Disclaimer: I only own the plot, the concepts and ideas, Grey Tower Town, and any characters you don't recognize.

Elemental Prophecies

Chapter Five
And Brutus is an Honorable Man

"He was my friend, faithful, and just to me;
But Brutus says, he was ambitious,
And Brutus is an honorable man.
He hath brought many captives home to Rome,
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill.
Did this in Caesar seem ambitious?
When the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept.
Ambition should me made of sterner stuff,
Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honorable man."
-William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar

Written in blood, that was our history. In truth, it was all we were meant for: our purpose, our lives, our very existence was destined to be on the battlefield. We were fighters, conquerors, soldiers; we were the destroyers of the highest caliber. There were no greater warriors than the Harbingers, we who carried out the law of the Universe, the one of the three who was of the dark, she who was the balance. We were enforcers of the Principles of Nemesis. Vengeance and destruction were promised upon our dark wings, revolution and rebirth embodied in complete annihilation.

But there was a difference between myself in those long ago days of the Golden Age, that era of wonder and greatness lost forever from the minds of those existing during this new epoch, and who I am now. Back then, in those times sunken into the shadow of the past, I was most certainly not how I am now. Intrinsically, I know this has to do with the punishment that I serve. The Verdict, cruel judgment handed out by the ireful Almighty, far beyond the knowledge of man but imprinted in the very soul of this tiny planet. It had its effect.

I was dark-born; we all were, so we knew such things called emotions. But emotion had not yet evolved in the time that we were created and we were ancient by the time its usual form had finally taken form and shape. Our feelings and sentiments were rudimentary, not as complex as those of neither the gods nor the humans. Though the progression of the latter's has been entirely our doing, this was the catalyst that had began this dance of swords and flame.

A vow of loyalty to the old ideals was made. We drew the line and tainted perfection. We were the serpents who whispered in the woman's ear, tempted her to take the forbidden fruit of our creator, to taste the beauty and bitterness of knowledge. All over the new planet of Eden, whose vibrant and flawless environment was destined to forbear the Almighty's answer to his ultimate warriors, the humans meant for a much higher purpose than even they know (though they suspect) – less powerful but larger in number than angels, easier to control and keep unto his beliefs, his perfect weapon against the lawless minions of Chaos. We slashed our left and right wrists, letting our dark blood seep into the land, undoing the toil of seraphim and cherubim, casting our spells to give emotion to a thoughtless world lacking in passion. However, we did not end it there – the spell spread like a virus and infected the entire universe. The passages of Castle in the Sky were closed.

We succeeded. We destroyed. We brought about the Fall and dooming all to be banned from the virtuous fields of Elysium, the highest of the high Realms of Light. And we also fell.

I fell into the empty darkness, a deep weight closing my eyes as I screamed in unfathomable agony. My wings were lost, glorious ebony feathers ripped away with blood, torn from my back. Flight, the dark wind that had rejoiced in my veins since my creation, was taken away from me. My soul was seared with fire and ice, lightning and thorns, the purest pain inflicted. My consciousness was shredded from the tortured flesh and I was gone. Alone, trapped in a solitary prison of nothingness, like the others, and I knew no more.

I do not remember exactly how I had come back into awareness. In reflection, I realize that I had not woken of my own volition, the fight to see the world again excruciating and exhausting but nevertheless my own doing. It was something else, a strange call, a feeling that I had at the moment did not pinpoint as fear and the desire of survival. My own name was lost to me as I struggled to comprehend, to understand, to blink and take in sight, as I had not seen for a long time…

I was in the body of a child, a babe little more than a year old. A fledgling. I was still on the planet of Eden, but I inhabited the body of a descendant of humans. A power, familiar yet not familiar, was pulsating within the blood. It had taken me long to figure out what it was – darkness, blood of my brethren dark-born, created by the Universe. The power of a dark deity was within me, revitalizing me, while another variation of this force was sent hurtling toward me in the form of green light.

…The blood gave me strength and I protected myself. And as I sent the light away from myself, I heard a crack of metal. I lifted the small hand (I could feel the heat, the tears running down soft cheeks) and saw red life staining my hands. Yet I understood.

I was not strong enough yet. Even so, I was protected by the power of my creator.

The fire raged around me, the messenger choking with the potent power of death, and in the flickering shadows…I saw the silhouette not of a child, but of myself.

And I…I had my wings, the spirit wings of darkness large and majestic even as shadows, as the inferno consumed everything around me. It was what kept myself, Nuitari, from losing my sanity and realization, though entrapped in that strange prison once more.

As well as, though I did not understand it at the time…hope. There was a way out, to cheat eternity. But the question was: at what price was I willing to pay to sacrifice a more innocent and otherwise faultless representation of myself? Am I willing to do such a heartless act, to return to being heartless yet again?

"There has to be a way out of here," Bran affirmed for the fifth time as he paced to-and-fro from one corner of the room to the other. The carpet under his feet seemed to actually begin to wear thin. But the redhead was no longer concerned with that. It seemed, Night noted with some anger (all towards the wizards), that the effects of this castle were getting to his friends faster than they had to him. It had been three hours alone and already Bran felt a burning sensation in his hands, while Mordecai's experiments with the water in the adjacent bathroom nearly turned them into frozen human icicles. Trina was a bit better off – they were back in his dungeon prison, after all – but even she was beginning to look strained. "Logic dictates that," Bran spat out in distemper.

Night sighed, wishing he wouldn't have to say this…but it was the truth. And in such a situation, lying about anything wouldn't exactly benefit them – it would hinder them. "Bran, I've been here for practically a week," he pointed out, running a harried hand through his messy black hair, revealing the troublesome scar for a brief moment. He sat on a regular chair, having surrendered the bed to Mordecai for…obvious reasons. "I don't think these people even know the meaning of the word 'logic'." That's the truth. Sitting Indian-style on the floor beside him, Trina nodded in agreement.

"Well, either way," came a tired groan from the bed. Mordecai, lying on the pillows and holding a wet towel to a nasty welt on his forehead, attempted to sit up, but was forced back down by the pain in his head. The wind elemental winced in sympathy – he had barely managed to escape the chunks of ice that were blasted at them from that disastrous trial with just a few scratches. The successor to the Blue Dragon got a direct blow to the head. "We have to get out of here. The sooner, the better."

"Mordecai's right," Trina put in, looking up at Night worriedly. He was their leader after all, according to rank. "This is getting way out of hand. We know how bad it can get for witches and wizards that just have elemental blood, but what about us? We're full-fledged elementals." She shivered and gave a scathing look to the stones that made up their prison, but there was no reaction at all, which was something she wasn't used to. "And even if we can't get out on our own, we know that Ms. Hawking is on her way."

That was the best news they had given him: his mother was coming. Knowing her, she wouldn't be in a particularly good mood. Certainly not enough to make any sort of deal or alliance that he was sure brightened the blasted blue eyes of that crazy Headmaster when that humanoid toad told him of the approaching force. No, when Zylle Hawking was mad, she was mad. And may the graces of Heaven be with you if you were the one that incurred her wrath. Of course, Night had decided to refrain from giving them any warning of such, or of what to expect in general.

Nuitari Hawking, as the Black Dragon successor, felt this was rather fair of him.

"My mum maybe on her way, but I don't want a confrontation, Trina," he said. As much as he wanted one, it wouldn't be the wisest move. Oh, most definitely those wizards were going to pay for what they did. But not at such a tenuous moment, since their powers were on the fritz. "That will just make things worse. We have enough on our plate with Phantoms."

"So, we'll have to just bust ourselves out of here. We got in, we can get out," Bran responded dryly, still pacing, but he kicked the door just for good measure, bringing a grin to Night's face. "I haven't figured it out yet, but we're definitely leaving." He paused, giving the other three a droll look. "And absolutely before I go kaboom. We're getting that straight right off the bat."

"And we're burning something," Night added laughing.

Catching on, Trina put in gleefully, "Preferably that old toad that caught us, Bran?"

"Would I have it any other way?"

Mordecai groaned from the bed, throwing an arm over his eyes (rather dramatically, Night had to admit). "Whatever happens, don't expect me to clean it up. Or rather, extinguish whatever mess he has planned in his head. I want nothing to do with it."

"Partypooper," Bran accused before turning to Night. "So, oh awesome and powerful leader, what's our next move?"

He smirked. It would be possible, now that they were all there. Four elementals of each element were powerful enough together. The harmony of the elements were not complemented and fused together to generally make a stronger force, but the basis of all four put together at all would amplify the power incredibly. And when those said four elementals were the clan leaders?

Those wizards wouldn't know what hit them.

The last dim rays of the sun managed to slit through the thick curtains of the library, nearly drowned out by the harsh overhead lights. The tables gleamed brightly, as did the golden book indexes on their pedestals, ready to locate the books that the young and eager wizard or witch were seeking. Here and there, some knickknacks of the rather boring variety graced the corners and such. The librarian's desk occupied a corner of seemingly godlike status in the center. Only the aisles of the library, the shadows and the shade cast by their tall shapes, comforted their dark-starved souls in this place of callous light.

The young Gryffindor girl was practically seething with anger as she stared down the three other dark spies. Was she the only one who displayed much emotion? Possibly. "What do you mean we do nothing?!" she shrilled, earning her admonishing glares from her companions. Another came from the skeletal librarian, her beady eyes boring holes into her for daring to disturb the sanctity of her domain. Bah. It wasn't as if Alexandra Quinn cared much about what that old vulture thought anyway. What was important, was what they were going to do about the current situation.

Which was, to Alexandra's ire, to do nothing.

Brian Reginald, the resident Slytherin and necromancer, gave her a scathing look of disapproval. She didn't flinch. He was the leader though, so she couldn't override his orders and do her own thing. Which did nothing to improve her own short temper. "We have our orders to do nothing for the time being," he hissed, his eyes narrowing. "Those came directly from the Lady and we aren't going to go against her after swearing loyalty and allegance."

The mediator who was sorted into Hufflepuff (and the possessor of many admirers) frowned in thought. "But this is serious-"

"Of course, it is!" Alexandra broke in. "The Dark Prince is here, captive, and we can't do anything about it-" Abruptly, she found her mouth closing shut...and she couldn't open it. For a moment, she mumbled in utter incoherence before finally tracing the source of the spell. The Indian girl and Ravenclaw, Veda Kakar, sat innocently and stared at her with inscrutible brown eyes, daring her to try to break her spell.

Dark justices. They claimed that you shouldn't cross one, particularly those who were trained and taught on the sacred island of Avalon. Dark justices were among the elite of dark magic manipulators. As a Hecatian, she had only heard rumors and tales of them. After all, Hecatians were devoted more to the ancient witch sorcery of the goddess Hecate, standing among the ranks of such great practioners as Circe and Medea, they were the original Druids of old Britain. Their business was of the complete and natural world of the dark, of the cycles of the moon, sometimes even communicating with those messengers of Death, the Grims. Potions and crystals, theirs was an primeval and lost art.

Dark justices on the other hand, used dark magic through their minds, focused it into runes and spells. Something that was completely foreign to Alexandra, who trusted the natural flow of magic, wild and untamed. When she had spoken of it to Forrest, he also mentioned it found the prospect strange. As a mediator, one who could speak to the dead and contact spirits, his gift also came naturally. Brian, on the other hand, was less understanding about it. It seemed it took more concentration and will to raise the dead, as well as control them, than not.

"What Forrest means to point out before you interrupted, Alexandra," she said, clipped tones through and through, "is that the Lady herself gave that command. Why would she do that, when her own flesh and blood is in danger here? After years of protection, it doesn't make much sense."

Now that she thought about it...it didn't.

Brian shook his head, something Alexandra noticed he sometimes did when too many thoughts were going through his head. "I'm not sure whether we can answer that-"

Forrest interjected, "Or if it is our place to know what plans the gods have in mind to begin with."

"Right," Brian conceded. "What we do know, is that we aren't supposed to act. We'll make a compromise on it then. If anything happens and we see that the Lord Harry in danger, we'll abort the mission to protect him."

"And what it's too late to do anything?" Veda asked, keeping her silencing charm on Alexandra in place and strong. "This is no ordinary place and is especially perilous for him, more so than to even us."

"We'll know - the darkness will tell us. I know that for sure."

It was then that Alexandra noticed the pale face of a girl hiding in the nearby aisle...and from the looks of it, she had heard every single word of what they said. Alexandra knew that girl - she was in her house. A prefect with high grades and a promising future, who seemed depressed as of late. That bushy hair was unmistakable. Hermione Granger. And she was exactly what they didn't need at the moment.

She racked her mind for what she knew of the girl – such knowledge was essential in case they would need to perform a memory altering charm or whatnot. Good grades and the reputation of being a know-it-all and a bossy busybody, which was something Alexandra was not going to counter at the moment. Also, she was a bit of a teacher's pet, always with her hand raised and doing more than she was told to do. She had an impressive comprehension of wizarding spells. She hung out with two redheaded siblings, a nice girl she herself was friends with, Ginny Weasley. The other redhead, the brother, was strange. An unfamiliar aura surrounded him, sort of like the dark variety, but she could tell. He was no devotee of the dark. Ron Weasley had been a puzzle to her, sometimes to the point of talking to himself. All three of them had the habit of being moody as of late, something her dormmates attributed to…

…Damn it. She was a friend of the Prince! That meant that she couldn't harm her. Which would limit her actions considerably. Alexandra's eyes narrowed as she saw the girl's fingers tighted around the wand, watching as thoughts passed through her head, the tightening of her mouth. Granger was going to attack and sooner than later.

Why couldn't things go simply for once?

Snapping her fingers sharply, several heavy books on the top shelves of the bookcase slid out and dropped like falling stones on the poor girl's head. With a dull thud, the witch collaspsed unconscious to the floor, the carpet thankfully cushioning (and muffling) the fall. The other three turned around to see the commotion, before Brian turned back to her with an exasperated look. But all he said was, "Put an invisibility spell on her and float her out of here. Take her to one of the secret rooms. Let's see how much she knows."

As they were leaving, Veda taking care of floating Hermione Granger's cataleptic body out the library, with Forrest taking the lead, she smacked Brian hard over the head. He hadn't had the mere decency to thank her! Jerk.

The four of them stood in a circle around the warded door of their prison. Together, they would represent the balance between the elements, the balance of leadership, the balance of personality and friendship. It was a difficult undertaking, even under the best of times, to do this spell. And this was certainly not the best of times. Yet, Night reflected, what choice did they have? It was only a matter of time before they all either died or went mad by the horrid magical pressure of this place. The others had been experiencing it under at a higher rate than he had, but even he sensed something eating away at his mind, a phantasm at the very edge of his thoughts...

…He couldn't see the body of the monster, only the arms. They were shapely – a woman's – with gentle and graceful hands reaching out as if to embrace him. They were simply perfect…but he felt repulsed, sickened by the mere sight of them. He retreated further, farther back within the comforting darkness that seemed to dominate his mind, while they continued to try to grab him. He could tell they were getting impatient. The arms became tendrils of ivory ivy and golden briar, growing, extending…wanting to choke and squeeze the life out of him…

His hair became more toussled as he tried to shake the thoughts from his head. Now wasn't the time to be dwelling on such imaginings, however real they were. Even if he was under the impression that there was a warning. This took a lot of concentration and effort, something that his strange forbodings had nothing to contribute to.

In the circle, they stood opposite the other person whose element contrasted their own. Bran and Mordecai, fire and water, Night and Trina, wind and earth. Nodding to each other as a signal, they joined hands and focused their elemental energies. In this place dominated by wizarding magic, their elemental magic that they were exuding was comforting and welcoming. Or perhaps it was because it was he was so starved of that power he had come so used to be around. Though he wouldn't admit out loud, he rather missed his mother's own trademark power…

They each glowed a respective color to their elements, their powers manifesting similarly. He couldn't see his own, being in the center of it all, but Trina's earth power was glimmering like diamonds caught in the light. Bran's aura was flickering like a wild flame and Mordecai's shimmered like the silver surface of water. Within moments, their powers joined together in a shared rhythm, pulsating with energy from themselves.

A shrill wind formed around their circle, loud in the silence that pervaded the room, the very force causing the bed and desk to creak, the distant cracking of glass was the sound of the bathroom's mirror breaking. He winced at the electric feeling flowing through their joined hands as their elements began to flow and combine together. The wind shrieked even more loudly as their powers began to reach a fevered pitch, the door sealing their prison shaking on its hinges.

As one, all four elementals let go.

The door splintered into pieces as it fell onto the cold stone of the dungeons outside. It was late at night – the grandfather clock proclaiming it one in the early morning – and the torches lining the corridor were dark, casting blessed shadows. Lying sprawled on the floor lay two Aurors, prone and unmoving. A quick once over proved them to be alive, just stunned. Probably until the morning or so, was Mordecai's diagnosis. It took a bit of effort (on the boys' part – for Trina refused to help one of them who happened to insult her when she was caught, so she went into the next room for their things) to drag them into the room – they didn't want to leave them right there. Let no one claim that Grey Tower elementals were indecent people.

"That worked well," brunette girl approved, shrugging on one of the wizard robes that they still had. It was a necessary disguise. Not many people knew they were here, so if they were caught, they would just be thought of as misbehaving students out for a midnight romp of mischief. Whatever. But wizards had to be stupid – why would they leave the very items that they confiscated from supposed enemies and put them in the next room?! He could just imagine his mother and the other leaders of the Arashi-Tenku scoffing at the very idea. "And we put those guys back in the room – not that they deserved it, those bigoted pigs – but where do we go from here?" She glanced uneasily down the hallway, hugging herself and rubbing her arms with her hands. "We need to get out of here, but I can't get anything from these stones. The wizarding magic is so old that it's incompatible with me."

Night frowned in thought, trying to come up with a solution, but was distracted by Mordecai's question. "Night, didn't you nearly get out of here last time? Do you remember how you did it? If you do, then we have a pretty good chance." The water elemental gave Night a glance, one that was pleading for him to answer in the affirmative.

The dark-haired boy blinked his emerald green eyes. He had found a way out before. But he didn't know consciously. Most of the way was guesswork and a strange sense of déjà vu. Which doesn't mean I've been here before, he stubbornly maintained. It was probably some fluke or something. Maybe it's just my own wizarding magic. To the disappointment of the other three, he nodded no. "A vague idea at best. I was going on my own – and trust me, it's like a bloody maze down here. No signs or landmarks anywhere to distinguish one hallway from the other." He scowled at the memory, the feeling of being trapped, like a rat in an maze, the cheese (or freedom, in his human case), difficult and watched at every moment. "Besides," he pointed out next, "I think I went thorough a private room belonging to one of the teachers here. One of the teachers whose dislike of me is a severe understatement."

Bran shrugged nonchalantly, ignoring the raised eyebrow from Trina and the sigh from Mordecai. Night, however, decided to listen. Bran, intelligence-wise, was the smartest out of all of them. For all his sarcastic quips, Bran usually was…right, to Night's chagrin. "It's our best shot and it's one that we know for sure will get us to the exit. I say we go for it."

"And if this teacher wakes up?" Mordecai questioned.

As much as he hated to admit it, and despite the risks, the redhead was correct. He would just have to hope his 'vague idea' of his previous escape attempt would suffice. Night sighed himself, "It's the best plan we've got. Let's just hope I remember the way. Follow me." Putting his fingers to tell them to stay silent, they made a quiet trek down the dungeon passage, keeping an eye out for any movement or threat. Trina sped up to walk at his side and whispered, "You didn't answer his question. What if this teacher does wake up…or is an insomniac?"

"Let's hope not," he murmured back. "But if he does, I get the first crack at the guy." At her knowing smirk, he clarified, "He's a certified git. Complete lack of decorum and manners."

Mordecai snorted, quickly covering up his laughter. Bran, on the other hand, commented grimly, "What do you expect from wizards?"

It took about a half-hour to find the fight corridor where the door was, all of them frustrated and tired by the end of it. Especially since, as Mordecai had pointed out, they had passed it four times before they realized it. To Night's credit, he defended himself ("I probably did pass this way four times by the time I found it!). Trina quickly diffused the argument, to Bran's regret ("We've got more important things to do! Argue later!") and they carefully made their way into the office.

It was more forbidding in the darkness than during the daytime – the grays and blacks were deeper and more menacing, the green not to be seen. In a lucky manuever, Mordecai clasped his hand over Trina's mouth before she had a chance to scream at the sight of the silver snakes adorning the fireplace's mantlepiece. "This man has no joy in his life," Bran grumbled to an amused Night, waiting for the others at the entrance to the potions storage room.

All movement (and breathing) stopped at the sound of footsteps in an adjacent room that Night had not noticed in his previous visit. With a whispered curse, he realized that it must be the teacher's bedroom. A dim light illuminated the floor beneath it and they could here the bustle the man (Snape, Night thought while grimacing), as he went about whatever business he did at this hour of the night. He and Bran quickly ducked into the potions room, Mordecai and Trina sprinting in after them, and it took all his self-control to not slam the door behind them. Indeed, they all jumped at the slam Snape himself had made when exiting his bedroom, as well as his rather colorful epithets for a few people. With a few well-chosen signals, Bran was appointed lookout, the other three went into the main potions classroom.

It – and the hallway outside – were clear and it wasn't long until Bran rejoined them, looking perplexed. Which wasn't something Night wanted during this – Bran always had a habit of thinking on things that puzzled him, to the point of not paying attention to anything else. From the stern look gracing Trina's face, he could see the same thoughts crossing her mind. "He was leaving for somewhere," Bran explained, tapping his chin in thought. "And he wasn't happy about it at all. The bloke was wearing a mask. Also kept grabbing his left arm, like he was in pain or something."

"It isn't our concern," Mordecai reprimanded. "We have to get out of here, not wonder what strange things that guy is up to. By the oceans, it's probably something we don't want to know. Who in their right mind keeps mermaid's blood and Favara Venus Fly trap teeth in their potions stores?" At the miffed reply of 'Professor Coulter', Mordecai turned red and muttered something about her being 'a completely different case'.

On the same thread and the promise that they weren't too far off now, they made their way to the upper levels, the stairwell slightly treacherous in the thick darkness and lack of light, silently rejoicing at the onset of fresher air. They were in the large chamber again, the one with the doors that led to the outside, to freedom. Smiling happily and receiving two thumps on the back, they prepared to make their way across the hall. Night was about to take one step out of the stairwell's shadows when they heard two sets of footsteps. One was unsure and hurried, immediately recognized as fleeing. The other was paced and confident, clearly taking their time. There was a crash of metal and a plaintive cry of hurt from the first person, the second one laughing.

Everything echoed loudly in the stillness of the night.

"Well, well," they heard a voice, aristocratic and smooth, used to being listened to. The name 'Malfoy' came to Night's mind immediately and the picture of the pompous blonde in that class he had interrupted earlier. That and a feeling of dislike emerged. He didn't bother questioning where it came from – he had a feeling that he didn't want to. "What are you doing out of bed, Longbottom? I'm sure that even an Gryffindor, despite their limited to lack of any intelligence, could tell that curfew passed hours ago."

"G-Go away, Malfoy!"

"By Merlin! Am I hearing right? Longbottom actually showing some backbone?" You could hear the sneer in the second person's – Malfoy's – very voice. "Next thing you know, I'll be admitting that Potter actually did make an appearance in our Potions class!" Night peeked around the wall of dark stone to witness the scene. One was obviously Malfoy – Zylle once said you could always tell a rich ponce from the way they carried themselves, as if the world should be thanking a higher power for their mere existence. He ignored the twinge of familiarity, of recognition, at the sight of that white-blond hair and the mean pointed face. The other boy was obviously trying to put up a good front, but wasn't quite succeeding. Night could see the boy's slightly stout figure and the round face, which held that same look of shock that Night had seen just hours ago. His eyes narrowed, this was the boy who alerted that snarky git of a professor (who didn't deserve the title) that he was there.

"He was there!" the round-faced yelled back. "He was! I know what I saw!"

Malfoy scoffed, "Wishful thinking. If Potter was back, why did he run?" A cruel smile began to grace the refined features. "Maybe he didn't want to go back to your cozy little gang of Gryffindors. Finally realized that you bunch are hardly worth the time of anyone. What if he was a ghost of Potter, just wandering about in the halls?" Mordecai winced at the sound of the laughter, Bran pulling an annoyed face. "Sounds like Simeon Bradley," Trina mouthed to him, her face angry, Night nodded in agreement.

"Ah well," Malfoy concluded, chuckling. The blonde slipped his wand out of his robe's sleeves and Longbottom immediately paled. "Whether Potter is here or not hardly is anything important." The wand leveled, aimed at the other's throat.

The spell did ricochet off a suit of armor and scorched a segment of wall. The girlish shriek that would have elicited from Malfoy's mouth was muffled by Mordecai's hand and the wizard was held down firmly by both the water elemental and Night. Smiling grimly, Bran rose to his feet and offered a hand of help to the Gryffindor boy he had just tackled to the floor. Longbottom scooted away nervously until he was backed up to the wall. The redhead merely shrugged and pulled him up by the front of his robes. A small distance away, Trina picked up the two fallen wands.

"You three just can't resist a fight, can you?" she said wryly, throwing a meaningful glance at where he and Mordecai held down Malfoy. "Just because I said he's like a wizarding version of our 'beloved' Simeon Bradley, doesn't mean to just attack him!"

"Well, some of us, my dear girl," Bran intoned dryly, "like to attack versions of Simeon Bradley. And variations of said example. It just gives us a higher purpose in life."

"And a wonderful sense of satisfaction. Which is why you're planning to be a lawyer," Night calmly stated, releasing his hold on Malfoy. Mordecai prevented the wizard from running off easily. Malfoy, it seemed to Night, was…a weak ferrety little thing.

"Damn straight. Burn those…crap, burning's not allowed now unfortunately. But burning in the metaphorical sense? I embrace the concept," Bran continued. Followed by belated, "Ouch! Why am I always being abused by you, woman!" Nevertheless, both kept an eye on the wizard they had just rescued even if they were not keeping a strong physical grip on him.

"Where's that old toad when you need her, eh?" Mordecai quipped to him. "Now, when she's gone and we don't have any opportunity, Bran is in a thorough mood for burning. Think we can make a substitute, here?" The water elemental was joking, but Night could swear (and he laughed at this, which probably didn't help at all) that the blonde wizard turned as white as a sheet. Probably because of the history of witch burning and all.

Night sniggered mildly before turning to Malfoy (who, if possible, turned even paler), the teen whispering softly when he saw his face, "Potter." It wasn't a question. Yet it did annoy him considerably that, once again, he was being called 'Harry Potter'. So much so that it caused him to give the wizard a swift backhand to the head, followed by an irritated chain of muttering over the, in his opinion, mistaken identity. It had been nearly over a week, he was sick of it all! By the gods and Lethe itself, he was entitled to some violence!

He missed the spasm of fear that crossed Longbottom's face, too caught up in his aggravation. "Wonderful way to get on my good side," he said darkly, throwing a glare in the blonde teen's direction (who was looking quite shell-shocked at the moment). "I'm not this Harry Potter everyone seems to be thinking I am, so let's leave it at that." His tone, and Trina's impatiently tapping foot, left no room for discussion.

"So, what do we do with these gents, oh exalted leader?" Bran drawled, his blue eyes…dare Night say – twinkling with a mischievous intent. "I believe it would be rather boring to just let them go on their way peacefully." Trina sighed, throwing the confiscated wands to Bran (who caught them deftly), and grabbed the collar of Longbottom's robes before he had a chance to scamper. Mordecai gave the wizard currently in his grip a questioning look when Malfoy made what seemed to be a pathetic whimpering sound.

Drolly, Trina added while keeping a firm hold on the visibly trembling Gryffindor, "Well, they're both breaking their curfew. I should think it only fair that we do something. Though personalities and circumstances should be taken into account." Night took a step away from Malfoy – the latter looked as if he were going to be sick right there and then.

It was true that Night wasn't inclined to let them off that easily. He had just been kept in a underground cell in a hazardous place to his health. What was clear was that they needed to leave and to leave quickly while they were at it. But they needed to effectively bypass those blasted guards. They didn't have that much knowledge of the school…but the students…

"Mordecai, hypothetically, would we be breaking the terms of the Paragon Treaty if we take a few…visitors with us back home?" he asked. The Paragon Treaty, made in 1257 and revised countless times over the years (in particular, during the 1800s when some strange wizard arrived in Grey Tower and did some strange things, but that was a completely different matter altogether), governed the relationships between elementals and other magical groups. It was an integral part of any elemental's education, vital to the survival of the clans. If he remembered correctly, there was something about wizards 'visiting' the clan lands. If anything, he'd have to bend the law a bit and claim that it said nothing about 'visiting of one's own free will'. Then again, he had had no intention of 'visiting' Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry of his own free will either. "I don't believe that we would, but I want to make sure."

"Not at all," Mordecai replied, not missing a beat. "But there's one problem." He gave him a level glance. "While we are the future leaders of the clan, we have no real authority to take the Paragon Treaty under such terms. Only the actual leaders could do that. Like Trina's dad or your mum."

At this last statement, Malfoy let out a snort of derision and muttered something under his breath, smirking. But the wizard backed down at the intense emerald green glance turned his way. "What," Night hissed, "was that?" He did not know why he cared so much, but there was something in that mockery that made him short-tempered. Perhaps it was just Malfoy's nature to just piss people off or at least infuriate them. Either way, he felt angry at what he thought Malfoy had tittered. Even if he knew for a fact that it wasn't true at all, that his mother was still alive and well, it still made his blood boil.

"Your mother, Potter," Malfoy commented, the bravado irking his nerves even more, "died a long time ago. If I recall, because of you."

A swift punch in the stomach silenced the wizard and Malfoy went limp in Mordecai's grip. Night would not deny that he felt good after this.

"Seriously, Night," "Trina said into the silence that followed after. Longbottom moaned softly but was silenced by a quick bright green stare. "Was that really necessary?"

"Yes, it was," was the terse reply.

"Pheh," Mordecai scoffed. "And I bet you're not the one who's going to drag his worthless body, but us lowly subordinates?"

"Right-o."

Bran smirked. "Government at work," he commented sarcastically.

Severus Snape left Hogwarts to go to the latest of Voldemort's Death Eater meetings with the full knowledge that this wasn't going to go well. His Dark Mark burning dully on his left arm had initially awoken him from his rather fitful sleep and it wasn't a welcome addition in the least. After the fiasco with that perpetual pest Potter, now with no memory and under the delusion that he was an elemental (one with a healthy dose of arrogance to boot), he had looked forward to a quiet night of rest and later to directing his frustration on the first year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws the next morning.

Heaving on the cold stone floor of Voldemort's lair, bleeding profusely but still managing to somehow retain consciousness, he was beginning to doubt he would have the opportunity to see the dawn.

He was in bad shape. His legs had long given out beneath him, unable to support him through the pain. It was difficult to see, but his black robes were sodden with blood. His already sickly complexion had turned ashen and a dribble of red trailed down from his mouth. Clenched teeth were tinted red and his greasy black hair hung down. His white Death Eater mask was lying abandoned on the floor feet away, cracked down the middle. Black eyes were still aware and they watched their tormentor with unhidden hatred.

"My, my," that repulsive high-pitched voice commented, "he's still alive. And still fighting." Bloody bastard, were the defiant thoughts running through his head. This time, he made no attempt to hide them. Let him see into his mind if he wanted to. If he was going down, he was going to go down with the Dark Lord knowing exactly what he thought of him. "I must say, Severus, you were quite the valuable asset. It's unfortunate that someone of your rare caliber must die."

He could see, blood red tingeing the edges of his vision from repeated Cruciatus curses, the emaciated figure of 'his Lord', sitting high in his throne, a cruel smile gracing his lips. That new wand, may its maker rot in hell for creating such a vile instrument. Ever since Voldemort had come into possession of it, his propensity for torture had unfortunately increased. Perhaps it had something to do with that mysterious (and, he had to admit, beautiful) blonde woman he had seen wandering the halls in the pale and revealing garments.

It could be that woman's doing. She seemed the type that was used to having her every whim catered to. A real snooty act that one and she walked down the halls as if she had owned them. Of course, it was doubtful that she wanted to be seen in the first place. During that time, he wasn't exactly supposed to be there. Still, as he mentioned to Dumbledore later about her, she seemed extremely familiar to him.

But no. She wasn't here right now. And Voldemort kept glancing to the corner, where two young men, probably in their late teens, were standing. Unlike the other Death Eaters, they wore black combat robes…and black armor?! He moved his dark eyes in their directions and they simultaneously smirked at him. They looked exactly alike…well; he could vaguely discern some differences between the two. He couldn't tell how, but they were the same and not at the same time – perhaps it was that one of them seemed more controlled than the other. The pallor of their skin, the dark hair, as well as those damned knowing blue eyes reminded him greatly of a younger Sirius Black, standing to the side enjoying every minute of his embarrassment during those long past school days. The parallels between them and the annoying mutt did not help matters in the least.

Instinctively, he knew that they were the ones to snitch him out. And that they didn't care either way for the trivialities of this war – they just wanted to watch, as if it were some kind of play acted out on a stage for them, the audience.

The mere prospect of that thought and of those sick teenagers in the corner, swathed in the darkness and shadows, made him want to cringe. But Snape refrained. Why? If he was going to die here, he was going to face it like a man. Or, even more pathetically, like an idiotic Gryffindor.

For the record, that thought didn't comfort him in the very least.

"Why would you betray me, Severus?" Voldemort inquired, his voice hissing like the lazy snake lounging at his feet. The tone was easy and unhurried. He knew why – escape was impossible. There was no way to apparate or portkey, he was in no condition to duel (much less a hundred gathered Death Eaters eager for blood as well as a few elementals), and because he had rushed over, there were no chances for a timely save by Aurors or the Order of the Phoenix. He, Severus Snape, was screwed over big time. There was no point in denying it. "You could've been great and had whatever you wanted! Fortune, recognition, revenge…"

Snape visibly flinched – those had been his original goals, of course. To be successful and prove all others wrong – that he had ability. To gain his father's praise and love. To get back at all those who had mocked him. But times had changed – he had changed. He wasn't that weak teenager keen on getting a little attention, but a man who knew that the world was heartless and that recognition really didn't amount to much anyway.

At his glare, Voldemort shrugged nonchalantly. "Ah well. There is no point in keeping a traitor alive. And I'm sure that there are other potions masters that I can utilize for my plans. Good-bye, Severus Snape." The Dark Lord raised his wand, the red metal glinting malevolently in the torchlight. The Death Eaters, who had already left a large gap around him, moved even farther away from him.

This was it. Snape watched impassively as he saw the lips of that monster of a man form those dreaded words, but didn't hear them. Maybe he didn't want to. The green light ejected flew towards him at a snail's pace, as if time itself was slowing down.

…Pity, really. He had a good lesson to teach those Hufflepuffs…and he didn't even have the chance to take another crack at Potter again…

Snape braced himself for speeding death, but it never came. A wall of light appeared in front of his eyes, white and bright, and the curse cancelled out immediately upon hitting it. Voldemort had risen to his feet in alarm, the Death Eaters drawing their wands.

A gentle hand squeezed his shoulder and he looked up to see a young woman with violet hair, streaked and spotted with bright red. Her attire was bright, yellow and conspicuous among the gray and black shadows, the orange and blue striped sash tied around her waist trailing to the floor. Pale green eyes on a pretty face were not focused on Voldemort (who suddenly looked fearful), but on the twins in the corner. They were frowning, not angrily, but more like children whom just had candy taken away from them. One, the more serious of them opened his mouth to speak, but the mysterious woman silenced them with a look.

A flash of light and the scene before him vanished. His surroundings spun around him wildly, the colors muddling and blurring.

"You are under my protection, Severus Snape. That is why you were saved. It would do you well to remember that gods are not all gods of light have the best interests for creation and not all gods of darkness aim to destroy it. This war is dangerous and the lines are not – and I doubt they ever will be – drawn clearly. Do not put faith in the immortals, put faith in the Great Three."

In that strange limbo, he made to ask a question, but never had the chance.

"The elementals of Grey Tower will be your best allies, appeal on the name of Sekai-Kage and your grandmother. They will listen. The past holds the secrets of the future and Slytherin has the answers. Go to Grey Tower and look back in the mists of memory. Slytherin has the answers that are needed."

The world righted itself and the white ward of the Hospital Wing materialized before him. He saw Madam Pomfrey rushing towards him, a look of shock on her face.

"I imagine you want revenge. Ask Sirius Black to summon his ancestor. Deimos and Phobos do not think of the future. Thanatos, their brother, must be informed of their doings."

A feeling of smugness filled him. So those two were relatives of Black. And it did seem like they wanted to kill him. Stupid family. From the worried look on her face and the strength she was using to drag him to a bed, he could tell the matron was worried. But he was too focused on maintaining the already declining connection to reassure her…or brush her off.

"If he asks how you knew, say Iris told you. And also tell him that I don't owe him anything. Please emphasize that for me, because Nat can be an annoying prat when he wants to be."

He blacked out when his head the pillow, noting that he didn't feel in pain anymore. The following morning, Snape wouldn't know how to answer Madam Pomfrey's questions as to how he suddenly healed from his grievous injuries. Then, he would later suffer a fresh surge of rage (which Pomfrey claimed wasn't healthy for him at all) when given two pieces of information the next morning – one, Potter escaped and two, Black went after him.

Four to five hours later…on an empty road about five miles from the town of Hogsmeade, nearly dawn…

It had taken a few moments to get Zylle to stop hugging and kissing him in relief. Of course, he wasn't particularly complaining about the actual act. It was nice to know he was cared for and missed. But it was a bit embarrassing to have it done in front of a large group of adults…and his friends…and two wizards who seemed to have it embedded deeply in their psyche that he was someone named Harry Potter. But even so, she kept him close by her. And it didn't help that Shadow immediately decided to tackle him and demand to stay in his arms for the duration. To his immense surprise, Hedwig was already there, perched on his mother's shoulder (Zylle explained to him that Hedwig appeared seemingly out of nowhere a few hours ago and had a strange 'conversation' with Shadow). There were many pats on the backs, hugs, and embraces and so on.

They didn't escape the inevitable lecture on how elementals – even if they were future leaders – were supposed to follow the orders of the clan leader. Though Zylle was amused by rubber-chicken/wand stunt. And was impressed by their level of cunning and overall infiltration. But that didn't excuse them from breaking clan rules. The punishments varied according to parent. It was his unfortunate luck that he had the worst of the retributions: extra high-intensity training after school as well as doing an extra credit project (and presentation) for Professor Coulter. Without the extra credit. Mordecai and Trina were just stuck with the project.

Bran, as expected, would be dead once they would reach Grey Tower. Not only were his angry father and formidable mother waiting at home. Oh no. His grandfather Conrad (a former Red Dragon) and his witch grandmother Lara Weasley-Ravencroft were also waiting for him. As Bran reminded them all before he collapsed to the ground in despair (or something akin to it, no one could really tell), he was expendable – he had several siblings. And a multitude of cousins.

While this was all occurring, the wizards were awkwardly exchanged between various people as the four elementals were greeted. Malfoy had woken up about an hour before they had rejoined Night's mother and the elementals and was extremely whiny about every single little hardship. It had taken several carefully phrased questions to point out that if he thought he was better than they were (a result that they really didn't know how he arrived at to begin with), then a simple walk shouldn't be a problem. Of course, this shut him up. Thank the heavens. But Malfoy, still proving to be a nuisance, attempted to run off again. He only succeeded in tripping into a pile of mud due to Mordecai's opportunely well-placed foot.

Longbottom, or as they now knew him as 'Neville' (which was vaguely familiar), seemed somewhat resigned to his fate and accepted what was going on with admirable amiability. In fact, the wizard admitted to him two hours after they had left, this one was of the most enjoyable occasions he had undergone in his life. Malfoy was knocked out (at the time) and they were actually able to connect with him on the same level when it came to a love of plants. None so much as Trina, but the nature connection was still there. Night had to agree, if he had the pleasure of knowing Malfoy for as long as Neville had, he would also find the situation somewhat pleasurable. Neville had raised some awkward questions, but he had sternly put them down. He was not Harry Potter. No ands', ifs', or buts' about it.

"So," Zylle continued from her 'questioning' of his time at Hogwarts, an arm thrown around his shoulders, as if to reassure her that he was actually there walking beside her. He scratched behind Shadow's ears, the black feline purring in his arms. Night was somewhat worried about Hedwig, but she seemed alright. The owl kept looking around them, on alert, but he assumed his new paranoia to be in response to the wizard attacking them. Hopefully, she would be fine in a few days. "You escaped. Then you sensed our collective elemental power and went towards us. And you brought two wizards with you."

They were walking away from Hogwarts and its nearby village, the group somewhat happier that its mission had been successful. The other three had strayed to speak with other elementals they knew or relatives. Trina, he could see, was talking once more to Neville. Probably on the subject of herbs again. Malfoy looked as if he had swallowed a lemon, casting disapproving looks about him at their ragtag group. Which was getting on a few nerves.

Night answered calmly, "Yes," before adding, "Was that bad?" He got slightly nervous at the look of skepticism on his mother's face. "I figured we weren't making a transgression on the Paragon Treaty if we took them along," he elaborated.

"Not necessarily, but I'll think of something," she answered thoughtfully. "If I know how things usually are in these sort of circumstances, then Crowley will raise a fit. But in the big picture of things, I doubt it matters." She cast a look at Malfoy, who was currently sneering at Trina's muggle attire, but the earth elemental girl paid him no mind. Which made him all the more frustrated. When the blonde noticed their stares, Zylle's clear gray one in particular, he looked away quickly…blushing?!

In his protective anger, he nearly missed his mother's dry comment of, "That one's a bit ferrety-looking if you ask me." Nearly.

He laughed, joining her chuckles, and felt more relaxed and relieved than he had in a while. That searing headache gone, his powers working properly once more, and reunited with his mother. The promise of home was calling, where Gran and Hans were waiting for them to come back.

After a week of being away and kept prisoner, Nuitari Hawking could think of nothing better than returning to 14 Zephyrus Court.

Hey all. I know I haven't updated in awhile. Unfortunately, school and other matters have kept me busy beyond belief. I do manage to write segments now and then, available both on my blog and my Yahoo! Group (look in my profile for links). I am trying my best though to get chapters out when I can. If you have any questions about the story or my other fics, you can ask them there.

A few things to clear up:

- First of all, in answer to a question, Dudley is not related to Melania in any way. She took pity on him and there were some ulterior motives there. He may have some powers and all, but Dudley isn't a descendant of a god.

- There are only three living descendants of dark gods mentioned so far. Harry and Tom are both related to Melania. James was also one of her descendants, but Voldemort killed him. Sirius, and only Sirius, is related to Thanatos. The reason for that is explained in Elemental Sight, a prequel up on my Yahoo!Group.

- The strange wizard referred in the explanation of the Paragon Treaty was Thanatos, having a bit of fun on Earth during that time period. Again, refer to Elemental Sight.

- Why are Draco and Neville doing nothing? Simple. They didn't expect Harry there, much less a Harry who is different from the one they knew and an elemental at that. It's rather shocking to the system. Also, Mordecai is a pretty imposing fellow when he wants to be. And Bran's pyromania probably doesn't help matters much anyway.

I will give you some tantalizing hints as to the next chapters in Elemental Prophecies:

- Sirius is not going to just sit there and mope, especially when he finds his godson missing again. As we have seen, he is a man of action. Keep that in mind.

- Another is that the significance of the hourglass will be shown when Dudley meets the Harbinger Cronus (who is in human form like Harry, but awakened like Mathias Darius ), who will reveal many of the mysteries surrounding the past as well as the nature of the Harbingers and Earth's creation.

- Lastly, Zylle and Sirius have met before in the past when they were younger. The same goes for Zylle and Remus, but that was due to Zylle and Sirius meeting in the first place. They just haven't realized who exactly the other is yet. This will be a rather funny situation. Why haven't they recognized each other yet? Well…it's all Sirius' fault, really.

That's all I'm saying for now. I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Thanks for waiting so long for me to update.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS AND HAVE A WONDERFUL NEW YEAR!

---Raven Dragonclaw