today. Hope you can forgive me!

But enough about school. I'm finally out!

I hope you liked the chapter and I promise to get the next one out as quickly as possible. Updates and information on the Elemental series is available on my Yahoo!Group. The link is on my profile. You'll also find other stories that I have written there, including: Dark Reflections and the one for my Yahoo members: Celestial Requiem, a canon-sixth year where Harry writes under an alias to get his voice heard. It has gotten pretty good reviews so far, so check it out if you want. I may also post other stories, which may include some of the various prequels to Elemental Genesis, under there and not in

And cloud, who theorized about Hans' past, you're right! Congratulations for picking up on those tiny clues! But don't let it out!

--Raven Dragonclaw

7/15/2004 - I fixed a few errors that managed to slip by the editing process. Chapter Three is new, though. ---Raven