Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me except plotlines, clans and their members, and Grey Tower along with any characters that you don't recognize. Please read the prequel, Elemental Genesis, before reading this story.

Elemental Prophecies

Chapter Three: Dirge

"Rough wind, that moanest loud
Grief too sad for song;
Wild wind, when sullen cloud
Knells all the night long;
Sad storm, whose tears are vain,
Bare woods, whose branches strain,
Deep caves and dreary main, -
Wail, for the world's wrong!"

- Percy Bysshe Shelley, Dirge

The door shut behind him, the sound ominously echoing in the dank hallways, the multiple clicks of locks following soon afterward. There was a brief pause, in which he heard a weary sigh, before the footsteps soon also drew away, drifting into a tense and ominous silence.

Night was not amused. To be put frankly, he was angrier than he had ever been in his short memory. He was kidnapped and now was forced to stay in this frightful wizarding castle. A ringing chime in the corner caught his attention: an ancient looking grandfather clock was proclaiming that it was 6 o'clock. He had been here a whole night and day already. Granted, most of those said times, he was either confined to a bed in that infirmary getting his arm bandaged or being interrogated. If things had not gone this way, if it was an ordinary day, he would be at home right now. Probably sitting at the dining room table, helping Gran distribute the servings of whatever delicious meal she had made. Hans would waltz in, grinning like a madman, plopping himself into a chair without so much as a by your leave, eagerly digging into the dinner. His mother Zylle would come in, tired-looking but in good cheer, giving him a kiss on the forehead before seating herself, asking about his day. He'd be happy to be home.

This was not his home. This was definitely not his home, despite what these wizards told him. His home was with his mother, his grandmother, and his grandfatherly neighbor. Not here, where he was taken by force, where he was not given a choice, where no one listened, where he was locked up in the bowels of the castle like some medieval prisoner.

Just because it was comfortable did not mean that he was to be placated. His quarters were predominantly in shades of red and gold, interspersed with mahogany colored furniture. The bed was a four-poster, deep red hangings and bedclothes, embroidered elaborately with gold thread. The thick carpeting was a deep burgundy, the walls a darkish-saffron hue. There were no windows, and even if there were, what would he see? He was underground and seeing plain earth would doubtlessly be a dull view. But even so, he would've liked one. Bookshelves lined part of the wall, next to a small desk and chair. It exuded opulence and comfort.

But he was not put at ease. He longed for the deep greens and cool grays of his room at 14 Zephyrus Court.

Unfortunately, he'd have to get used to this. Apparently, they were going to keep him here until they could figure out what to do with him – or, as he inferred from their words, when they managed to break the 'spell' that was supposedly cast on him to forget his past. Meaning, unless he became this 'Harry Potter' like they wanted him to be, he was not getting out of here. And admitting that he was some missing wizard was not something he was going to do. If he did that, they would watch him more closely and make sure that he would never get to see Grey Tower ever again. And Nuitari Hawking of the Arashi-Tenku was not going to let that happen.

Why that Severus person was so downright unpleasant was beyond him. Probably had something to do with that 'Potter' kid everyone here seemed so sure that was who he was. And the fact that he had talked back to him also might have had something to do with it. Well, demanding it was not going to get the information out of him, that was for sure. But what did he have to do with Sekai-Kage? His silver sight pointed to the direction that the disagreeable man was directly related – the grandson, more accurately – of Mirage Searle. But why did Mirage leave Grey Tower? And how did she get involved amongst the wizards? The known last moments of the Sekai-Kage sketchy at best and there were hardly any information on the members at all.

After quite a shouting match, in which it took all his self-restraint not to knock the greasy-haired git out with his uninjured left arm, he was brought here by the man that kidnapped him per orders of the old man: Black, or whoever. Needless to say, he did not like the doleful looks he was getting from that man. In a way, they made him feel guilty and remorseful, which was odd in itself. Why did he have to feel like that, when he had done nothing wrong?

Sure, there was the possibility that he was this kid that they were looking for. Dr. Annie did say that he was a wizard when he was recovering at Grey Tower Sanctuary. And he wouldn't remember these people, due to his amnesia. But the thing was, did he want to give up his new life? He was happy where he was. He had everything that he could ever want: a loving family, a home to return to, a lot of wonderful friends and acquaintances, good grades, and a promising future. Of course, he wouldn't want to throw all of that away! For what? He was found beaten and half-dead in a park and if not for Zylle, he would be pushing up daisies. And there was probably more to it than that alone. The conversation with the goddess of the night before the tournament was still fresh in his mind. She had said that it was better for him not to remember, that it was for his own good, as well as to protect himself from greater harm. And these people were trying to force him back into remembering once more.

He was told that cruelty was necessary.

That didn't mean that he had to like it.

Furiously, Night rounded on the door, giving the door a hard blow with his injured right arm. The wood creaked under his fist, but did not yield to the force. The bandages that were wrapped around his knuckles, unlike the dressings around the rest of his hands, wrists, and lower arm, took on a pinkish color. He cursed loudly, glaring at the appendage. It would be easy to break out using elemental magic, but he couldn't. Not without having the castle immediately try to murder him. Thankfully, he wasn't sick: just an uncomfortable headache now pounding away at his skull. But it could be worse. He had heard several other horror stories than the poor kid that had spontaneously combusted: the girl who became a tree and later died because some boys wanted to practice fire spells, a boy from a family of water elementals who was killed by some monster in a lake, another girl driven so far into insanity that she threw herself off the highest tower to escape it all.

He'd be out of here if it ever came down to that. At the moment, though, he would have to make do. Just because he didn't have his powers here, didn't mean that he couldn't create trouble. Night had already driven Severus to insurmountable heights of rage but just quipping back several witty remarks. It was a lesson that he had learned from his family and friends: nothing pisses off anyone more than a smart-alec. What was it that they had learned in history? Yes, Aristotle had said, "Wit is educated insolence." Insolent, he was. Night was not going to answer their questions, especially those about elementals. If they were upset about that? Too bad, they were out of luck.

And he also still had the wand Tom had given him – which would probably come in handy. It was his trump card though and it probably wasn't the best time to reveal that yet. No, right now, he needed cool and ruthless strategy. He needed some way to get out of this room and get out here. Cunning would be the best way to go here. Certainly, he would love to blow the place up sky-high, but considering that he was only one person against a building of who-knew how many wizards while he only had wizarding magic to rely on? It would be best to do this covertly. Also, Zylle did say that the worst injuries a person could give was to their ego. Imagine those wizards surprise when they found their prisoner gone?

But he was thinking ahead of himself. Which at the moment was not what he needed. He needed to think of his present situation and make a decision based on that. Sighing, he made his way to the center of the room, slipping his backpack off his shoulders and removing his coat, placing them both by the nightstand. He sat on the bed in his usual clothing – which when he thought about it looked completely outlandish compared to the robes that the other wizards had worn. He rubbed his temples, trying to appease the raging storm of thought going through his mind as well as the monster of a headache. A hand reached down to the small mirror hanging from his neck. Green eyes were hopeful as he whispered softly, "Tom? You there?"

These aspirations were dashed. The glass flickered on like it usually did when Tom appeared to talk to him. He even swore he saw Tom's face for a brief moment, looking more worried than relieved, before the picture was sharply distorted to be replaced by a buzzing static. Obviously, the same thing blocking the elemental magic was also blocking the magic that was used to make contact into Lethe.

Night's expression fell – he was truly alone here. And his absence was definitely worrying Tom. It was pretty likely that his family was also worried about him. Would they know that he was kidnapped? A few people probably witnessed the abduction – he had made enough of a racket to alert at least one person. And he was the Black Dragon successor, as well as Zylle Hawking's son. That was bound to attract some level of attention. Would they come to collect him? What was going on at home?

He was thinking too much. One thing was clear: he needed to leave, the sooner, the better.

Reaching into his bag, his hands brushing against the textbooks and notebooks, as well as a few vials, he pulled out a small black object. Sliding a small red switch on the side, it expanded with a pop, the violin case now resized to its normal dimension. Opening the zipper, he took out the instrument and the bow, expertly positioning it under his chin, his fingers on the strings, his free hand holding the bow skillfully.

Hopefully, after playing the violin for a bit, his head would clear.

The bow hit the strings, pouring out a sad tune.

In his office, Raistlin Majere looked up from grading the papers of the first years, frowning in recognition. Alexandra Quinn paused abruptly in her candid conversation with some fourth-year Gryffindors. Brian Reginald stopped his tracks as he was making his way to the grounds for an evening walk. By the lake, Forrest Constantine glanced back at the castle after pursuing a stray spirit (and ignoring the plethora of girls that were unsuccessfully stalking him). In the Ravenclaw common room, Veda Kakar rose to her feet and exited the common room after leaving her homework out unfinished on the table, while Luna Lovegood closed her eyes and smiled to herself. Sitting with Hermione Granger in the Great Hall during dinner, Ron Weasley ceased in his devouring of meatloaf glance up, feeling the Feather in his pocket beginning to grow hot. Sirius Black suddenly fell off his seat in the middle of talking with Remus Lupin in the History of Magic classroom, looking around alarmed. Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore were more than a little shocked after observing the actions of one Harry Potter in small viewing globe at the shrieking of the portrait of Phillandra Pheta Gryffindor, as it was consumed in black flames that did not spread to any other object or substance in the room. The phoenix Fawkes gave a mournful trill.

For the first time in about a thousand years, the violin melody known as Night's Aria reverberated throughout the halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"I think we're going to get in trouble."

"Trouble? I think a more accurate connotation is that we're soon going to land ourselves headfirst into bloody crap."

"And I don't think it matters what we're going to call it, boys. Are you sure that this Pigworts place is where they've taken Night?"

"Hogwarts, and yes, I'm positive. Some of the contacts in the Ministry hadn't heard a word, but they said that the headmaster of that school does a lot of things on his own. And that he's a weirdo."

"Oh, like a wizarding version of Night's grandmother?"

"Yeah, I think that could work. But I doubt Night would be that cordial to him even if he was."

"True."

King's Cross was always filled with people. Of course, it was, it was a train station. Specifically, it was a train station at rush hour. Multitudes of people poured out of the train cars, edging out of the way for others to go inside. Most of them had the desire to just go home, weariness clear on the faces of many a person in a suit, but others were fresh-faced and cheerful – these being the younger student variety. Others were going to work. Either way, it was a beehive of activity. Among the throngs of people, three fifteen year-olds were huddled together with backpacks, waiting for the 6:15 train. One was a tall, well-built boy with spiky light brown hair in blue jeans, white shirt, and dark blue blazer. The light-blue eyed boy next to him was a redhead of average height and lean stature, wearing khakis and a black t-shirt, a deep red blazer under his arm. The girl had long deep brown hair that was pulled up in a ponytail and she straightened her plaid skirt and hunter green blazer self-consciously. On the left sleeve of each of the blazers was a dragon design, correspondingly blue, red, and green.

In this situation, they looked like ordinary students, just with strange school uniforms. But they weren't going home. In reality, they were quite far from their home and they planned to go even farther away. These teenagers were, respectively, Dragon Successors of the Arashi-Tenku clan of Grey Tower: Mordecai Freely, Bran Ravencroft, and Trina Smythe. Of course, the last of their group, one Nuitari Hawking was not among them.

Which was precisely the reason for why they were waiting on the platform for the 6:15 train to Glasgow.

The train pulled in with a noisy hiss and the three quickly moved to the last car, where it would be less likely that there would be passengers. Slipping in, barely because of their backpacks, they boarded the train and took the last seats near the end, setting their bags on the floor in front of them. As the train pulled out of King's Cross, there were only seven other people in their car. Two were old men, three were businessmen talking on their cell phones or typing away at their laptops, and the last two were a mother with her seven year-old. All of them were sitting quite a distance from them, so it was reasonably safe.

"My father," Trina said softly, "is going to murder me, I swear."

"No, he won't," Bran proclaimed, carelessly looking out the window. "You're an only child. He'll spare you. I'm dead because I have siblings to replace me."

Mordecai laughed lightly before he sobered. "What we should be worried about is how Ms. Hawking will react. She's already lost Night, what will she do when she finds that the three of us – the remaining future leaders – are gone as well?"

"We're getting our friend back," the redhead replied firmly. "And she's a leader as well, she'd do the same for Professor Coulter, Ms. Alucard, or Trina's dad if it had happened to them. We're getting back our own. There's no law against that."

Trina raised an eyebrow. "I thought you were the genius here? Ms. Hawking is the Black Dragon and told us specifically not to do anything rash. I think this qualifies as rash, as well as insubordination to a direct order."

"We're hardly doing anything rash," Mordecai countered, "if we have a plan."

"Which, I might add, we're making up as we go," Bran put in. "Is that rash?"

"Shut up, Bran," the taller boy muttered. "We're doing this for Night. Our loyalty to the clan is secondary in this respect."

"Got me there. So, did we get anything useful? Because I'm not busting in there just with an ego, as it seriously wouldn't do much in a fight."

Trina reached over to open her backpack. Motioning for the others to look inside, she rummaged around to show robes in black and dark blue. "I asked Stella Prewett if she had any extra when she visited Mr. Montague-Hillary this morning. There are some cloaks in there, too. When in Rome, right? I thought we'd stick out if we show up in regular clothing. I did ask her about Night and she said that the person that did kidnap him sounded like the wizard Ms. Alucard fought." The boys gave her a nod of approval, especially when she moved the garments to reveal several packages of food beneath it all, along with her schoolbooks. "What about you guys?"

Mordecai reached into his bag and pulled out three slim sticks of wood. Each one was of a different wood and length, polished and glinting in the setting sun. "I managed to get these from a cousin at Beauxbatons," he explained. "Had him send it over to me straight away, actually." Noticing the curious looks he was getting from his friends, he shook his head. "They're not real wands, they're fake ones. Jamie said they sell them in novelty stores and joke shops. They're supposed to do…something. But since we're not wizards, we don't activate it. Also, I got some food."

Bran smirked. "Apparently, food was on all of our minds. I got some, too, but you're all paying for my funeral if it ever comes to it." Riffling through his backpack, he pulled out a thin folder. He pulled out several papers and letters. "I give you," he whispered dramatically, "the directions to Hogwarts."

"The directions to what?" Trina asked, blinking demurely.

"Hogwarts!" Bran answered. "It's hard to find, we're not supposed to know where it is. The wizards are just as bad as we are when it comes to hiding, though they do a much worse and sloppier job. My dad asked my grandma for directions. She was taught there, so she'd know."

"But that was years ago," Mordecai pointed out. "How do we know she's right?"

"I trust my grandmother," Bran pouted.

Trina grabbed the papers out of Bran's hands and began sifting through them. "These are just estimates, Bran. It doesn't tell us how to get there exactly."

"I know. She gave the general area though. We need only poke around and we'd probably stumble upon it sooner or later. It's a giant castle and a town, for Pete's sake. Muggles may not be able to see it, but we're not muggles. We're elementals."

Mordecai sighed, leaning back in his seat, running his right hand though his short spiky hair. "I just hope this works. We've got the disguises and hopefully we'll be able to pass as them. But there are only three of us. And we're taking on a lot of wizards. Do you think we'll be able to get Night out of there?"

Bran shrugged, smirking. "It could be worse. 'Sides, I'm creating history here. You see, no matter what, something there is going to go down in flames and explosions." He was the recipient of two startled glances. "What? It's true! It's been years since a Ravencroft has done that!"

"Done what exactly?" Trina asked carefully, Mordecai leaning forward to better catch the reply.

"Well, remember I told you my grandmother was a witch, right?"

"Yeah…"

"They met in Bath – ironically, when my grandfather burned down part of the city against Phantoms – decided that they liked each other, dated, decided to get married, etc. Of course, he had to meet the family. My grandfather said he was a muggle, not elemental, you know, to see how they would react to a person that wasn't a wizard. Turns out, they hated him. They wanted her to marry some 'pureblood' wizard, who, according to Gramps, was inbred, prissy idiot. My grandma didn't put up with it. Gramps didn't put up with it either, so after thoroughly insulting every member of the family, he burned their manor home in Ottery St. Catchpole. I think that he drove them down to poverty, since most of their wealth was inside that house, not at the bank. Idiots. Then they eloped to Italy."

Mordecai laughed. "So, you're related to wizards?"

"Yep. Family name was 'Weasel', or something like that."

"Ah," Trina nodded, smirking. "Thinking of a family reunion, Bran?"

"You're joking, right?"

He did not like this. He did not like this at all.

Then again, Dudley Dursley was a normal teenage boy. Granted, even if he did hunt demons and have the ability to use spirit power, but he was still somewhat normal teenager. And no normal teenager would like to be hanging off of a hundred-foot sheer cliff, the only thing currently preventing him from falling into the craggy rocks below was a gnarled, dry branch that was growing from the rock just by luck. Actually, he did not think anyone did.

Ireland was beautiful, he would give it that. But when you're hanging off of a cliff

And gravity was definitely not on his side here. Sure, he had slimmed down quite a bit. But he was still slightly heavy. Sure, it weighed on his mind sometimes (excuse the pun), but hey! He had made a lot of progress! At least, he did not resemble a small blimp anymore. He was now more muscle than fat and he even impressed his doctor. Which was quite an improvement from about four months ago, when he was lying prone in bed waiting to die.

"Oy! Dudley! You okay, mate?" Jerry's voice was above him and he could just see the other demon hunter's head over the precipice. Alyce's face soon joined his, as well as Cami's, and even the dark appearance of Lirenas' countenance. As he shifted just slightly, the branch creaked, the roots breaking off of its precarious hold on the rock. Three gasps sounded from above, followed by the swift sound of argument.

"What are we going to do?! We can't leave him down there!"

"How the bloody hell am I supposed to know, Alyce?"

"Well Jerry, if you hadn't freaked out over that giant wasp –"

"I don't know where you come from, demon, but here we like our bugs small and squishable!"

"Jerry, right now I don't think neither Dudley nor Lirenas care about your opinion on bugs. We should be worrying about Dudley's situation more."

"Cami, I'm yelling at Lirenas here…"

"Cami's right, Jerry, now stop yelling at Lirenas and start thinking of ways to help Dudley!"

"The girls have a point."

"Yes, they do!" Dudley yelled back up as the branch jerked once more. "Do you mind helping me here?!"

There seemed to be a consensus between the lot of them, but as Dudley was descending further and further down the cliff face, he was beginning to doubt that even with their help he was going be a goner. He looked down at the rocks below…they looked awfully sharp. Surely, there was some comfort in the fact that the demon was gone, dropped down to its death, but Dudley did not want to join it. He had cheated death once due to a deal with the Shadow Goddess and he meant to pay her back for that second chance – and he'd be damned if he was going to let that get by him.

It was then that he noticed a thin shaft of spirit energy slowly descending towards him – one of Jerry's spears. He blinked in confusion for a moment, before realizing the idea. Quickly, he let go of the branch and grabbed onto the energy. He instinctively flinched as the spear was pulled down by his weight, but he could have been in a worse position. Such as hanging on to that branch, which was currently tumbling down the cliff face. Where it had been growing was a giant hole, presumably where the plant's hardy roots had ground up the rock into soil. In the dim light of the setting sun, low over the western horizon, something glittered. It was half-hidden in the sandy loam, but a piece of it was nearly exposed by the loss of the plant. Reaching in, he grabbed it, finding in his large hands a small box made out of pearly white ivory. Engraved on the top in a blue substance – cobalt or lapis, if he had been correctly paying attention in his Geology class – was the symbol of a feather.

Now was not the time to be examining the treasure. Maybe later, such as when he was on solid ground again, would he do that. Also, they had the Mancer up there and the computer was bound to have more information that they did. Pulling slightly on the spear of energy, he was slowly raised up. The pace was excruciatingly slow, progress was made inch by inch.

It took about an hour, but they finally pulled him up. All of them sat down on the ground heaving, though Lirenas soon recovered more quickly than the rest of them had, which did not sit well with the still panting Jerry. Which resulted in a rather pointless argument between the two. Dudley rolled his eyes at this while Alyce merely laughed at the entire situation. Cami, her dark sunglasses tinted a reddish color, turned to Dudley or as they called him 'the only sane boy on the entire team'. "Hey, Dudley. What's that you brought up?"

Dudley blinked before setting out the small chest. Against the dark grass, the ivory seemed even paler, like the moon. "It was inside the cliff, actually. I noticed it, so I took it. It's odd, isn't it?"

"It's…powerful."

"Powerful?" Alyce interrupted. "What do you mean? I'm not sensing anything."

"I know, my spirit awareness isn't picking it up either. But it's a just a feeling…a feeling of something larger than we are…"

"Then let's open it," Dudley said firmly, reaching over and undoing the gold clasp that held it shut before anyone could object. Flipping open the lid, a flash of silvery light and a wave of energy dazzled them for a moment, causing them to avert their eyes. When the light ceased, they were able to look.

Resting on plush black velvet lay an hourglass. It was not made from the usual glass and wood that Dudley had seen before, but from clear crystal and a strange kind of black metal. Inside the crystal, the sand sparkled different colors, shifting from reds to greens, golds to blues, and other hues in a strange kind of cycle. From the top, a thin silver chain was attached to it. It was then that they noticed a card hidden beneath the strange object. Dudley read it out loud, but when he had finished, he admitted that he had no idea what it could mean.

How many years, centuries, millenniums, eons has it been?
Since I have fallen, fallen from the skies?
My wings were clipped, black feathers scattered and torn
My bloodstained soul trapped within the confines of mortality
Those who seek me, look for me well, my prison is cunningly hidden
But I will come and come with a vengeance
You have found my relic, one of the Relics of Judgment
And I, Cronus, will forever yield loyalty to the Sovereign
The Time Harbinger eternally aligned with the Universe
I will fly the skies and space winds again.

It had been about five hours since he had been put in this room, the grandfather clock reading 11 o'clock in the evening. It's swinging pendulum was a peaceful sound, never ceasing in the quiet of this prison. Though at the moment, it was just in the background. The sound of the violin drowned it out, emotion poured out in song and strings, lending a cathartic moment to a mind in utter turmoil.

Night was sitting on the bed once more playing the violin once more, after spending about two hours thoroughly searching every nook and cranny for a way out or at least a weak point. Unfortunately, his efforts were in vain. There were no crumbling stones in the thick walls, no secret passages behind the bookcases, no forgotten key lying under the bed or in the drawers of the desk. Under the carpet was bare seamless stone, making a tunnel completely impossible. The only other door that he found open was one that lead to an extravagant bathroom. And he was certain that there was no way to get around the tiles. To put it bluntly, he had absolutely no way out of here that he could think of.

Yet. So he could not get around the architecture of the castle. That didn't mean it was hopeless. If there's a will, there's a way. He would have to be much more devious to get out of here…what if there were an accident? Of course, it wouldn't technically be an accident, but that wasn't the point. What if he were hurt again or if there was a fire? Then they would have to take him out of the room. They certainly wouldn't leave him there if that was the case: from what he had seen of these wizards they were far too concerned with honor as well as they seemed to care for this 'Harry' person that he supposedly was. Why not use that to his advantage? Cruel? Undoubtedly so, but it would accomplish his goal to get out of here.

And the world was a cruel place, indeed.

Why shouldn't he manipulate them? They had done enough to him. They took him from his home and were attempting to control him. They were trying to force him into being someone that he currently wasn't. They even locked him up. Wasn't that cruelty towards him? Therefore, he was completely and utterly justified. Now all he needed was to think of how to implement the scenario. Tom's wand would come in handy, but there was the possibility that he was being watched. Perhaps use the castle itself? It tried to kill him already, why not just try to use a little elemental magic and let the rest unfold? Yes, that could definitely work. But he'd have to wait a few days – gain their trust in that he wasn't going anywhere, lure them into a sense of false security. Strategy was key. The cons of this was that he'd be away from home even longer, no doubt causing his mother no grief.

The tune hitched in pitch before dropping down to a lower octave, his brief lapse in concentration distracting him. She would understand. Of course she would. And it was better that he was late than never. He just needed to survive. And that would be the real test of this situation, right?

The song changed through a smooth transition, the refrain that connected them was slow and harmonious. When he finished short segment, he began a different melody. It was not as soothing and airy as Night's Aria, but more slow and measured, more like a lullaby. Sometimes, when he had a hard time getting to sleep (his grandmother diagnosed this as 'youthful insomnia, you lose it after forty'), Night only had to play this song to get him feeling calmer. Moon's Blessing did that. Unbidden, the image of the gods that had gathered when he was announced as the Black Dragon after the tournament came to his mind. The white-haired, brown-eyed woman with the white kimono reminding him a lot of the moon, so much so that he could take a wild guess that she was its goddess.

Harry Potter. Who was this kid? Why was he so important? Sure, a missing child was a missing child. In Grey Tower, it was taken with extreme seriousness. But that didn't explain the utter desperation that these people seemed to have. It was as if this Potter person was needed for something else, that he wasn't just an ordinary teenage wizard who went to school here, but someone much larger and more important. Why else would they go through so many lengths to find whoever he was? No, Harry Potter must not have been a normal boy. And if he were to trust his feelings about all this, the purpose that this Harry Potter was supposed to serve was sinister and dangerous. Because these people didn't seem to think that this boy ran away, but something else happened.

No matter. The concerns of the wizarding world were not among his top priorities. Escape, however, was.

The sound of the locks clicking drew his attention, his green eyes opening to look at the door, though he continued to play as if he had not been interrupted. He couldn't take the risk now, he'd be stopped before he made five steps out the door. Patience…whoever said it was a virtue must have been taking something strong. Marijuana? Cocaine? Opium? Psychedelic drugs usually did do quite a number on the mind when used, no matter who the person was. Though no straight-thinking elemental would take drugs – often times the effects were amplified and damaged the body more, as well as there would be a loss of control when it came to elemental magic. And that would be dangerous.

The door opened, though not entirely, just enough for the person to enter and to allow a brief glimpse of the hallway. That Black person slid inside, closing the door behind him. The locks clicked again. But there had been no one outside, which meant that the locks were magical. He'd have to keep that in mind.

He did notice that Black looked more serious than last time, when the man's sadness was practically palpable. But he was definitely more confident now, even a bit angry. Black had changed his robes, this time into ones that were a very deep blue, and looked to have cleaned himself up a bit. That probably having to do with the scuffle against Hedwig and the events in that horrid infirmary. Night gave him a cold stare before returning his attention back to his instrument, ignoring the newcomer.

"Harry." It seemed that the blatant dismissal got to him. The voice was frustrated, tense

Night, without missing a beat (both figuratively and literally), dryly responded. "That's not my name."

With a few short strides and quick movements, the violin and bow were suddenly out of his hands, thrown aside. Black now held him tightly by his right shoulder with one hand, the other lifting up his chin so that he was forced to look at the man. Apparently, he was now at the end of his rope. Night settled for an insolent glare, meeting his eyes, not letting himself be intimidated. Though truth be told, some small voice in his head, a voice that had made few appearances since he was made part of the Grey Tower community, was urging him to run, fight, do something. Something before he got hurt. The more rational part of his mind argued against this: they would not hurt him, not if they wanted to get anything out of him.

"Don't play games with me, Harry!" Black burst out vehemently. "That is your name. Why didn't you tell us you had amnesia?!"

Night shook out of the grip. "What reasons have you given me to tell you anything?! So I have amnesia. Big bloody deal."

Black looked at a loss for a moment before spitting out, "Don't you get it? We can help you get your memory back! You belong with us, Harry! We're your family! I'm your godfather, Sirius! We've been looking for you for months! Do you know how worried we have all been? How badly your friends have taken the news that you were missing?"

"My family," Night yelled back furiously, "is in Grey Tower, where I should rightfully be!" He then gave the most vicious glower he could possibly muster. "You say that you're my family? You say you were worried about me? Then why was I found abandoned in a park?! Why was I beaten and bruised to near-death?! Why was I lying in a coma for three days in a hospital?!" With each and every sentence, Black – no, Sirius – flinched. "I was told by someone that I had a cruel life, that it was best not to remember. And every time I thought about that, I realized that there had to be some truth in what I was told. And besides, I have everything I could every want now! I have a home now, a loving family, great friends, a wonderful life! Do you think I'm going to give that up just to play some martyr for the people that nearly killed me?! What on Earth to you take me for?!"

It was clear that each and every word that he had said hit its mark. Sirius looked as if a knife had stabbed him the heart and that his tormentor was slowly and painfully twisting it. He felt an immediate pang of guilt and all attempts to bury it under his anger were unsuccessful. Night averted his eyes to his hands, noticing just now they were balled into angry fists. The bandages of his right arm looked even redder.

"My name is Nuitari Hawking," he affirmed. "I'm no one else. Not Harry, not anyone else."

"You are not Nuitari," Sirius countered. "You're my godson, Harry. You're going to remember your past, I swear it."

The first thing that he noticed was that he could not tell whether it was night or day, dawn or dusk. The sky was a uniform deep red, the rolling clouds above that were blocking the sun or moon almost fluid to his eyes. There was a harsh crackle of energy across the scarlet expanse above, an energy that was not lightning or anything else he had seen. If the clouds were dark gray or black, he would think it as a sign of incoming rain.

But the clouds were not gray or black and that was not lightning. This was not normal at all. A chill wind, rough and forceful, blew from the north, freezing him to the bone. It moaned loudly into the strange atmosphere, a cruel groan that carried a sorrow that was too deep for words, a pain that carried beyond mortal comprehension and nearly made him drop to his knees in grief. For what, he did not know. But it was no wind that he was acquainted with, no common wind of nature, it was something more terrible and otherworldly than he had ever experienced before.

Getting up to his feet, Night brought his arms around himself, rubbing the fabric against his skin, hoping that the friction would somehow restore the warmth to his body and remove the distressed feeling that the wind brought upon its journey. Gathering up his nerve, he began to walk forward across the barren, bare earth that made up this place. It was more dust than soil, littered with pebbles and sand, not a single blade or leaf of green in sight. Nothing could grow here in this bleak, inhospitable land. The air itself seemed devoid of water. Ahead of him by quite a distance were indistinct tall shapes. A city, maybe? He did not know of anything else that could reach such a height. If it was a city, that would be his destination.

It seemed like mere moments, but he suddenly found himself at the edge of where he decided to go. He was incorrect about the city. It was not a city at all, but trees of incredible mass and height. The trunk of the nearest one could probably be as wide as three large SUVs lined up in a row and still have enough girth to add in a Volkswagen Beetle. All the other trees in this forest were like this, though some were wider and others smaller. The thing he noticed immediately was that there were no leaves on any of them and no foliage littered the ground. They were completely bare, their gray appearances likening more to cold stone than living organism. He put an experimental hand on the trunk, expecting to feel the spark of life within, like all other living things. But there was nothing. It felt…dead.

That dread wind blew once more and he brought his hands to his ears, straining not to hear that horrible message yet again, to not feel that grief once more. The branches of the lifeless trees strained in the moaning gale and Night was surrounded by the creaking and groaning of the dead, a chorus of frightful memories and horrors. The energy bolt flashed through the red clouds above him again – they were darker than they had been before…was it nighttime? It was plausible, he thought, since everything was becoming darker…

A drop from above landed right on his nose. Not thinking and obeying only the need for water, he stuck out his tongue to taste what he thought was rain. His tongue drew back immediately at the warm salty taste. Water, especially not rain, was never salty. Holding out a hand, a bright red drop landed right in the center of his palm, followed by another, and even more. It soon came down in a downpour, drenching him. Green eyes were wide in shock.

It was not raining water. It was raining blood.

Snapping himself out of the unspeakable terror that was grasping hold of his heart, he took off running, to where he did not now. All he wanted to do was get away from this evil place, to take cover from the awfulness, to get away from it all! It was as if the heavens themselves were crying tears of blood, it stained his clothes, got into his eyes, ran down his skin in crimson trails. The wind was blowing again, this time not stopping, and he did not stop either, caught in the fear and heartache, crying real tears of anguish.

The trees began to start thinning; he was dodging less and less in his unconscious flight. Ahead of him, a large mound stuck out from the rest of the flat landscape, a large opening seemingly leading downward. Ignoring the pain and torture, as well as his screaming wild instincts, he fled towards the opening. Out of the deluge of blood, he walked further in, his feet not obeying his resisting mind. His hand found the stairwell, which was promptly lit up by dim torches. Hesitantly, he descended down into the cave, the growing feeling of wrong growing within the pit of stomach. It leveled off to a platform, overlooking what appeared to be a large room cloaked in darkness and shadow. As soon as he stepped on it, the platform jerked violently, before making its way to the floor below.

He did not like the look of this at all.

A pathway lit up ahead of him, like the torches before, the light was dim and weak. Nevertheless, he walked forward, to the other end of the room, before he bumped into a low wall seemingly made of stone. That was when the entire chamber lit up. And he wished that it had stayed in darkness.

Though the pathway he had walked through was clear, the sides of the room were filled. There were people and animals there, but they hardly looked like it. All of them appeared more like corpses, with their emaciated appearances, the bones sticking out of their flesh, their hollowed eyes and emotionless faces. They were lying on the ground or sitting down, black and red sores and bruises that pulsated a malicious energy covering their bodies, their eyes either blank or small with hatred. Most were wearing rags that had only the faintest semblance of clothing, coated with filth and dried blood. As he watched, a man was kicking at a small child that was trying to defend the body of its unconscious mother, the man laughing as he did so. No one made a move to stop him, or even looked their way. There were other examples of this, more inhumane and terrible sights that he could not describe taking place right before his eyes. His throat went dry. Skeletons were piled high in the corners; the bones shining white as if they were licked clean. They probably were, judging by the way a starved terrier was ravaging what looked to be a femur. Human skulls mocked him with their empty eyes and grinning teeth. He tried to back up, to back away, but that wall once more stopped him. He turned around, but froze when he saw what was behind him.

It was a dried well, black water lapping at the edges of the stone. It glimmered darkly in the light, flickering, reminding him of the Ocean of Eternity in Lethe. There was a person standing in the midst of the shadow water, a person that was achingly familiar yet completely foreign.

He had black hair like his own, intolerably messy, though it was not streaked with the gold and silver of stardust, just plain black. He was slightly taller than he was, with a thin frame but also strong-looking. Everything that he wore was black: his boots, his pants, as well as the strange looking coat-garment that looked nothing like he had ever seen before in his life. The only things that were not black was the gray cloak that he wore and the silver armored guards he wore on his lower arms and legs, as well as the gauntlets. Huge black wings, the color of midnight, extended from his back, each feather looking wickedly sharp and unforgiving.

That was not the shocking thing of all.

Night was looking into a staggeringly familiar face: his own. Green eyes met green. The exact nose, the same mouth, everything identical. But the other's face had an older appearance, a timeless kind of aura, that he had only seen a few – namely the Dark Lady, Lady Nyx, as well as Moros – possess. The other him wore a strange circlet of silver; four thin chains (two on each side) hung from it loosely, reattached somewhere else, possibly where the rest of the circlet was hidden in the dark hair. It gave him the immediate impression of rank or authority. What was odd was that right where Night had his scar; the other had a large crack of the same size and shape running down the bright metal.

"So you see what can happen?" he asked Night.

"This – this is the future?" the boy replied shakily.

"The future is rarely ever definite. Think of it more as a possibility. But, yes, this can be the future of Earth. You see its cities gone, the forests dead, the rivers and lakes dry, the earth barren, and the storms crying crimson blood in vain as the wind moans in agony. You see here the remnants of humanity and other organisms, filled with either hate or nothingness; heinous acts are committed as if they were commonplace. But here, they are ordinary. This Earth is dead, its spirit gone, nature and the gods defeated by the petty jealousies of a selfish goddess, who in the end, was killed by the very plague she herself set upon the universe."

"But…you said this is a possibility?"

"Correct."

"Then this can be stopped?"

"Yes, if the right steps are taken."

"What can I do?" he asked earnestly. "I can't let…this…all this happen!"

"The Apocalypse can never be prevented," the other said calmly. "It can be delayed, but in time this Earth will die. However, this is not the way that I – or any of us – wished for the planet or the universe that we sacrificed ourselves for to end. I could…if I were able." Night's eyes were drawn downward, to the white glowing chains that were wrapped around the other's legs, arms, torso, neck, and wings. They were thick bindings as well scorching hot, burning his fingers when he dared to touch them. "You have the right to decide what the future will be."

His surroundings began to fade away, disappearing into the dark again. Seeing the other starting to vanish as well, he reached out, but his hand went through like he was a ghost. "Wait! Who are you?!"

"Don't you know?" his cryptic answer was. "I am you. And you are me."

The words made him halt, a jolt running through his mind, watching the other's sad smile. His mouth formed the words without him knowing where they came from. "If I am you, and you are me, for what purpose are we meant to be?"

The scene had vanished, leaving only the two, one slowly becoming nebulous and hazy. The winged one shook his head in sorrow. "Death, revolution and rebirth. We hear the eternal melody that the soul sings. We bring the divine judgment from beyond, Unforgiven, though we may be. To fly high above upon the death-shadowed wings." The moment, the thread of connection that Night felt just at his fingertips, shattered. The wind was blowing again…not only sadness, but pain…

"It is not time yet. Scream. Cry. Wail, for the world – like everything else – is all wrong."

Thus, this was how Night awoke in his comfortable prison screaming, tears streaming down his face. He looked down at his hands, his green eyes wide, not registering that everything was slightly blurry because he was without his glasses, expecting to see that horrid blood which had rained down staining them. The headache returned full-force, with it, the memory of that wind and the cold pain that racked his body. He didn't notice that the door had opened, that Sirius Black had entered the room and was holding him close, asking what was the matter. Asking 'Harry' what was wrong. But he was not registering that fact, too preoccupied. All that his mind's eye could see was that vicious future, looming ahead. He buried his face within the dark folds of the older man's robes, trying to will the dire images out of his head.

It was a futile attempt.

Happy Anniversary to Elemental Genesis! On July 13, 2003, I posted the first chapter of Elemental Genesis on Amazing how much time flies, doesn't it? Thanks for staying with me for so long!

For those that don't remember who Alexandra Quinn, Brian Reginald, Veda Kakar, and Forrest Constantine are, they are the spies that Melania sent into Hogwarts. And if you're wondering why Hedwig (White Owl) did not block the dream, it was because Nuitari sent it, not Pheta.

And also, for those that wanted to know: the term Maleficus can apply to one of them, or a group of them. The distinction is in the context. The word is like…sheep. You can have one sheep, or a herd of sheep. You can have one Maleficus, or an army of them. Hopefully that clears up the confusion.

Dark Reflections has been updated, in which we meet Theo threatening various people, Harry invading upon the sacred Slytherin compartment, Blaise being…himself, a shocked Draco, and the introduction of various uses of the yo-yo. Due to demand, I'm now also posting what I have of my other story, Celestial Requiem here on as well as Tears of Twilight. Like DR, both are sixth-year fics, though all three of them are profoundly different. I'm also thinking of putting up the revamped Herald of Shadows, which lost to EG last year when I was trying to decide what to post for the first time. Hope you like them all.

The Elemental series is my main priority, however. If you're part of my Yahoo!Group, please vote while you can on the recent poll! Your vote will decide which of the many Genesis prequels I will post! It's too bad that I have no scanner or digital camera, so I can't get any of my own pictures up.

---Raven Dragonclaw