39 (Attack of the Heliopaths)

Virtually, Harry and his fellow Gryffindors had spent most of the morning celebrating Gryffindor's victory against Ravenclaw. Now that they've won the match, if Hufflepuff loses to Ravenclaw, then they will face Slytherin. Whoever wins that match shall face Gryffindor for the final match of the year.

"That was really cool what you guys did," sang Seamus enthusiastically, "that funnel thingy."

"It's called the Twister Attack," explained Ginny clearly.

"Yeah," agreed Dean, "and Harry was bloody brilliant with the…what's it called?"

"The Wronski Feint," said Hermione, grinning.

"Right," muttered Dean.

Professor McGonagall had indeed been distracted during her lesson. The Gryffindors were still crying out in triumph, although Harry, Ron, and Hermione were more or less annoyed.

"If this hollering goes on furthermore, you'll serve detention!" screeched Professor McGonagall indignantly.

That did the trick; everyone's enthusiasms subsided, and they returned back to normalcy.

As a compromise, Professor McGonagall consented to the let them continue their party and celebration at the end of the lesson only if they paid their undivided attention to a necessary aspect of Transfiguration, the Scrusanstic Theory.

"Now," she spoke sternly, "if you would kindly copy down what's on the blackboard. This will be vital for you to know before you sit your pre-N.E.W.T testing and final exam."

Again, Ron's face turned pale and yellow.

The Scrusanstic Theory of Transfiguration was developed by one of the most gifted Animagi of the eleventh century, Srucencious Alador. His ability to adapt to any environment surrounding him created a huge turning point for Srucencious. He found out that witches or wizards can actually transform into all sorts of animals and beasts at will. Accordingly to his theory, Srucencious discovered that the ability of transformation into another creature was mostly given at birth, much like being a Metamorphagus. It may sometimes inherited from relatives of the family, especially two generation upwards. Therefore, his profound theory explained that being an Animagus could rarely be learned. However, several philosophers a good while after Srucencious's time have come up with an exception to his point. They did agree that it was difficult to be learned, yet, it could be learned. They also discussed the many ways to be an Animagus, including being cursed, bitten by an animal, born an Animagus, having a creature's blood in your own, or learn to be one. Eventually, those philosophers devised a few ways that may turn out to be tough and difficult, all leading to become a unique Animagus. It also required strong determination and bravery, for it may cause pain and agony beyond anything at all.

"We'll talk more about this special theory later on in the week," called Professor McGonagall, as her wand erased the letters on the dusty blackboard, "pack up, and you may be dismissed when the bell rings. No homework for today."

Ron was relieved; however, Neville was unfortunate. Just when he was about to start copying off the second to last sentence, McGonagall cleared the board. It was common knowledge how slow Neville turned out to be, much unlike his own father. Amicably, Hermione offered him her notes for later that evening, just before the Study Society meeting began. Meanwhile, Dean and Seamus were put down too, because they didn't have the chance to set free some Exploding-Snap Crackers.

"It's very interesting, isn't it Hermione? I mean I've never know that story about the guy! Don't you find it intriguing? Huh? What do you think Hermione?"

Harry and Ron both giggled quietly as they climbed up the stairs, listening to Neville's gossiping. They both perfectly knew that he only kept talking about the subject to remind Hermione about lending him her notes. He wasn't to be blamed, though, because his marks were dropping lower and lower as the term went on. Nevertheless, sometimes, Neville could be more obnoxious than Mr. Filch chasing after Dungbombs across the hallway.

Harry had just bypassed the common room through the Portrait hole to purchase his forgotten Charms textbook. He also happened to be carrying around his prized Firebolt X6; all the girls that gazed it let out sighs of excitement.

He carefully set his magnificent broomstick in his trunk, beside some old, rotten, smelly, repulsive socks that once belonged to Uncle Vernon. Then, as Harry intended to pick up the book and proceed to departure, he heard a soft tapping noise on the window in front of him. When he raised his eyes, looking up, Hedwig was there, hooting, her wings spread widely, flapping immensely in the air.

Quickly, Harry dropped his book on the cupboard near his four poster bed, and reached for the window, unlocking it. In came his white wintry owl, a letter in a parcel tied around her skinny leg. She rested momentarily on the windowsill, her amber eyes gazing curiously at Harry's eyes.

Dear Harry,

We met Dumbledore a week ago, and we've had a little chat with him about events going on at school. As you probably know by now, he had asked for some old friends to join us in the Order, and Ministry of Magic. Their job was and still is providing protection and safety against You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters. Of course, we're talking about the Noble Rangers of the South.

They happen to be splendidly amazing warriors, but mysterious people indeed. They seldom reveal their secretive plans to anyone at all, with the exception of us and Dumbledore. But we're asking you Harry to be polite to them…and don't stick your nose where it doesn't belong, Harry. Please, don't interfere in their business; it will only make things more complicated and postponed. What we also have a tip about is that they can be really hazardous around youngsters like yourself and friends. So please be careful, and don't act foolish enough to be intruding into what doesn't concern you. We're not denying that you've got a lot of greatness in you, Harry, but for everybody's sake, stay calm.

Yours truly,

Molly Weasley and the Order

At least, now he was relieved that somebody else also knew about these Rangers. The Order has clearly co-operated with those men, and agreed to have them at Hogwarts for extra care and protection. Of course, to Harry, that seemed like remembering Professor Dumbledore's words. Harry was beginning to notice how much the old Headmaster cared for the wizard race; it was pure loyalty to peace in him. And ever since Voldemort had risen again, he instantly called to reunite the Order of the Phoenix. Perhaps for some reason, Dumbledore couldn't extinguish Voldemort's life. It couldn't be simple, of course, due to his numerous escapes from being caught. Yet, although he was on the loose, Voldemort started gathering as many Death Eaters as he could. He also called to recruit the last of the giants in his service, and added to that, every other Dark magical creature possible. Harry remembered how Hagrid's arrival was delayed two months in his fifth year, due to a difficult task Dumbledore appointed him to. Hagrid wasn't meant to bring a giant back home, but at least, he did his duty, along with Madam Maxime. The Dementors, however, are a hopeless case. They already left Azkaban and only a smattering of them remains at the service of the Ministry of Magic. As Harry thought, it was only a matter of time before they joined their mates.

"Harry?" broke in a sudden rough voice.

Harry's eyes immediately shifted backwards to discern the figure of Ron, leaning against the wall, his knees buckling. Surely, Harry hadn't realized how long he's been in his dormitory. Possibly, Ron's knees might've started to buckle from exhaustion.

"What's taking you so long? We'll be late," chattered Ron, getting up. Without the slightest notice from Ron, Harry unobtrusively dropped the letter to the ground, picked up his book, and left.

During Charms class, tiny Professor Flitwick made a quick revision about the Sinkle Charm, going briefly over its characteristics. Later on, he was introducing them to a fairly simple background about the Confundus Charm, which happened to be very complex, and even beyond NEWT level. Of all people, Hermione no doubt found no difficulty whatsoever in understanding the main basic points leading to the charm, for she had read over three hundred pages of it in the various library books. To the majority's relief, Flitwick had confessed that they won't be actually starting to try out the Charm until perhaps the very end of next year…or perhaps during their academic achievement in Hogwarts.

"It's so incredible once you get used to it…but also dangerous once you meddle improperly with it," said Hermione matter-of-factly as she, Harry, and Ron picked up their schoolbags, approaching the exit door.

"Everything's so fascinating to you, isn't it, Hermione?" giggled Ron.

"Probably, you don't realize how effective and strong it is," suggested Hermione, grinning.

"Hey, remember how Snape claimed that we were Confunded by old Sirius in third year?" asked Ron, coming to a complete halt. Somehow, he felt that he hurt Harry's feelings by mentioning his dead godfather.

"It's allright, Ron," said Harry, noticing a tense mood on his friend's face.

"Sorry…didn't mean to…"

"I said I'm fine," hissed Harry seriously.

"Look, what's Malfoy doing?" pointed out Hermione.

Draco Malfoy, which amazingly happened to be solitary, but not joined by his cronies, was gazing mysteriously at a brick wall. His eyes were very focused and wide open, alarmed. His mouth was as wide as it could spread, possibly in mere shock, and his blonde hair flew in the frigid air as the wind came by.

"Not up to any trouble, are you now, Malfoy?" questioned Harry, gripping his wand tightly in his pocket, as he stepped closer to his arch-rival.

Not one squeak, not one tiny little squeak emerged from his vocal cords.

"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" enquired Ron, mystified.

"Get out of the way, Weasel Bee!" articulated Malfoy, pushing Ron out of his path. Off he went, speed walking, not daring to turn around his head.

"Something's not ordinary with him," mumbled Hermione, helping Ron off the ground.

Harry moved his hand up the brick wall, feeling its texture. Clearly, there was nothing strange or queer about it. It just felt like it was supposed to feel. Nevertheless, the vivid looks on Malfoy's face indicated something weird indeed. It was something suspicious, so exotic that it curled his tongue.

"Weird, I wonder what's in his mind," spoke Harry uncertainly, and decided to follow Malfoy's track in the snow that showed tiny bits of grass.
From afar, Harry, Ron, and Hermione noticed how odd Malfoy was acting. Every now and then, he paused, like a cat stalking a scurrying mouse, so cautious. He looked around him whenever he was in corners, surrounded by nothing but air and stone. After that, he hastily ran downstairs. The three ran faster in turn, stepping forward.

"I think he's going to the dungeons," suggested Hermione, and they all moved together at once.

Slowly, they crept forward to the dimly lit Potions classroom's door. Like eavesdroppers, or more likely in this situation, they were in fact real eavesdroppers, they had their ears stuck to the door.

"…it scared me Professor," they heard Malfoy's trembling voice, "…it talked…directly to me…appeared….out of nowhere…"

"What exactly did you see?" came the eerie voice of a determined Snape.

"Dunno…it looked like…no specific form…just a shade…a shadow," continued Malfoy in a shaky voice.

"What precisely did it tell you?"

"Just as I said…the warning…terrible attack…possible death….flew away…"

"Very well Mr. Malfoy," sounded the voice of Snape, coolly. "You may leave now…but not a word of this to anyone. Understood?"

"Yeah…I mean…perfectly, sir," whimpered Malfoy, as Harry saw him approaching the door through the keyhole.

Hastily, the three came to dead silence, hiding behind the hinge of the door. It would've been wise for Harry to have brought his Cloak, but of course, the circumstances altered a bit. A tremulous blonde-haired boy strode outside the classroom. Shortly after his departure, Ron eyed a long black cloak emerging from behind the door.

"Diffindo!" whispered Hermione as calmly as she could, and instantly, she bewitched a jar on one of the shelves to fall. Snape's attention was attracted, drawing him backwards.

Swiftly, Harry, Ron, and Hermione escaped the dungeons, lucky to have avoided the Potions Master's fury.

"That was really close," mouthed Ron.

"Don't you think he spotted us?" asked Hermione anxiously.

"Nah," said Harry, "but what was that talk all about? With Malfoy?"

"Dunno," replied Ron vaguely, "but he definitely mentioned something about a warning."

"There's something that's going to happen around Hogwarts," acknowledged Hermione, "something sort of … bad."

"Tell us about it," joked Ron, grabbing the Divination class's doorknob.

"This is no laughing matter, Ron," barked Hermione, feeling kind of provoked.

"Don't mind him," giggled Harry," see you later."

They both bade Ron goodbye as he stepped into the grassy threshold.

"Harry, what do you expect?" was the first thing Hermione asked as soon as the door was shut.

"Expect of what?"

"I mean…what do you think Malfoy was hinting?" repeated Hermione, more clearly now.

"I…I don't know," he responded reluctantly, "but whatever it is, inevitably, it's going to be dangerous…or perhaps more…lethal. Besides, how many warnings have we had this year already?"

"Yeah, this is what's giving me the shivers," said Hermione earnestly. "That crow foretold us about future attacks, numerous attacks, on Hogwarts later on in the year."

For some brief moments, there was silence.

"I've been waiting too long for him," muttered Harry, "perhaps he would show up like usual at the end of the year."

Instantaneously, Hermione understood his indirect message. He was talking, of course, about Voldemort.

"Well…see you," he murmured, after walking Hermione to her Ancient Runes classroom.

"Bye," she said swiftly, dashing inwards.

During the interim between that particular moment of temporary farewell and the start of next class, Harry kept wondering what Malfoy saw. Possibly, it could've been a trick of his, in order to somehow play a prank on Harry and his mates. Or perhaps his ultimate purpose was to make teachers act more leniently with him. But no. Impossible. Another thought, not so obscure, interrupted in Harry's preoccupied mind. There was nothing mystical, vague, or untrue about the serious looks on Malfoy's vexed face. He was indeed dreading something, and presumably, kept it as a secret. But as usual, he might as well as confided in his most trusted, favourite teacher, Professor Snape. Other than that, the blonde Slytherin wouldn't find any other source for some relief. Nevertheless, these thoughts of Malfoy's behaviour turned out inconsequential to the solid true fact that he had received a warning. What mattered most to Harry now, was finding Malfoy's fear.

"Quiet down everyone," spoke Harry loudly. The sixth year Slytherins and Hufflepuffs were deeply hooked up in various conversations. Harry, in this case, happened to arrive early this day, for the bell has just rung.

His eyes traveled across his own classroom, floating above every single head, concealed under vast amount of hair, or none at all, or maybe a smattering of it. Finally, Malfoy's white-blonde hair was spotted. When Harry looked at him directly in the face, it was pale. Draco was all but staring into his textbook, motionlessly. He looked like a vulnerable puppy that's been taken away by force from its parents.

Through that period, Harry scarcely managed to explain the outcomes of being poisoned by a Liliopid, a creature with the head of a frog, and the body of a hen. Accordingly to the author of the book selected for sixth years, Liliopids were considered a special species of magical beasts, one that prizes the quality of being intensely venomous. The process of causing damage to a victim was simple as counting the number of oranges growing on a tree. Usually, there would be a translucent leathery covering for the Liliopid's eyelids. The creature seldom lifts them up, except when it's being provoked or threatened. Should that be the case, the creature would open its eyes, spraying the prey or victim with a boiling hot fluid of creamy colour. Thus, the victim's eyes would gradually decay, and blindness would be sure to yet come. And unfortunately to some people, if the Liliopid considers releasing a rather large dosage of the venom, instant paralysis would await the victim, and sometimes even death.

As Harry went on with the lecture, he related the Liliopids to Dark magic, by means of further talking. Over time, many Death Eaters have come to befriend all sorts of docile creatures found amongst the earth. Now, according to history, a group of Death Eaters recruited by Lord Voldemort have gone on an expedition to the east of land, discovering almost every beast of a mind that could easily be manipulated. Eventually, the Death Eaters came up with what now became a popular custom. They befriended Liliopids, using them as terrific weapons against their enemies. Afterall, regardless of how small the creatures were, are, their power of physical destruction could be really serious.

Simultaneously, Harry's mind crept to the very core of his troubled, overwhelmed heart. It was shaking nervously, every beat sounding like a hazardous tremor. Even his looks had a symbol of anxiety, for he found the students staring at him, somehow confused. Every once in a while, he shot a determined look into Malfoy's direction. Of course, the disturbed boy took no notice. He only continued listening to the rest of the discussion, calmly.

It seemed almost like an age before the vigorous ringing of the bell was sounded. Immediately, they all began to arise out of their seats, carrying up their schoolbags. There was no homework assigned by Harry. Then, he seized his chance for a confrontation with Malfoy, even under the pain of being reported.

"Malfoy," he spoke, "I would like a word."

The Slytherin prefect gave Harry a sneer, took his schoolbag off his shoulder, and sank back into his seat.

Slowly, Harry put away his own copy of the book, and approached with vigilance.

"I sense that something is troubling you, Malfoy," he began, recalling the words of an old man in his second year.

"What makes you think so, Potter?" he asked rudely, grinning wickedly.

"Mind your manners now, Malfoy. I don't fancy docking a few points from you…not at the moments I don't. Now, tell me, is there something wrong?"

"No," replied Malfoy, as if he had spoke at the same time his teacher did.

"Look, I know there's something scaring the daylights out of you, so don't lie," muttered Harry tauntingly, "I know."

"What do you know, Potter?" sneered the arrogant Malfoy.

"It doesn't matter because it's none of you concern, Malfoy," interrupted Harry, his temper nearly reaching the surface, "what matters is that something, a mystery perhaps, is causing you distress and uneasiness. And as the so-called Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, it is my duty to protect your and your thick brain from danger, even though we still are both sixteen!"

Nothing of that anger, concern, and urge altered Malfoy's mind. Deep down, he knew that if he spilled out the secret, the Slytherin Head of House, slimy Professor Snape, wouldn't be so pleased. Perhaps he longed for a taste of fame, by means of preventing whatever attack yet to happen. In the meantime, Harry's patience was beginning to be extinguished.

"For the last time, Malfoy," continued Harry briskly, "tell me, what's going on?"

The ignorant boy just sat there, his eyes opened in the way a hawk opens them when stalking toothsome prey.

"I'm not telling you a single word, Potter," rejected Malfoy, grinning, "I suppose it's about time someone else played the role of the hero around here."

Harry's face grew redder, as if steam had just exited his ears. The sixth years worth of hatred and loathe of Malfoy reached the top peak.

"I'm not done yet! Sit down!" shouted Harry, enraged.

However, Draco just ignored him, eyeing him like a torturer.

"Do what you want, Potter. But mark my words; nothing of what you said and possibly, certainly, shall say in the future will change anything about this situation," he mouthed, arrogantly.

It was then when he disappeared out of the classroom, much like a slithering serpent.

As though the lava was just about to rise and leave the top opening of a volcano mountain, Harry began to lose his grip. He instantly started kicking tables and chairs. He nearly demolished the whole classroom, had not his eyes witnessed the sabotage he did to the furniture. The bell was due to ring any minute now, and he had to flee, even though he didn't mind being late anymore.

Angry as he was, Harry stormed out of the class, clutching his wand hysterically, imagining that Malfoy was nearby. When he gained complete sense again, he moved on, but still through gritted teeth. The sword of Anystal remained safe and secure in his robes, masked well so that it wouldn't be visible to the eyes of different pursuers. He came to think that the past five minutes were easily rated as the most despicable moments of his life with Malfoy. Harry's intention was not just discovering a secret, or as Malfoy put it, acting out a hero, but it was really for everybody's own good. Something dreadful was going to occur, and he might not have the slightest chance halting it. Other than that, Harry didn't seek more spotlights and publicity. It was enough to list out his fears that had already crossed his mind. All he ever yearned for was to vanquish the Dark Lord, once and for all, bringing back peace and serene sensations to the wizard race.

In the meantime, Harry's utter fury was a bit mollified by some delicious food, house-elf made, from the kitchens of the great castle.

"Did you talk to Malfoy?" asked Hermione, moving aside Lavender Brown's pink bracelets.

"Yes, but no result," responded Harry at once, reliving those moments.

"What happened?" enquired Ron, losing his appetite to some roast chicken.

"Nothing. He kept quiet…that's all," said Harry solemnly.

"That rotten git! You know, I think it's time for me to use my prominent position in this school and go ahead and report him. Nothing would be more satisfying to see Dumbledore chuck Malfoy out of this dwelling!" babbled Ron gleefully.

"Ron, no," declined Hermione, inserting her heavy Arithmancy book into her schoolbag, "even if you happen to be a prefect…"

"Hermione, do you realize what you're saying? You're siding with Malfoy!" wept Ron.

"I am not siding with anyone," she admitted through slightly gritted teeth, "I just don't want things to get out of control."

"When was there ever control while he was around?" pointed out Harry, grabbing a copy of The Quibbler left over since breakfast.

The front page had reported some interesting facts about vicious Fire Eaters that appeared somewhere in Norway, causing intense uneasiness to the local citizens. Apparently, they were endangered of becoming extinct, thus fled across the coasts, searching for some last appetizers of humans.

As Harry's intrigued eyes moved downwards, he saw a big title in bold letters: 'St. MUNGO'S CALLS FOR HELP'. This created some sort of paradox, as Harry had thought. Naturally, the hospital was rather large and magical, crammed with people traveling up and down, left and right, into the different wards, visiting various patients of numerous infections and catastrophes. Harry remembered now how the mood was last year when he saw Mr. Weasley bitten by a snake. He, accompanied by the Weasleys and Hermione, had journeyed over to the hospital.

"What's with St. Mungo's?" asked Ron, who looked interested.

"Didn't you hear? They've been writing this for days now," said Hermione confidently, "I've borrowed a copy of last Monday's edition from Luna."

"Well, tell us," requested Ron demandingly, grinning. Harry placed the upside-down magazine on the table, and decided to listen closely to Hermione.

"They've been running out of Healers for seven months consecutively," she explained matter-of-factly, "people complained that a vast amount of Healers retired because of old age. Others have left for personal business. The last bit of them, though, was murdered by Death Eaters, unobtrusively of course, last summer."

"Murdered?" queried Ron, sounding paralyzed.

"Remember how last year that man received a Devil's Snare, mistaken for a nice pot plant?" said Hermione.

"So they're doing the slaughtering following the same pattern," analyzed Ron.

"Just like Mad-Eye said," reminded Harry cleverly, "they do their master's command in deception."

Hermione nodded her head in agreement and remembrance.

"There used to be over six hundred and twenty Healers at St. Mungo's," she added, bringing along some statistics, "now there are only three hundred…maybe less, way less."

"But isn't that enough?" asked Harry stupidly.

"No," protested his girlfriend, flipping through the pages of the Sunday Prophet, "if it was, why would they ever call for help?"

During the daybreak, Harry, Ron, and Hermione fancied a short walk outside on the school grounds, bypassing several oak trees. There was a soft breeze, soothing enough to make you feel free as a bird, blowing into their faces and hairs. Simultaneously, they decided, or rather Hermione did, to complete another wearisome Transfiguration homework.

Under a large beech, opposite to the lake, the three sat down. At once, Hermione burst into involuntary giggles when she felt something tickling her, climbing up her back, soon reaching her neck, and then jumping off.

"It was a squirrel," said Harry, watching the tiny creature make its way up to an opening in the tree's trunk.

"Where did it come from, anyway?" asked Ron, watching Hermione take out her quill, and to his horror, eight rolls of parchment.

For the next few minutes, the three of them thoroughly discussed the information that was needed to put into the homework. As usual, a fact of matter that became somehow trite, Hermione pointed out many intricate details and bits of knowledge that Harry and Ron never guessed.

"The wand movement is supposed to be vertical and fast, Ron, not circular at a slowpoke rate," she explained, as she noticed the slight lapsed he recorded on the roll of parchment.

As Harry's quill gradually scratched against the rough surface of the parchment, he was attracted by a deep voice that happened to be familiar and recently learned too. He only heard it several days ago, when the Nobel Rangers of the South arrived. Hesitantly, he lifted his eyes from the low height of staring at parchment and quill to the water level, looking directly at the magical lake.

"Look at that!" sighed Harry in excitement, nudging Ron and Hermione in the shoulders.

Reluctantly, the pair of them moved their eyes upwards into a far distance. As Harry expected them to be, they were both intrigued.

"The Orchentaci!" mouthed Hermione. The seven whale-like creatures that had acted as a source of transporting the Ranges to Hogwarts were hovering inches or some feet above the surface of the blue water. Their long curly tentacles spread deep into the water for some moisture. Those jelly-like wings of them kept flapping in the cool air, gaining them some balance.

"Hey!" said Ron in a rather louder voice than a usual monotone. "Check that out!"

At his urging words, Harry and Hermione discerned a spiral movement in the calm, undisturbed water. In a flash of seconds, substantial tentacles shot out of the water and grabbed one of the Orchentaci, drowning it down. It was the giant squid, pulling another spacious creature into the deepness of the lake. Harry was a bit disquieted at that sigh. Nonetheless, one flashback was enough to remind him that the giant squid was related to them, accordingly to Dumbledore.

"Just imagine," gossiped Ron gleefully, "how it would be if Hagrid taught us about Orchentaci next year?"

"I don't think so," rejected Hermione, grinning, "the whole Forbidden Forest wouldn't fit all seven of them."

"Yeah, they're so gigantic," agreed Harry.

"Who said it would be seven to be resident in the forest?" asked Ron matter-of-factly. "One would do. Six would go back home safely."

Harry and Hermione giggled softly, when Harry's eyes were penetrated by a reflected light.

"What's that you've got, Ron?" he asked, squinting his eyes, trying to look at Ron's robes. A feather was all what was sticking out.

"Oh, this," he muttered, and slowly pulled out the feather. But it wasn't a feather at all. Instead, it was as brilliant looking, perfectly carved arrow.

"Where did you get this?" enquired Hermione curiously.

"Firenze," replied Ron, holding out the arrow, "he gave it to me as present…for what he claims to be superb performance…and…well…"

"It's great," complimented Harry, admiring the long colourful peacock feather.

"It sure is," agreed Ron, pushing aside his Transfiguration assignment. "He also said that I can really use it, you know…like…a weapon to kill..."

"Of course you can use it, Ron," murmured Harry teasingly, "what else do you think its purpose is? Knitting more hats for S.P.E.W?"

Surprisingly, Hermione didn't feel offended whatsoever.

"Maybe you'll use it to slay whatever Malfoy dreads to speak of," suggested Hermione, more or less.

"We'll just find out after a long good patience," muttered Ron, sticking the arrow carefully into his robes.

Momentarily, the old school bell was sounded again, and everyone congregated around the gates again. There were some first years being bullied by Malfoy and his cronies; of course, that's what they thought of as a great sport. Hermione, although from afar, sensed mournful tears shining in those little petrified eyes.

"That evil twisted prefect!" she boomed in disapproval.

The rest of the afternoon seemed so short indeed, and the shadows of various trees acme down the many windows. Harry was just finished with his lesson, his legs looking supposedly frail. He had staggered around the classroom many times, supervising students practicing a complex disarming charm. Neville was so lucky to succeed; his poor memory of the incantation was the reason he hesitated every time he raised his wand at Parvati.

"I wish we had learned that in the DA last year," murmured Neville softly, "I could've mastered it by now."

"There's nothing to it more than courage, confidence, and determination," said Harry, as he looked at his lesson planner for tomorrow.

"That was very exciting," muttered Hermione briskly, "I knocked you as good as seven times."

"Did not," protested Ron, "you cheated…when I looked at the other side, staring at Dean being curled up like a twitching spider, you thought of an ambush."

"You weren't looking at the other side, Ron," she declined honestly, raising his eyebrows.

"Allright," came Harry's voice over the many heads, "anyone who's been hurt, please help yourself to the Hospital Wing. Other than that, you may leave."

The students reluctantly moved away from their tables, when cleared this throat sharply, as if reminding Harry of a vital matter.

"Oh…and no homework," he pointed out happily, as Ron's grin grew wider across his cheeks.

"You should've given us something," said Hermione, eager to strain her fingers on a piece of homework.

"Why should I?" asked Harry dully. "It's enough you and they have got the main idea."

Shaking her head, Hermione left the classroom, shortly followed by Ron, and last but not least, Harry. For the final time, he glanced at a seat in his classroom, as seat once occupied by Draco Malfoy. He couldn't help thinking about tomorrow, after it, or even days later. Something was to come, accordingly to Malfoy's secret.

"Aren't you coming?" called Hermione, her bag over her shoulder, and hers arms folded.

Harry's mind drifted away, as he locked the door.

"Here," mentioned Harry, dropping Hagrid's gift into Ron's palms.

"Oh, the eggs," whispered Ron, hit tongue watering.

"Better give this to Hermione," muttered Harry, as he left his dormitory, hauling the heavy egg.

She was sitting in the corner near her dormitory's door, returning a borrowed copy of "Remnants of the Past" to Lavender Brown, who happened to be weirdly interested in studying Ancient Runes for next year. She wasn't to be blamed; long has she been interested in monuments, ruins, and towers.

"Hermione?" said Harry, standing just inches before the entrance into the girls' dormitory, peering in.

Her eyes turned around, and she came forward.

"Thank you, Harry," she said heavily, as she carried the egg, "I've just been wondering where it was…it's about time for something sugary, although my parents wouldn't recommend it."

Afterwards, Harry walked back to his small little dwelling in the common room, noticing that Ron was holding an oval shaped brick of honey between his fingers.

"Sweet an' crispy," he muttered unclearly, a mouthful of honey in his mouth.

Harry had lost his appetite for what looked like a scrumptious pieced of honey. Instead, he still had a heavy burden on his shoulders. He was incessantly worrying about Malfoy's ignorance and secrecy. Regardless of being just sixteen and not yet of age, Harry also was prized the gift of being a teacher. It felt like it was mainly his responsibility; After all, he had saved many necks on countless occasions. He nearly killed himself, though, showing unbelievable dare and valour. Yet, he didn't have the slightest idea. But then, he figured out something. It might have been the shadow that he saw earlier, the one that warned him of the Wolf of the Eighth Floor. Impossible, interrupted a voice in Harry's head, why would something like that come as a hindrance into Malfoy's path? Or did it?

His anxiety grew stronger, and Harry found no other solution but to seek help and advice from the Order. It was always wise to receive precaution notices from them, for they cared too much about his and others' safety at first, he did think of himself as being pathetic, but that was fleeing. As an instant afterthought, Harry decided that it was best to write to them.

Harry seized a quill from his schoolbag, and took out a bottle of ink, a piece of parchment beside it. For a moment, he paused. Who would Harry most likely address the letter to?

Dear Professor Lupin, (and Mad-Eye if you're there)

This morning, Ron, Hermione, and I witnessed Malfoy acting strangely. We thought it was somehow funny but unexplainable. He was staring, his eyes fixed, at a brick wall, but it was noticeable that he was concerned about something vague…something perhaps scared him…he had bewildered looks in his troubled wild eyes. Later in the day, we followed him to the dungeons. He, of course, told Snape all about it, all we managed to hear from behind the door was that Malfoy received a warning from a thing. Then, Snape ordered him to leave the class and not to tell anyone about it. So, what do you reckon?

Sincerely,

Harry

He read the letter three times in succession before he actually secured in the parcel.

"Hey," he muttered, looking at Hedwig, "you've got to go on a little journey."

Gently, Harry tied the parcel around her skinny left leg, patted her on the feather head, and watched her take off, soaring into the blue sky.

"Who are you writing to?" spoke a concerned voice that happened to belong to Neville.

"Never mind," mouthed Harry, ignoring his rudeness.

Nothing had distracted his worried mind at all…not even the second semi-final match that was due in mid-February. Not even Voldemort or his Death Eaters.

It was nearly dusk when Harry heard a monotone voice cease to speak. Thankfully, Hermione had just ended a ritual in the common room. She was done her discussion and meeting with the burly looking seventh years, who had been dreading N.E.W.Ts already.

"I'm starving," came Parvati's earnest voice, as she climbed up the stairs to her dormitory.

"Me too," muttered Lavender, who was also agreed by Ginny and two of her fifth year friends.

Harry's attention was drawn when Ron stepped into the dormitory, chattering enthusiastically with Dean and Seamus about his brand new arrow.

"Cool," said Dean, stroking the brilliant peacock feather.

"It is surely sharp," commented Seamus, carefully placing his index finger on the tip of the arrow.

"Just be careful not to take somebody's eyeball out, Ron," joked Harry, stretching his hands in the air, yawning quietly.

"No," said Ron, placing his arrow as gently as possible, as if he feared it might suddenly snap in half, on his pillow, "it's two precious to waste…maybe I'll use it someday."

Neville let out a small soft chuckle wondering if Ron will ever slay a dragon, and save a fair maiden.

The rest of the evening was a bit amusing, for Harry and Ron had a little game of Gobstones. Oddly, this time, Ron won. It seemed like recently, everything turned to his benefit. Harry, on the other hand, was still thinking about the Order's response to his letter. Simultaneously, he fell guilty for not doing his homework for Potions that was due in three days' time, and he knew that he had to research a lot of information out of possibly more than seven books from the library. Hermione could've obviously helped him, but Harry thought she would refuse. She always encouraged that he and Ron would be self dependent, not independent. Besides, she happened to be quite busy. Hermione had loads of homework herself for Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. In addition to that, she scheduled that sixty more hats were to be knitted before nightfall.

Dinner went on fine, except that Chief Altazark was present at the staff table, talking with Professor Dumbledore. He seemed to inform him of something of fundamental importance, for he took so long to end the everlasting conversation. As he left, the Headmaster was left with an expression of gratitude on his face. At the same time, the old man's eyes displayed a smattering of growing anxiety, fear, and apprehension. Nevertheless, he had too much wearisome work awaiting him in his own office in the Ministry of Magic.

"Something's going on," commented Ron, watching Chief Altazark glide out of the Great Hall, "and Dumbledore's hushed it up."

"Maybe," suggested Hermione, eating some chocolate pudding for dessert, "and maybe not. He would possibly be having a nice little chat with him about usual matters of Hogwarts and the Ministry."

"Most likely not!" objected Harry holly. "He wouldn't be hired by Dumbledore if he was just babbling about something silly…it's probably pertaining to an event that's going to take place here."

"I bet Dumbledore has already foreseen it," muttered Ron, irritably.

That made Harry boil faster from the inside, and Hermione shot Ron a look-what-you've-done glance.

Of course, the Headmaster always claimed that everyone was perfectly safe, and urged them to remain clam. Only, he's probably seeing a dozen of dreadful things coming to the school. Harry kept wondering. Would he know about the Wolf of the Eight Floor? Has he seen it coming?

"Well, goodnight mate," spoke Ron, as he turned away from Harry, marching off with Hermione.

"Why? Where are you going?"

"Prefect duty," explained Hermione, waving goodbye.

"At nine o'clock in the night?" muttered Harry to himself.

"Well, I won't be waiting all night for you to speak the password. Either enter or be off, now," lisped the Fat Lady.

Momentarily, Harry mouthed the password, glaring at the Fat Lady. The common room was practically deserted, except for poor Dennis Creevey, who was tiring his eyes and hands by arranging rolls of parchment that were reaching a foot and a half in height now.

"Keep on the nice work, Dennis," giggled Harry sympathetically, and the boy gave him a thumbs up.

He changed into his pyjamas, and crept into his soft comfortable bed, leaving his Potions homework behind. Reluctantly, he took off his glasses, which caused him to see a blur of many things. He carefully stationed the sword of Anystal under his fluffy white pillow, gave the starry night sky one more gaze, and then sank into his dreams.

The night, in Harry's opinion, had rushed so quickly that Harry hadn't the time to have the usual dreams about the murky room, Dementors holding him up in the air, and the green flash of light. Time passed by like lightening; it was already six thirty in the morning. Noticing that he was the only boy awake in the dormitory, Harry looked at the window, as if expecting Hedwig to arrive with a fair response from the Order of the Phoenix. However, he knew she couldn't manage that journey in a short period of time. Therefore, he pushed his hands under the pillow, and picked up Anystal. Careful not to bang it on anything, he slowly set it on his trunk. Momentarily, he held his school robes and changed into them.

The thoughts of the previous day were still haunting Harry's mind. How Snape's eerie demanding voice commanded Malfoy to leave. How the stubborn voice refused to accept Harry's interrogation. Everything seemed so mysterious, yet so annoying.

"Hi Harry!" came a cheering voice, Colin Creevey's.

"Hullo Colin," replied Harry automatically, as he sat down on the house-table.

"It's a bit chilly, isn't it? Isn't it, Harry?" chattered Colin, who always thought of Harry as a big famous hero.

"I guess so," mouthed Harry dully, rubbing his palms against each other.

"I was wondering where you have gone to," a loud voice was heard.

"Hello Ron," muttered Harry, helping himself to some bacon and eggs.

"Hey, want to know what happened last night?" babbled Ron, sounding a bit excited.

"What?"
"Well," began Ron, placing some porridge in his empty spotless bowl, "when Hermione and I were done with our prefect duty, I fancied going to the library."

Harry raised an eyebrow, while at the same time chewing on bacon.

"I looked up some famous weapons," explained Ron, pouring some skimmed milk into his glass, "and my arrow was there, nameless though. But anyway, the picture in the book was exactly identical to the one Firenze gave me. And when I read about its uses, I was totally astonished!"

"How so?" asked another intrigued voice. Hermione had just arrived at the Gryffindor house-table, carrying her usually massive schoolbag.

"Um…" hesitated Ron, trying to recall the arrow's functions, "oh yeah…it can be used to slay all kinds of beasts…except giants…and, erm…yeah, I can toss it up in the air, and it would glow to perform a signal…it can also make a whistling sound if I carve a hole through the sharp end….that's also a signal…and…"

"Fascinating," said Hermione, grinning. "See how useful the library can sometimes be?"

"Firenze must've seen something in you that made you worthy of this weapon," said Harry, smiling.

Ron felt flattered, and blushed red.

When it was time for mail, every neck in the Great Hall stretched upwards, anticipating an owl. A vast flock of immense grey, brown, and light red bypassed. Harry impatiently turned around at all angles, hopeful to catch a glimpse of a white owl with amber eyes, but nonetheless, there was no sign of Hedwig at all.

Hermione had Sweetums deliver some sugar free cookies from home, along with a copy of the Daily Prophet. Ron, on the other hand, was sent some toothsome Cauldron Cakes, and a copy of the Daily Prophet.

Harry remained silent throughout his breakfast, a bit depressed that Hedwig didn't show up. Again, he couldn't blame her. The usual chattering across the Great Hall subsided when everybody's attention turned to Peeves. Floating high above everyone's heads, Peeves, the poltergeist, was racketing around some second year girls, throwing a few Sticky-Jelly Syrup sweets on top of their hats or heads. Instantly, Nearly-Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, set off to search the Bloody Baron. It was by now common knowledge that he was the only person feared by Peeves. Momentarily, the obnoxious poltergeist flew away on a quest for more mischief in the kitchens.

"Peeves never stops, does he?" laughed Hannah Abott of Hufflepuff.

"Where's the fun without someone like him?" replied Seamus, from behind, with another question.

Breakfast was shortly followed by the sound of the bell, signaling dismissal. Harry, Ron, and Hermione gathered their bags, and headed to the school grounds. Their first class today was Care of Magical Creatures.

"I hope he doesn't continue with those bloody Oil-Headed Tremors," wept Ron in dislike. Clearly, they were disgusting animals that made Ron retch every time he set an eye on them.

"If Hagrid tells us to rub the oil off their heads again, I think I will be sick in a heartbeat," muttered Dean Thomas sympathetically.

The sky was grey, containing a smattering of dark clouds. Birds were chirping high on the branches, as the whistling wind caused the leaves to dance frequently.

"Gather o'er 'ere!" grunted Hagrid, addressing the Gryffindors and Slytherins. There was a murmur of worry going on between the bored Slytherins.

"Select one Oil-Headed Tremor, an' pair up with yer friend," directed Hagrid, brining over a huge barrel, "an' then work on removin' the oil…mind ye don' squeeze too hard."

Slowly and reluctantly, every pupil wore his or her dragon-hide gloves for precaution, and congregated around the big barrel. They stuck in their hands, one by one, and out came some hideous looking slimy creatures, with oil oozing out from their heads, staining the grassy floor with intense grease.

Harry could see Dean's face gradually turning pale, and his cheeks were puffed out, as in a preparatory position to throw up.

"If ya squeeze too hard, they'll squirt some grease in yer eyes…don' want anythin' like that now, would ya?" warned Hagrid, passing swiftly by all the pairs.

Malfoy was struggling to cut off a thick layer of oil that landed on his robes.

"Don' waste yer time cleaning yer robes, Malfoy," grunted Hagrid vehemently, "back ter work!"

The boy gave the half-giant a cold stare and smirk, and resumed the practice. Pansy Parkinson nearly jumped on Hagrid, criticizing the way he treated Draco. However, one alarming look from Hermione silenced her. She was actually thinking about putting her in detention as a consequence. But in the end, Pansy didn't do anything foolish.

"Phew…this thing stinks!" moaned Ron, as he picked up the awful scent emerging from the Oil-Headed Tremor's belly.

"I know," said Harry sentimentally, trying to move off the oil, "I guess we'll just have to deal with it."

"Ouch! I've gone blind!" hollered Blaise Zabini in agony. Apparently, she didn't pay attention to the part where Hagrid explained that she wasn't supposed to tighten her grip on the little creature.

"Whassa matter?" grunted Hagrid, stepping nearer to her. Quickly, he discerned some grease on her eyelashes, falling down steadily to the ground. The Oil-Headed Tremor fidgeted fleetingly, and then crawled away, searching for its nest.

"Blimey!" muttered Hagrid, looking horrorstruck. "Better get ya ter the Hospital Wing."

The whole class looked at the complaining girl, whining about Hagrid being an irresponsible teacher to have them learn about what she called despicable monsters.

"Be back in no time!" Hagrid informed Harry, whispering, and left the young youth to supervise the class.

Harry was a bit worried to run the class, for it wasn't his job; he was the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. No matter, he was ranked as a teacher, and knew perfectly well how to deal with students, carrying on the work.

"Well, Hagrid's going to be back in sometime," yelled Harry, hushing the loud voices, "for the meantime…just resume the oil removing."

"I'm not doing anything till the great big oaf is back," muttered the cold voice of Malfoy.

At once, Ron and Hermione glared angrily at him, and Harry was definitely exasperated. He made to knock the brains out of the thick, rude, unkind imbecile.

"Harry," whispered Hermione in an urgent tone, staring at his robes.

"Not now Hermione! I've got a lesson to teach!" he prattled, enraged. Malfoy was shooting him some what-are-you-going-to-do looks.

"Harry! Look!" added Ron, pointing his index finger at Harry's clothes.

When he turned around, Harry realized that something odd was happening. His sword, Anystal, was glowing, bright as the sun, vibrating immensely.

"What the…" began Malfoy, glancing at the pewter grey sky in horrid eyes.

Large scarlet figures were gathering around each other, approaching the great castle of Hogwarts. Instinctively, the students felt the tense mood, thus fleeing away, terrified. Harry, Ron, and Hermione put the Oil-Headed Tremors back in their barrel at top speed, and turned their curious eyes to the sky.

"What's that?" enquired Hermione anxiously.

"The sword glowed," said Harry thoughtfully. "It means there's some danger to be present!"

He grasped his sword firmly from the handle, attempting to do something useful. But the dark red figures were at a far distance. How could he possibly pierce the sword into their skin? The enormous figures were coming closer to the castle, and Harry had not idea what they were. For a fleeting moment, he remembered what Malfoy didn't do. He hadn't told Harry about his secret, and perhaps now Malfoy's fear was coming true.

"I don't believe it!" gasped Hermione, holding on to Ron's robes. "Heliopaths!"

"I thought you said they weren't real," he muttered.

"I saw a picture of them in 'Wild Beasts that Rule Our Lands', and thought it was a myth," chattered Hermione briskly, "but now they fly before my eyes!"

"I guess Luna Lovegood was right, then," mouthed Harry, slowly drawing out his sword. The panicking Slytherins retreated to the castle, and some of the Gryffindors remained shaking in their places.

As the Heliopaths became clearly vivid to the naked eye, Harry observed what he thought was fake. The creatures were made of flames of fire, and had horrible glowing yellow eyes. A tail stuck from the back of each of them, shooting fireballs from the tip. The Heliopaths were of course winged, each of their wings concealed beneath vast spikes on the edges. There were about twenty or so of them circling around West Tower and the Astronomy Tower. Several had shot balls of orange red flames, which demolished the top and rear end of the castle. The students that were inside had to be trapped, as Harry guessed.

For now, he considered that there was a limit to be for this sudden attack. He had the great sword of Anystal, and Ron had a famous Centaur's arrow. Lastly, Hermione had her good old wand. Could the combination of three brands of ordnance end the horrible fear?

Just as Harry was about to inform Ron and Hermione about this mere thought, he noticed that some Heliopaths backed away from the castle, while a big greenly lit wall of resistance protected the huge dwelling.

"Look," pointed out Hermione, her finger signaling towards the West Tower's direction. Twenty one men in long leather green cloaks, long yellow beards and or hairs of waist length, sliver hoods, root like feet were gliding out of a window.

"It's the Rangers!" said Ron excitedly, pulling Harry and Hermione behind him.

They all scurried to the west side of the castle, observing the Ranger's reaction. Suddenly, Dumbledore with the company of Professor McGonagall and the Potions Master, hurried along the grounds. The Headmaster muttered something incoherent under his nose, and instantaneously a beam of blinding white light shot out the tip of his wand. It spread into a circle, rather a very wide one, surrounding the castle. Vast vibrations shook the floor, and Harry nearly fell to the ground.

From the corner of his eye, Ron saw Hagrid coming back, with eyes as wild as a red horizon, and a mouth open like a cavernous hall. A storm was now gradually occurring, so strong and destructive it could've overmatched the power of a hurricane. Harry felt that it was useless carrying out Anystal in public, even though Hermione informed him about its greatly spectacular functions. Instead, he continued shooting the Rangers confused bewildered looks, as they were trying their best to repel the force of the Heliopaths.

"It's the Stromisus Charm!" bellowed Hermione, fighting the wind back. "N.E.W.T level!"

Harry and Ron both thanked her for the inconsequential comment and decided to venture into the castle. The white boundary, the origin of the storm, luckily left a gap between two sides, leaving the doors to the Entrance Hall clear.

The trio and several others galloped inwards, shrieking, walking deeper to reach the Great Hall.

Windows were about to shatter, and nothing but blinding white light was discerned behind them. Harry's sword was still glowing like a beacon. Ron was shivering in his place. Hermione continuously averted her eyes to corners, fearful that a Heliopath might suddenly penetrate into the hall.

"Calm down everyone!" shouted Harry helplessly. "Let them do their work in peace!"

Instantly, Hermione had an idea.

"Sonorous!" she muttered, her wand touching Harry's throat gently.

"HEY!" he yelled, and every uneasy eye turned to him, transfixed. "If you panic, it will only be worse! Let the staff and the Rangers do their duties! Now shut up!"

The word of courage barely mollified the students, which of course ignored Harry and his sudden rudeness.

"Quietus!" said Hermione, and at once, Harry's voice went back to a normal tone.

"I'm going to see the Rangers," he declared quickly, "stay here and make sure no one gets hurt."

Ron and Hermione nodded as Harry left. Each step was hastier than its previous. He hopped up trick steps, and ran across the stairs. The people in portraits were anxious, too, and many of them have left their own portraits to visit others' in the dungeons.

At last, West Tower was visible from its interior in front of Harry's eyes. For some hasty seconds, he thought he saw a short woman with round glasses that hid huge eyes, covered with what seemed like a dozen shawls...Professor Sybill Trelawney. A large glass window was to Harry's right, and there were the Rangers. Each one of them had wands pointing at the Heliopaths. They had performed the most conspicuously intricate hexes and charms that Harry's ever saw. Now, Anystal was shaking hard in his robes, and he took it out.

A head was attracted by the sword's brightness. It was Chief Altazark.

"I could use a bit of help," he muttered emphatically, and in a heartbeat or two, one of his thickly built roots stretched out like hasty bonfire and reached for Anystal.

"Hey!" shouted Harry indignantly, but then he was stunned. Chief Altazark held the sword aloft, and the yellow light was waning; eventually it faded out. Momentarily, an incredible beam of sky-blue light shot out of the blade, and hit a Heliopath. It let out a big roar, and instantly plummeted to the ground, silent and motionless.

Another flaming creature came zooming in the air, as if seeking vengeance for its brother, and the old man repeated the move. With the aid of Anystal, Dumbledore's storm, and the Ranger's green repelling boundary, the Heliopaths eventually fell to the floor all together. Harry forced his way through the Rangers, and looked down the window. The flamed beasts were as still as rock, and Professor Dumbledore lowered his wand at last.

"Keep this safe, because it is of great use," Harry heard the grim voice of the Chief, as he handed him his sword back.

"What did you do?" Harry posed a question, inserting the hot blade back into his robes.

The Chief ignored him, and called the other Rangers behind him. Harry felt so exasperated for the constant ignorance and arrogance from everyone that surrounded him of elders. However, he was in some way relieved.

Shortly after that, Harry's legs found him the way outside, and he saw the staff examining the Heliopaths' condition, strolling across the grounds.

"Are they…dead?" questioned Harry, while approaching the Headmaster.

"Dead? Oh no, not dead. Not exactly," the old man replied confidently. "They are paralyzed, Harry, temporarily."

"What? You mean they're still alive? You mean they'll sit upright again shortly?" wept Harry in disbelief.

"I am afraid so," replied Dumbledore, leaving Harry behind. Then suddenly, after the old man attempted to march off, he ceased, halted and turned his head slowly to the youth.

"It was indeed wise of you to aid the Rangers by means of Anystal, Harry," he mentioned quietly.

Harry's eyes rolled around in amazement.

"How did you…" but Dumbledore was already gone into the castle, along with the rest of the teachers. Every now and then Harry's head heard loud snorting noises, and thought that the Heliopaths awakened to destruction.

As he entered, Harry noticed that the Great Hall was much calmer. The Slytherins were all curled up on their seats, still afraid and anxious. Ron and Hermione head perplexed looks at the Headmaster.

"What went on outside?" enquired Ron, as soon as Harry sat down.

"Chief Altazark used Anystal…Dumbledore knows about it, too…" he trailed off weakly.

"I would like you all to stay here in the Great Hall," announced Dumbledore emphatically, "there has been a horrible attack indeed at Hogwarts, thus we who have the authority to extinguish this fear shall resume our work until we determine the time when you are safe. No doubt, I believe this is another message from…"

His voice was cut off short with a loud growl from one of the Heliopaths.

"Teachers," he continued, unfinished with his last statement, "please follow me again."

Harry was itching to get up and know what the old Headmaster was up to. His last words were interrupted, and nobody heard what he intended to speak. However, deep down in his soul, Harry knew that this was from Voldemort. He was the one who was seeking glory and total control over the entire wizarding world.

As the old man accelerated in the aisle between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff house-tables, he glanced at Harry from the corner of his eye. Slowly, he tilted his head, arched his aged back, and fixed his determined eyes on Harry's.

"I think that the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher ought to come with us in order to know the present events," he said calmly, and then joined the staff.

Out of the castle the crept, and the pewter grey sky was now crying a torrent of rain. The heavy downpour filled the whole wide space, and everyone was soaked with intensified amounts of water. The dreadful creatures were still lying without a single sound on the wet grassy floor. Their yellow eyes were still open, but were presumably out of focus. Each raindrop bounced off the spikes on their leather-like wings, producing a sharp splashing noise.

"Headmaster," called Snape, removing his wet greasy hair away form his white sullen worried eyes, "I suppose there is a fair reason behind the beasts' presence."

"Of course there is, Severus! You didn't think of it as joke now, did you?" growled Professor McGonagall sternly.

"Chill out, Minerva," instructed the old man, dragging his full-length sized robes behind him, "Lord Voldemort will inevitably be cheerful if a soul was lost now…some of us can even sense it in their own private dreams."

By that, he was surely indicating Harry.

"And yet," continued the Headmaster, "he'd be absolutely furious if his carefully conducted plans don't go the way he wants them to. Well, naturally, he might as well recruit a whole army to demolish a world like ours."

He was silenced for fleeting moments, watching the flames die down.

"But as long as those who remain friendly and loyal to us are on our side," he added, "and as long as our long know Boy Who Lived survives…my old friend Tom might not stand a chance."

Every head, except for Dumbledore's, shifted to look at Harry. He was standing there, in the heavy freezing rain, his vision impaired by the vast drops of water covering his glasses. From the inside of him, he was wondering why Dumbledore was so confident in talking in such a way that only seemed mysterious and riddle-like.

Some long moments bypassed now, and Harry thought about what just happened. If the Heliopaths did destroy the fortress, that could've cost the lives of many people, wouldn't it? Who knows? Perhaps the beast purposed to kidnap some innocent soul. But no, Voldemort's wildest dream was to ruin Harry's life just like his parents, in fact, exterminate it. After all, Harry was the reason behind the Dark Lord's downfall.

"Harry," came the clam voice of an old man, "I'd like you to follow me to my office, please."

Harry was dazed for a fleeting second, but then managed to walk away.

"But sir," muttered Harry quickly, almost rudely, "what about the Heliopaths?"

"Oh," said the Headmaster matter-of-factly, "we'll leave them to our friends, the Rangers. Chief Altazark and his company should force them into their original forms…they might be a bit more useful then."

Although his words were said sharply and clearly, Harry thought of their meaning as vague. Why would Dumbledore leave them loose in the grounds, free to their will, despite the fact that they were temporarily paralyzed? And exactly what did his words mean by their original forms? What did the Rangers have to do with this crisis? A flood of questions and enquires rushed through Harry's puzzled mind as he re-entered the Great Hall.

Each of the teachers shortly followed the Headmaster to the staff table, having marks of anxiety on their pale faces. Mr. Filch came by like thunder questioning Dumbledore about this uneasiness. His voice was trembling and shaky, as if a Dementor had just lowered its jaw to his mouth, his fingernails sinking deep into Mrs. Norris's fur.

"For the mean time," called Professor Dumbledore loudly, "you might as well resume you classes, but take extra care. The Rangers and the staff, including me, have got things merely under control. This matter here is currently calmed down, but not completely ended. Thus, I advise you to remain vigilant."

Though mystified by his speech, the students got up from their seats, abandoning the house-tables, gathering around the narrow aisles.

"What's he playing at?" shrieked Ron, watching flames released from a Heliopath's tail wave across a window. "What if they wake up? They'll chew us alive!"

"No, Ron," objected Hermione briskly, "I know he might be acting under normalcy, but he's probably got a plan."

"He's mental, he is," scoffed Ron, climbing up the marble staircase.

"I'll meet you guys after History of Magic," mouthed Harry speedily.

"Why? Where are you going?" enquired Hermione, her schoolbag siding off her shoulder.

"Dumbledore wants a word," said Harry through gritted teeth.

Afterwards, he found himself waiting in front of the familiar gargoyle statue. Surprisingly, the Headmaster himself was waiting for Harry.

"Crabbhopper!" said Dumbledore without a word of welcome for Harry.

They both walked onto the steps which instantly began levitating. The old man had been dead silent, not shooting Harry one little gaze.

They stepped into the luxurious circular room, lined with many neat shelves, covered with a numerous amount of portraits of old Headmasters and Headmistresses of Hogwarts, and then proceeded further into an inner office.

"Tea?" asked Dumbledore politely, as he sat down on the comfortable chair.

"No, thanks," declined Harry, desperate to end the meeting as soon as possible.

"Very well," responded the Headmaster, pouring himself some hot steaming tea.

Silence bypasses, as Dumbledore added some sugar by magic.

"It is rather strange, isn't it?" he asked, magically stirring the tea to help vanish the sugar particles. "How the remarkably efficient sword came to your possession?"

"You mean Anystal?" questioned Harry, confused, scratching his scar.

"Yes," replied Dumbledore, taking a sip of his tea, "have you never wondered?"

Harry turned speechless momentarily, having no clue whatsoever how the Headmaster knew about the blade.

"Professor Lupin gave it to me last summer," quacked Harry earnestly, irritated by Phineas Nigellus's snoring.

"Indeed," whispered the old man, "but it was I who originally sent it to you."

"What?" Harry yelled involuntarily.

"It was a gift, along with your newly manufactured broomstick," explained Dumbledore thoroughly, cooling down his tea.

"But why was it you? I thought the sword belonged to Professor Lupin," declined Harry in argument.

"Dear old Remus and I have met over during the summer," mentioned the old man, raising his half-moon spectacles, "we've seen where this path will lead to…and we decided that it was prudent for you to yet have more protection than anybody magical can provide."

"But didn't you say you cared too much about me last year? Didn't you say it was an old man's mistake?" Harry fired two other indignant questions in a perplexed matter.

"You know, Harry," continued Dumbledore in a quieter voice, "there are some things in this life that could seem understandable, yet ironically, not. Even the eldest and wisest of men could sometimes fail to get the point.

"I do not deny that I cared about you more than I needed. Furthermore, I wouldn't just ignore you, and simply surrender you to my old pupil Tom, would I?"

"No," said Harry, scarcely understanding.

"Well, we gathered here at Hogwarts," Dumbledore went on honestly, "and re-united with Sybill Trelawney. She has shown us what we feared of dreadful predictions…"

"Let me guess…my death? Presumably? She always does that!"

The Headmaster gave him a small reluctant grin, and then proceeded with the talk.

"She has informed us of the worst through her crystal orb," explained Dumbledore delightedly, "and I do have faith in her as much I trust Severus Snape. Meanwhile, I knew that I couldn't do anything but provide all necessary precautions. So I decided that it was time to pass an heirloom from Hogwarts."

"Anystal?"

"Precisely," answered Dumbledore, nodding his head. "Now, I see that you have got hold of it and discovered its functions, although you did only with a few of them."

Instantly, Harry recalled the only true moment where he actually used the sword for his benefit. It was when the mysterious shadow materialized in the gloomy kitchens of Hogwarts. Accordingly to Chief Altazark, Dumbledore must've inevitably seen it coming. Nonetheless, he decided not to bring up the subject.

"And if you wonder why you were sent a spectacular Firebolt X6," continued the old man, rubbing his wrinkled chin, "perhaps you'll find out later this year."

"Planned for it already, haven't you?" mouthed Harry, exasperated. "You've seen it all along, Professor, and nevertheless, you never told me!"

The Headmaster was silent as the grave, and looked Harry directly in the eye.

"Do you mind if I ask who shared this bit of information with you, Harry?" asked Dumbledore in a tranquil matter of way.

"It doesn't matter," wailed Harry, rubbing one foot against the other, "either way, you knew it…all along…you could've prevented any of those foul…"

"Let's say that it is the way an old man chose things to happen," hissed Dumbledore earnestly.

"Well I'm sick and tired of that old man's nonsense!"

Harry glared at him, wondering if Voldemort was happy this instant. For some seconds, Harry looked at the sword that was once the property of Godric Gryffindor, one of the founders of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Clearly, he recalled the day where he utilized it to slay the deadly Basilisk in his second year.

"Now," spoke the Headmaster suddenly, "we've received a couple of words from the Order, and they said they've tracked down several Death Eaters fleeing across Britain. More to that, they've actually sensed queer movements nearby Hogwarts. Shortly after the incident, Mundungus Fletcher, who inherited the power of fortune-telling from his great great great grandfather, pointed out something. Lord Voldemort had sent the Heliopaths from…"

"Dark Valley, I know," interrupted Harry, "I suppose you and Mundungus are related? After all, you're not the only one who could See beyond according to the old fraud."

"Perhaps you're correct Harry," responded the old man, merely justifying the fact.

"So what are they doing here anyway?" enquired Harry curiously.

"Glad you've come back to that, Harry," commented Dumbledore, drinking the last few drops of his tea, "we believe that they carry a curse from Dark Valley, the temporary lair of old Tom…one which would extinguish every tranquil quality, love, friendship…one which could demolish the truth…the main point is that we are so lucky that Severus had told me about it beforehand."

"Snape?"

"Professor Snape," chattered the old man forcefully, "he only just informed us yesterday and it was earlier than the Order's response."

By that, Harry was reassured that the Potions Master had taken Malfoy's word for truth, thus reporting it to the Headmaster. It might've been his greatest ambition to prove himself worthy of being a member of the staff.

"Had it not been for him, things would have been eerie and chaotic," said Dumbledore, cleaning the teacup with a simple spell from his wand.

"And what about the Rangers?" questioned Harry vehemently. "Don't they deserve some of the praise and gratitude?"

"I don't deny that they've been efficient in playing their role," explained Dumbledore solemnly, "but we couldn't have acted in the right time if it hadn't been for Severus in the first place."

"But it wouldn't change the state of things," objected Harry matter-of-factly, "you foresaw it, didn't you?"

"Harry," sighed the wearied old man, "I feel that I've divulged the vital facts oHoh of current issues for you, now. I really should be going now…busy day at the Ministry."

Harry looked at him as if he was eyeing vermin.

"And what about the Heliopaths? What did you mean 'their original forms' ?"

"I do understand how you feel, Harry," murmured Professor Dumbledore sentimentally, "but I'm afraid this is not the time to discuss such things."

"Fine," moaned Harry, standing up, heading to the door.

He stormed his way out of the Headmaster's office, after the old man shot him one last look of pathos. Not only did Dumbledore admit that he's been seeing things before they came to life, but he also cut off the conversation. Presumably, he was a busy man, but he had all the time in the world to be truthful. His decision was to leave Harry lost in a wider arc of predictions and thoughts. Intense anger arose in Harry's eyes, and he felt like fresh steam. What was the Heliopaths' original form?