A/N: hi, all! Sorry this is late, but i'm over my writer's block finally!

I have art for this story! check out my profile!

Disclaimer: nope. Don't own squat

Chapter twenty-one

Orion quickly finished up the letter he had been writing. Rolling it up and tying it off with a piece of string he went to the window, and opened it. Letting the midnight air blow past, and basting in the serenity, he then whistled shrilly. A caw replied, and soon Squawk was on the window sill. Orion tied the parchment to the crow's leg, whispering, "You know who to send this to…" Squawk nipped his fingertip, then flew off.

He ran a hand through his hair as he stood and sighed, glancing over at Brenna. She was asleep, serene as she was bathed in the moonlight. Orion smirked as his eyes landed on what occupied the nightstand beside the bed. It was littered, well, decorated with cards, treats, and the odd assortment of sentiments. His sister was obvious cared for, a worry he at first had was that she wouldn't be accepted, but that was a worry he quickly forgot.

Orion shook his head, and he crossed the room to the door. He could feel the protection spell, and he did not exactly know how to remove it. If he were to open the do0or, the wizard professors would be on the scene in a matter of minutes. But Orion had to get out.

He took the chance, and his hand took the doorknob.

Very slowly, Orion turned it, pulling the door open, freezing with the slightest groan or squeak from the charmed wood. He stepped outside, and satisfied he was not attacked or jumped, began to slowly walk down the spacious, familiar yet foreign halls. Everything was different now, he realized, no longer in the cat's skin and rapidly losing what little advantages he had, made it hard to adapt. But Orion held all this in; it was useless and a waste of time to complain when there was so much more to be done. And the first thing was to find food.

Orion quickly made his way down to the steps, pausing at every movement. He inwardly laughed at his own paranoia. It was ludicrous to be so nervous, but out of habit he was. Eyes never failing to catch the movements from the portraits or the shift of shadows, Orion carried on.

He was to the second floor when a ghost materialized from a wall, one he remembered as Sir Nicholas, or Nearly Headless Nick, as the students referred to him as. Orion found the lack of respect appalling, even if there was humor in the situation.

Nick was gliding through the hall when he spotted the green-robe clad elf standing in the center, watching him. Nick coughed, and was surprised when the young-looking elf gave a bow of his head in recognition.

"Sir Nicholas," Orion said.

Nick paused, floating a mere three feet from Orion; "You're the elf the portraits talk about!" he suddenly exclaimed; "A relative of Brenna's, I presume?"

"The portraits speak of me?" Orion asked timidly, feeling the chill from the ghost.

Nick nodded, floating back at the small shiver that wracked Orion's form. "Of course," the ghost replied; "But only in Dumbledore's quarters. It's too risky to speak of such out here, you know," he added matter-of-factly, crossing his arms.

Orion nodded; "Sir Nicholas," he said, "Could you say that there are other elves around?"

Nick paused, before finally shaking his head; "I could not," he replied; "But I will be the first to alert you if it were so."

Orion nodded. He was content that the ghost was capable of speaking in a pattern he understood, and smiled at that; "Thank you," he said, "Now, I think I'll be off to the kitchens for food."

Nick nodded with a chuckled; "It was a pleasure to meet you… err…"

"Orion," the elf said, smirking as he walked around the ghost and headed for his destination.

Unbeknownst to Orion, two elves had in fact come for him, one, Monague, and another, Anestrothea. But it was Monague, an elf as old as Anestrothea or maybe even older, who was there to take the renegade. Now, the elves bickered in Dumbledore's office, said wizard attentively listening from behind his desk. Fawkes cooed softly as the argument escalated. Unfortunately, the elves had taken to verbally fighting in French, Monague's immediate language, and Dumbledore only caught parts of it.

"…Allowing this to happen can not be excused, Anestrothea!" Montague was saying irately.

"Well, as if I were to know what this was until a mere forty minutes ago!" Anestrothea retorted; "I was as oblivious as you and the others! Do not blame me because the lad was clever enough to evade you for this long!"

At this, Monague began berating in Ancientriss, and Dumbledore gave up trying. He sighed and leaned back into his seat, settling in. Fawkes cooed again, the note singing out in a worried tone.

Dumbledore glanced at the phoenix, whose eyes were glued to the door. Dumbledore watched the door, but nothing happened after a time. He reverted his gaze back to the bickering elves, inwardly chuckling.

This was very humorous for the old man.

Harry groaned as he rose, his head pounding. He was unable to get a decent night's sleep, and as he attempted to get out of bed to wander over to the window, a sudden image overcame him. He withheld a cry as his scar seared with pain, his hands clamping around it as he dropped to his knees. He fell to his side, curling into a ball.

So much fire, so many screams, so much destruction…

Você não tem nenhum cidadela...((1))

Such a wicked laugh, so full of malice, and pure, evil malevolence…

Harry couldn't help but groan from it. The voice was hideously familiar, but he did not know what it spoke in Italian for it was beyond him. He sat up, eyes snapping open to see a bleary world. Harry was breathing heavily as he waited for the pain to subside, resting his head back against the bed and cursing under his breath. He finally sighed when it subsided, and unsteadily rose. Harry looked at the clock, seeing that it was so early in the morning. He glanced around the room.

Seamus' vibrant eyes seemed to glow in the half-moon light, the gaze fixed on Harry. He was poking his head out between the bed curtains, worry written on his normally happy face.

"Ya alright there, Harry?" he asked in a hushed whisper.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine," Harry said unconvincingly, nodded as he rubbed the back of his head and neck. He sighed and sat back down on his bed.

"Ya don't look 'fine'," Seamus said, getting out of his bed and making his way over.

"Shay, I'm alright, really," Harry said earnestly, but the Irishman only halted and crossed his arms, an eyebrow arching skeptically.

"Harry," Seamus said, "I've known ya what, six years? Honestly, we all know yer dream patterns by now," he paused; "Was it about… you-know-who?" he asked, eyes darting around nervously.

Harry shrugged; "Dunno," he said; "It was pretty scary, though," all those people, all of that fire… Harry shook his head and got up.

"Where ya off ta?" Seamus asked as he turned away for Harry to change.

"Nick some food from the kitchens," Harry said, "I kinda didn't eat dinner, and that could be the reason for the nightmare."

Seamus snorted; "Suppose I'll cover for ya then, eh?" he asked, turning to face Harry as the dark-haired youth put on a pair of shoes.

Harry smirked; "I'll bring something back," he said, going to his trunk and getting his invisibility cloak.

Seamus shook his head, yawning; "No way, I'm gettin' back ta sleep," he said, walking over to his bed and falling onto the mattress.

Harry shook his head as he left, carefully closing the door. Before he knew it he was out of the door and in the stairwell. Donning the cloak, he then made his way through the common room, and through the portrait hole. As he escaped through the cavernous, cool hallway, he could hear the Fat Lady demanding to know who had opened her and then decided to go back to bed. Harry hid his laughter as he continued down the main stairwell.

Going to the kitchens was something he did very often now a days, most of the times when sleep either eluded him or was impossible to grasp all together. So he delighted in popping down to the kitchens and snacking. Eating apparently calmed him somewhat, enough at least as to where he could think on moderately even ground.

Harry finally reached the portrait with the bowl of fruit. He tickled the pair, it let out a quiet chuckle, and swung open to grant him entrance to the kitchens. Harry stepped through the wide entrance, standing on the platform. It was quiet; the house elves had all gone to rest in their quarters, but sconces and low-hanging chandeliers dimly glowed to cast a faint light about the area. But Harry's eyes fell on the lone figure between the two center tables.

Orion had a faint glow about him, his eyes resonating the same golden hue. It was faint, but noticeable. The Elf was inspecting an almond butter pastry, but by his gaze it was apparent hismind were elsewhere. Silently, Harry removed the invisibility cloak.

"Orion?" he asked quietly.

Orion's head slowly turned, his eyes wide with recognition as they fell on Harry. The elf smiled, a warm, brotherly smile; "Harry!" he said enthusiastically, though not completely convincing; "What's got you up at this hour?"

"I was about to ask you that," Harry asked, walking over; "Any of those left?" he asked, motioning at the pastry.

Orion looked at it thoughtfully, before nodding his head towards the table residing below the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. There, on a silver platter, was a mound of them. Harry went over and took one, and, leaning against the table, took a bite.

"So," Harry said as he swallowed and wiped his mouth of the sugary icing; "Why are you down here?"

"Enjoying one last pastry, I suppose," Orion replied, distantly, as if he were drunk with thought.

"What?" Harry asked.

"Well, Sir Nicholas may have told me he hadn't seen any others, but I can feel them…" the elf's eyes seemed to glitter with revelation, yet they were grim and morbid with understanding. He was already playing out his fate in his mind, should he miss the chance to escape again…

Harry stared quizzically at Orion, utterly perplexed. The elf was speaking in riddles it seemed, like Brenna often did. /Must be a family trait/ Harry thought. It irked him how some would talk as if the person they were speaking to knew of what they were talking of, when the listener knew nothing at all and was perplexed throughout the conversation. Harry wasn't in the mood for confusion. His head hurt, he was tired, his scar was still burning—to be honest he was near-pissed at even being up so early.

"Come again?" he asked aloud, trying to sound calm and unperturbed.

Orion looked at him; "Oh," he said; "the Council, they're here," he replied; "For me."

"Why would they come after you, anyway?" Harry asked; "what did you do that was so bad?"

"Proved them wrong," Orion murmured, gaze again fixing hazily on the pastry. He leaned back and set the sweet on the nearest bench, walking over to a candle along the wall by the massive ovens. He held his hand near the flame, and then looked back at Harry; "It was like saying that Dogs were meant to be companions and others said they were beasts fit for the use of humans," he said, the flame going from wick to palm.

Harry watched, pastry forgotten, it itself tumbling, falling, from loose fingers to the stone floor below. Orion's gaze never left Harry's, breaking contact only when the ball of fire began to die. Orion turned his attention to the fire ball, walking over to the wizard, all the while muttering quietly under his breath. The fire picked up its life, but began to flicker.

"My magic is not as it should be," Orion mused, fingers closing to form a tight fist. The fire was killed in an instant, and Orion let his hand fall; "that is what I did to the stability of the Founding Fathers, when they were around," he added with a desolate sigh; "I made a point, a lethal blow to what they had kept hidden for so, so long… since the gomath de le crose, I suppose…" he shrugged, sitting down on a stool. Sighing, he looked at the floor, lifting his head to stare at the ceiling instead; "They're above us now, in the office of Albus Dumbledore, discussing my fate…" he mused calmly… too calmly.

To say that this was unnerving Harry was to say that the ocean was damp. He was utterly perturbed at Orion's composure and serenity of the entire ordeal. Apparently, whether or not he was to live or die was hanging dangerously in the balance, and he seemed unperturbed. He was nearing a stage where riddles would be second language, a stage Harry never understood fully. He wanted to ask so many questions, but they clouded his head.

"What did you point out?" Harry finally asked.

"That, even Brenna shall never know," Orion said, looking at Harry with tranquil, amber eyes; "Many ordeals shall pass your life, Harry. There is no need for knowing mine."

"But if you're life—"

"My life is safe; trust my word in that," Orion said, smiling half-heartedly as he looked back up at the ceiling; "At least, I hope my grandfather can talk quick enough…"

"Orion, if you need a place to hide, there are a lot of hidden places;" Harry suggested.

Orion laughed, quietly, drying, lacking complete amusement; "Unless I can muster the power to be a cat again, I will forever be within mind's reach," he murmured, closing his eyes and bowing his head. His eyes slowly opened again as he slowly said; "Things were once so simple and effortless…"

Harry only stared at the elf, seeing just how weary Orion looked and he realized that the night had just begun.

"Orion, what you pointed out… did it involve your race being… murdered?"

"Monague, there is no other choice we can make," Anestrothea finally sighed wearily, rubbing his brow as he sat.

Monague, who was still shaking with pent-up anxiety and rage, sat down as well. He looked at his fellow elfin comrade, and calmly said in clear English; "What will we do?"

"Let him go with a warning?" Anestrothea suggested wearily with a wry grin.

At this, Dumbledore chuckled, unable to hold it all within any longer. Both elves glared at the old wizard; "I find no humor in this," Monague seethed.

"Monague," Anestrothea said; "Orion did nothing but take his intelligence and point out a rather drastic and possibly cataclysmic loophole in our ways, our history…"

"Yes, but he also ripped the very foundation of our culture out from underneath the foundations!" Monague protested; "Remember the Masses, Anestrothea? Remember!"

Unlike what he had told Harry, Kingsley had failed to fall asleep in his flat. After coming home, taking off his heavy robes in favor of Muggle jeans and a white muscle tea, he had lit several lights, sat down at his desk, and began pouring over case files of Wizards and Witches he was supposedly tracking. A certain file continued to appear, one Kingsley couldn't force himself to throw away, but also one he could not go through again. So it sat, on his desk, near the back, tucked on a shelf, but there, none the less. Now, at two in the morning, Kingsley reached for it.

"Sirius Black," he whispered as he read the bold ink again, on the small booklet. He opened it, saw a moving prison picture of a man he'd worked and fought beside what seemed only yesterday. Kingsley sighed wearily, turning the page, reading the false accusations, the sentence, the time served… turning the page again, a death certificate.

At the sight of this, Kingsley hung his head, and closed the book. Why he kept looking, he couldn't fully answer. Maybe it was disbelief; surely Sirius was still alive, somewhere. Or perhaps denial; he couldn't let himself admit to the truth.

Looking up and patting the booklet's cover, he again set it up in the corner, towards the back, on the shelf, where it would sit, like always. But as He did he heard a sharp tapping coming from the window. This caused Kingsley to jump out of his seat and reach for his wand. He looked toward the window, and then sighed as he calmed. It was only Squawk. The bird was on the windowsill, tapping at the window with its beak. His feathers were ruffled badly, more so than usual, and he appeared weary. As Kingsley approached the window, he saw that the raven had a relatively thick scroll tied to his leg. Opening the window, Kingsley offered his hand as a perch. The raven accepted the offer, cawing wearily at the Aurur. Kingsley removed the scroll, and sat down in the nearest armchair. Squawk flew over to sit on the back of the office chair, and watched as Kingsley unrolled the scroll, and began to read it…

Dear Mister Kingsley Shacklebolt,

I write to you know because the hourglass of time is quickly emptying out for me it seems. I write this scroll because I know you will keep it safe. What I am about to tell you will be a passage of history, unlocking so many secrets that so many people have been wondering about. Since my death is near, for sure, it seems only right that this be told before lies can once again shroud it with mystery.

The Elves had never been killed off by famine, or disease. No, we were at war with each other. The Council, or Gengedelea, as it was referred to as, was never a full Union of wise elders. More so it was comprised of seven pairs, a female and male in each, from different regions that which they ruled over. At first they were a union, forming the government by which all Elves were to abide by. In the beginning, it was peaceful, everyone agreed to the laws, and the regions were peaceful with one another.

But for reasons unknown, that changed in the late 1800's. First two regions disbanded from the Council, forming separate governments and laws. Many Elves were against this act of sudden rebellion, but then again, so many were for it. The two disbanded regions joined and became one massive region, and soon, the Council had became a Puppet Government.

Then the first war came about. It had no specific name, for it was a mere behind-the-scenes maneuver. The Council plotted and planned to ruin the Mega Region. War ensued, death, destruction, and chaos followed. The Council hired special agents to go in and try to destroy the Mega Region from the inside out. Many of the agents were found, and killed in public—as a demonstration that the Mega Region would not be thwarted.

By the 1900's, though, the Mega Region was losing in forces and many refugees were heading for neutral regions. Delgrishire estate was even a hospital for the wounded. But finally the Mega Region rejoined the Council, disbanding and once again the seven regions were separate, yet unified. Over the course of thirty years new leaders came into power, one being my Grandfather, Anestrothea. But then Tom Riddle went on his rampage, raging about a new world cleansed of "mudbloods", even as he himself was not pure. His Death Eaters came to us, the Elves, and when the Council unanimously turned them down, Riddle was furious and waged a secret war against us.

We did not expect this war, these gorilla tactics. Death Eaters would come in through the night, kill the men and rape the women, torture children and burn houses down with their occupants still inside. We all hid in the forests, charmed castles that appeared to be ruins were actually safe houses. But even some Death Eaters found those. Riddle himself killed many of the Council Members.

I approached the Council about Riddle, and of my maniac brother, McNay. I explained that there was another way at saving what was left of our populace. We would have to approach the wizards and witches, ask for a partnership in combating the menace that plagued both worlds. But the Council was stubborn, and said that our strength was suffice enough. But I knew better; our numbers were low, our power was weakening, and Riddle could kill us all off at the rate we were going. Besides, the eminent fact that our society was crumbling was also a sign of our loss. Riots and rebellions were occurring in the seven regions, many elves had rebuked the Council and slandered its name.

I myself was against the Council members. They were snobbish elves selfish in their own right and callous in war tactics. The only decent members were my grandfather and my late grandmother. Monague was also decent, though he had a great dislike for me. My observations were dubbed idiotic, and I was dismissed. As time went on, seven years into Riddle's rampage, in fact, I finally started putting pieces together. Attacks on our kind had slowed, many rioters had quieted, or disappeared. I even noted the somber mood that had engulfed my people. My grandfather had also been removed from the Council. One eve I stole into the Hall of Trilogy, where the Council met and the building that stood on the center mountain of the regions (it's in the Alps). There, I found documents there that shocked and outraged me. Several Council members had signed a contract, stating that they would not side with the wizards if there were to be a war, and that two regions would be given up so that they would not participate. Also, if a hostage situation were to occur, they were to do nothing, and if the Elvin Race was ever made known, we were to do nothing about that, as well.

It had been formally written out by Tom Riddle himself.

And already, five out of the eight remaining Council members had signed it..

I confronted the Council as soon as possible, the document I had burned to ashes earlier. I couldn't believe that the very beings I'd entrusted my safety to were about to sign all of us to death. Immediately I was yelled at, called a traitor and a price was put on my head. I was hit with so many curses as I made my escape, that I lay in a forest in a large oak tree for days trying to regain strength enough to transform into my cat form, Crookshanks. I was in hiding up until a few hours ago.

Talk of the Torch was circulating with my sister's birth. It was said that when she was born a white phoenix landed on the water and burst into blue flame, and the hatchling floated in the water amongst the ashes, never drowning. My stepmother was also drained of her magic for some time. Brenna was showing the signs of power earlier on. When she was two she became blue with an aura that surrounded her, and we found an unconscious Death Eater outside the window near the room in which she had been playing. She had absorbed all of his magic, on the fact that he was sent to cause harm. This happened again when she was seven, but then her mother and father were killed, regardless.

So you see, Mister Shacklebolt, we Elves have not died of famine, or disease. War has killed us off. Riddle is still trying to kill us off, now that he has his power restored. He will search for Brenna. Please, you must make sure she lives, for the sake of our race, and for her being the Torch. Be her father figure, her brother, her friend; just do not let her die. Tell her that I love her, and that I would not have wished that she would have gone through such an ordeal. God Speed to you.

Sincerely,

Orion McBennitea

"Dear God," was all the man could gasp, the parchment falling from shocked hands.

"Harry, why so many questions so soon so young?" Orion asked wearily.

"I want to know, Orion, this involves me as well," Harry said, trying to keep calm and his frustration hidden.

Orion watched him for a time, before sighing and looking away; "Yes," he replied quietly.

Harry nodded, before sighing; "How many died?" he asked.

"Well over ten thousand…" Orion said; "to start with. The plagues, the viruses, epidemics, wars, they all took their toll;" he sighed; "Quite turbulent, really. All blood and gore and sadness… There's not but a little over a hundred of us left, only four members of the Gengedelea left, too," he added musingly.

Harry nodded again, taking it in. So it was never peaceful in their world, something was always happening; "Orion," he said quietly; "Brenna… what would the… other elves think… of us being together?"

"Hmph," Orion said, "Probably what they did to my father and Brenna's mother," he replied; "Ignore you both unless Brenna were to leave you or either of you were to die."

"Oh, that's a welcoming thought," Harry mumbled, rolling his eyes.

Suddenly, Orion's eyes became wide with sudden worry. His eyes darted around, "Something's wrong," was all he mumbled before he ran out of the kitchen with speed Harry wouldn't have expected. The latter blinked several times before he registered what the elf had said, then he shot after Orion.

Brenna shot out of bed, falling over the side and onto the cold, hard stone floor. She gasped and choked; the air seemed so cold. Clutching her throat, she looked around as candles suddenly came to life, casting threatening looking shadows everywhere. Attempting to scream as the sound of footsteps headed for her, Brenna crawled back into bed, wrapping the blanket around her and coughing uncontrollably. She closed her eyes and bent backwards, back arching and then she was on her side with pain. Her chest felt constricted, she coughed more for air, pleading for solace.

Madame Pomfrey rushed in, closely followed by McGonagall. "Brenna, dear, listen to me! Take deep breaths!" Pomfrey instructed.

McGonagall took one of Brenna's arms, Pomfrey the other, and the two held the thrashing girl to the bed. Brenna screamed "Let me go!" shrilly, her eyes white-over as she threw her head back and screamed again. This time the very walls shook, the chandeliers with their wax candles swinging, the flames casting crazy shadows.

"BRENNA!"

The doors had burst open and Harry along with Orion sprinted in, Harry being the one who had shouted out the elf-witch's name. "Stay back, Mr. Potter!" McGonagall warned, not looking up as she tried to keep Brenna down.

"Do not hold her like that!" Orion shouted angrily, pushing Pomfrey aside. Harry did the same to McGonagall, though he only pulled her back gently by her shoulders.

Brenna, with shoulders up and arms still on the bed, was still in that position, as if still held down, then she just… fell. Like dead weight. The walls stopped shaking; the chandeliers swung slowly like pendulums. For a moment, no one spoke. Harry moved from behind McGonagall and walked over slowly to Brenna. Orion was on his knees by the bed, head bowed in relief and weariness. Harry sat on the edge of the bed, shell-shocked. He looked at Brenna's pale face. Her mouth was slightly open, her chest barely rising, and her eyes still white, as if she were blind.

Slowly, Orion lifted his head, watery amber eyes shining; "It's started," he muttered somberly, before reaching out and taking Brenna's hand. A single tear fell and dampened the bed sheet below.

Dumbledore, Monague and Anestrothea rushed in, the elves ahead of the wizard. Right away Anestrothea appeared ashen with the sudden onset of grief. "No, not my grandchild," he breathed wretchedly as a sob threatened to come forth.

Orion got up and backed away for the older elf, and Anestrothea scooped Brenna up in his arms, weeping. Monague stood there, silent, and slowly he took off his small hat before bowing his head. Orion was at a loss as to what he could do; he felt so helpless, what could he do?

Harry had gotten up when Anestrothea had scooped Brenna up. He looked at Dumbledore, his eyes screaming for the elder to do something.

"Albus, what is this all about?" McGonagall asked wildly; "Who are all of these people?"

Dumbledore motioned for her to come over, and he whispered in her ear. For a moment, the old witch's eyes grew wide, but she quickly composed herself. She nodded, somberly.

"What is there to do?" Anestrothea asked, his old weary eyes fixed on the ceiling; "My poor grandchild, I am sosorry," he whispered as he closed his eyes and bowed his head again; "me delgap telegnu medolce ymono..." he whispered. Orion's eyes grew watery at the endering Elfin term. Monague caught it as well, the old tongue of their people a sad call of apology.

"Grandfather," Orion said quietly; "We… the Council," his eyes glanced heatedly at Monague for a moment, "If they find out…"

"They shall take her, I know," Anestrothea said as he laid Brenna down carefully. Carefully he closed her eyelids, and then he stood. He had not bothered to wipe his eyes of tears; they still came freely. He looked at Monague; "Monague," he said, his deep tenor voice jolting everyone from the somber stupor; "If you breathe a word of this…"

Monague looked at Anestrothea, then at Brenna. Holding his hand out, he held it towards Brenna. Orion made to rush over, but a blanket manifested in the air, and drifted down to cover Brenna. Moving the ends of his fingers, Monague tucked the girl in. Sighing, his hand fell.

"I am too old for such things as this," he muttered as he held his little hat in his hands; "Perhaps my fellow Council members can stand a little more treachery."

Orion relaxed. He sat down on a bed, and held his head in his hands. Monague walked over to him, sternly looking down at the elf. "By all rights I should kill you here and now," Monague said, and Orion looked up at him sharply; "But," the old elf continued; "I believe that now, passing judgment would be most unwise. Therefore, I will grant you leave. Your trial shall be postponed until peace reigns."

"You still intend to condemn me for my own queries?" Orion asked, getting up. Monague did not move, and although he had to look up slightly, he did not let it seem as if he were shorter.

"What you did, the accusations you rudely shouted, demands—"

"That document was proof enough of my anger and you know that!" Orion said angrily, teeth gritted and fists clinched at his sides; "And IN the end your title and mine will be the same. You know that the moment I came in there, with that Contract, that you were as good as no other."

Monague's rosy face became redder; "I will not tolerate—!"

"That is enough!" Dumbledore shouted, surprising everyone. The two bickering elves froze and looked at Dumbledore, as did everyone else.

"At this moment in time history has been born," the old wizard began wisely; "Why mar such a moment with a spat and possible bloodshed? Let us all leave. Brenna will wake perhaps and our numbers might disturb her."

As the people filed out, Harry stayed back, standing by the bed and looking down at Brenna. Gently he touched her hand; "Harry," he heard Dumbledore call; "That means you as well, my boy."

Harry looked at his headmaster; "Please, sir," he asked quietly, just above a whisper; "I… just please…"

Dumbledore bowed his head in defeat; "Very well, then," he said.