On Samhain of that year, the Guardian of the Chamber took another shape. 'twas a woman's shape, tall and dressed all in green, for on the Days of the Fae shape-shifting is not only possible, but common.

-Sayern nar-Hazozh (The History of the Treaty), translated from Gobblededook circa 1952

The prophesied five scheduled their meeting/Animagus Potion taking session for the next day. They knew that the meeting portion of the session would be brief. Hermione would just update them on the situation in France, and Harry would have to confess how he'd snubbed the goblins, but they had no idea how long the Animagus visions would last.

Fortunately, they had a wealth of experience to draw on. Sirius had known about their plans to become Animagi for the entire summer, and he had already told them about his own experience. Harry had related his own terrifying vision back in spring, as had Saysa (who wasn't exactly an Animagus. She had simply relived a memory, not chased down a beast of unknown breed).

Funnily enough, neither Harry's tale nor Sirius's made the other four feel any more confident.

The meeting took place in one of Lord Voldemort's old hidey-holes. No one was particularly happy about that, but they felt they had no choice. Harry thought it would be dangerous for his friends to take the Animagus Potion while in their Fae forms, so they couldn't drink it while on Founders' Isle. The Chamber of Secrets had been compromised several months ago, so that option too was out of the question. Remus's home in the CC had become rather popular with werewolves. Harry, reasoning that someone would notice four unconscious children lying in Remus's bedroom, wisely decided not to hold the meeting there.

As everyone had predicted, the actual meeting was over fairly quickly. Hermione reported her experiences in France, and Harry explained his rationale for offending the goblins.

"Sure, we need them," he admitted, "but they need to remember that they need us, too. In fact, I'll bet that they need us a whole lot more than we need them. There are loads of magical races- heck, there are loads of goblin colonies. France has different goblin leaders. So do Germany and the Scandinavian countries and Spain- though I think they share leadership with Portugal. There are lots of goblins, but, at the risk of sounding arrogant, there's only one Lightning Speaker."

"And one of each of the rest of us, oh arrogant one," Blaise added.

"I know," Harry replied, grinning. "I figure, let them simmer for a while. Ragnok's arrogant, not foolish. He'll come around eventually, and hopefully this display will keep future clashes to a minimum."

"Yeah," Blaise agreed. "This was, of course, your only reason. It had nothing to do with the look on that smarmy little secretary's face."

Harry grinned devilishly but didn't answer.

"Back to business," Daphne said dryly, leaning against the wall of the abandoned manor. "I for one have been looking forward to becoming an Animagus all summer." Her lips thinned in a manner reminiscent of Minerva McGonagall.

Daphne had not had a particularly wonderful summer. Her mother had delivered a baby boy in April, the family's first son. Little Ascanius had supplanted his elder sister as Heir of Greengrass. Even worse, Daphne had become his de facto babysitter. Her parents, as Heads of one of the most influential Houses in Wizarding Britain, were often away from home, and they had no intention of entrusting their heir's upbringing to house-elves or their other daughter, Astoria. Their only other option had been Daphne, who did not enjoy being the child's second mother. She was only thirteen, after all, and she had rather more important things to do than burp a wailing baby.

In other words, thoughts of becoming an Animagus had been all that had kept her sane throughout the past few months.

Neville winced sympathetically, laid a hand across her shoulder. His grandmother had never let him actually babysit, but at family gatherings he was usually shuttled off to the 'kiddie section' with his cousins. Most of those kiddies were younger than him, and two were still in diapers.

Guess who got to change those diapers?

So he had an idea of what Daphne was going through. The others, who had never been blessed with a much younger relative, could only imagine.

The last thing the Gryffindor wanted to do was delay Daphne's transformation, but he had something important to say, and it was now or never. "Before we take the potion," he mumbled, giving his friend's shoulder a soft squeeze of apology, "…I think I should become a werewolf instead."

"What?"

"Why?"

"There are loads of werewolves."

The young wizard's cheeks went red with embarrassment. "I don't think that my form would be very useful, and you all know I'm bollocks at Transfiguration, so it will take me forever to learn to transform, and everything is completely natural for werewolves, so I thought that it'd be smarter for me to become one instead of turning myself into a bunny or something."

"First off," Daphne announced, "I somehow doubt that you would become a rabbit. Second, even if you did, a rabbit would be an excellent spy. They aren't quite as glamorous as, say, lions, but they blend in much better."

Harry waited for the third reason, one he knew Daphne had thought of because it was abundantly clear to him and Blaise, but the Slytherin girl remained silent. The Parselmouth frowned. He opened his mouth, intending to tell Neville that him becoming a werewolf would tangle their lines of command- he would have to serve under Tyr instead of being the Alpha's equal- but Daphne stepped on his foot. She shot him a quick, surreptitious glare. Not one word, Potter, that particular glare ordered.

He obeyed.

"She's got a point. Several points, actually," Hermione agreed. "Perhaps, Neville, if you'd taken the potion back in first year…. Maybe then you might have become a mouse. But not now. You're the First Among Lions, remember?"

"I agree," Saysa murmured. "I have watched the changes in your aura, and I can guarantee you that you are no mouse."

"You're all sure?" he asked, quiet and painfully shy.

The other five chorused their agreement- of course they were sure, how could he even think of something so silly?

"So," suggested Blaise, once the tumult of reassurances had died down, "now that that's settled, can we take the potion already? Because I'd like to wake up sometime before lunch, if it's all the same to you."

"Not going to happen," Harry laughed. "It's almost eleven."

"It's a late lunch," the other Slytherin drawled, eyes twinkling.

"Or we could just count this as lunch," Neville joked.

"Depends on how it tastes," Blaise decided.

Daphne cleared her throat, uncharacteristically impatient. The boys grinned unabashedly but stopped their banter.

Blaise had brought goblets for them to drink from. They were rather fancy, but, as he had pointed out, it wasn't every day you became an Animagus.

Harry doled out the four doses of the potion. Each of his human friends accepted their goblet with a murmur of thanks but refrained from drinking. They stared into the liquid depths, remembering the Lightning Speaker's description of his own Animagus quest.

Ironically, it was Neville- the boy who feared himself a bunny- who took the plunge. "Bottoms up," he said.

"Cheers," Blaise agreed, clacking his goblet against the others'.

Faces firm and resolute, they drank.

For a few moments, nothing happened. "Huh," Blaise observed, a little disappointed, "looks like we're not as powerf-"

As one, the four collapsed.

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin. It wasn't because of his friends' falls- he had expected that- but the fact that they had fallen at the exact same moment was a little perturbing. "What in the worlds was that?" he demanded. The hair on his neck stood at attention. "There's no way that they're so equal in power."

The time interval between drinking the Animagus Potion and falling into the trance depended on the drinker's magical power. This was one of the reasons that Muggles couldn't become Animagi- they had no magical power, so the wait would last forever. The thought that the Lightning Speaker's four companions were perfectly equal in strength…. It seemed like quite the coincidence.

Saysa considered. "Perhaps it is a result of their common destiny," she suggested. "They are bound together by prophesy and choice, and the same Fae magic runs through their veins." She blinked, activating her serpent sight. Her eyes went wide.

"What do you see?" demanded Harry, ever observant.

"Their auras have blended," she breathed.

"What?"

"I… it is as though they were in a mixing bowl, being blended together. Yet their souls are remaining quite distinct- they are just… spreading. The borders between them have disappeared."

The Parselmouth stared nervously at his friends, bitterly regretting that they'd all taken the potion at once. It had seemed like a good idea until then- certainly it would be more efficient than having them take it one at a time- but now….

"What's it mean, though?" he asked, fear making his voice shake.

Saysa shook her head. "I do not know."

"What in the worlds?"

"What are you doing here?"

"I thought this Animagus thing was supposed to be private."

"No offense, Neville, but I'd rather not have you as my Animagus form."

The other three wizards who had inexplicably appeared in Blaise's vision quest stopped questioning and stared at him.

"None taken," the Gryffindor said after a very pregnant pause. "But… didn't Harry say that this thing was going to be private? Not that I'm angry or upset that you're here or anything," he hastened to add, "it's just that this is… kind of weird."

"It is supposed to be private," Hermione confirmed. "Three of the Marauders took the potion at the same time, and they didn't share their quests."

"Yet here we are," Daphne observed.

"Wherever here is," muttered Blaise.

The others fell silent. Their heads swiveled to and fro, taking in their bizarre surroundings.

Each magician was standing in a completely different landscape. The borders between the four different environs were plain to see. It was almost like someone had taken photographs of four locations and placed them side by side.

Daphne's quarter (for they were divided into perfect fourths, each of which stretched on as far as the eye could see) was covered in a thin layer of wind-sculpted snow. The sky was a cloudless, hard blue, though no sun was visible. The land was mostly flat, broken only by slight rises in the snowy dunes.

Neville's biome, directly to the right of hers, was dominated by vast rocky mountains. It was clear of snow, but the huge hills were covered in flowers and junipers. The trees were twisted, struck low by ever-present wind.

Blaise stood in a jungle, a lush green land of huge trees and hanging vines. The air there was hot and humid. The region was lit by a dim green light- sunlight filtered through the trees, which were too densely packed to allow the rays through directly.

Hermione's region was most familiar to them, for it bore a striking resemblance to the Forbidden Forest back at Hogwarts: large northern trees, their trunks covered with mosses. It was night there, though it was day in everyone else's domains. The moon hung fat and low in the sky, a silvery crescent that did nothing to blot out the stars.

"This is bizarre," Hermione muttered. She reached out a tentative hand. It seemed to strike an invisible barrier. Eyes wide, the girl stepped forward, toward Blaise's jungle. Her body collided with an invisible wall, thinner than paper but stronger than steel. "Am I the only one who seems to be trapped in her… er… place?"

The others repeated her experiment and were forced to conclude that no, she was not. Each of them was trapped inside their own biome.

"What do we do?" asked Neville faintly. He poked at the barrier between him and Daphne. "Do we sit around here and hope that Harry figures out something's wrong, or do we go hunting for our forms anyways?"

"I vote for plan B," Blaise answered. "There's no telling how long it will be before Harry realizes that something is different about our journey. And even when he does figure it out, I doubt he'll know what it is or what to do about it."

Hermione nodded. "I don't think that this has ever happened before," she admitted. "The only thing we can do is try to make our way out as quickly as possible."

"Especially Daphne," Neville observed.

The others turned to inspect her. They didn't like what they saw. Daphne's lips had gone blue with cold, and she was shaking faintly. Fortunately, her clothing had inexplicably changed to a warm parka and gloves, but there was only so long she could survive in what was obviously an Arctic environment. Daughter of Frost or no, even she was subject to the cold. With that in mind, the four wished each other luck and departed.

"Obviously," Hermione muttered to herself, "my Animagus form is nocturnal." She glanced up at the night sky with its familiar constellations and crescent moon, a sky that was partially hidden by leafy boughs. "And obviously, it's some kind of forest dweller." She sighed. "It seems Harry was right- perhaps I really am an owl."

Actually, Harry had been joking when he suggested that Truth's Messenger might take the form of a messenger bird. At the moment, though, that particular bit had escaped Hermione's memory.

As if on cue, an owl hooted.

Hermione froze. Then, very slowly, she turned her head in the direction of the hoot.

Nothing, of course; the stars and moon were bright, but not bright enough for her to catch sight of the owl.

"Hello?" the Ravenclaw called. "Owl?"

For a long, long moment, the woods were silent. Then a hoot sounded from right behind her.

Hermione jumped almost out of her skin. She whirled around in midair, landed in a crouch. Less than ten feet away, a small brown-and-white owl watched her with immense green-yellow eyes. There was a letter strapped to its leg.

"Hello, owl," she repeated, reaching out her hand.

The bird stared at her imperiously. Hermione waited, holding her breath.

The owl leapt into the air- and flew away.

"No!" Hermione cried, running after it. But the animal was in its element, and she was not. It eluded her easily.

"No!" she cried again, several minutes later. "Owl, please. I need you. My friends need you- Harry, Daphne, Neville, Blaise, Saysa…. We need your help, your wisdom, to defeat Dumbledore."

There was a slight rustling behind her. She was tempted- oh, so tempted- to turn around and look at the source of that rustling, but she resisted the urge. No need to scare the owl away again.

"Please," she repeated, very quietly.

The bird hooted softly. Very slowly, the human girl turned.

The owl perched less than a foot from her, its leg extended.

"Thank you," Hermione whispered. Very gently, she untied the scrap of parchment. Then, frowning, she read the single, nonsensical word:

ANTIOCH.

Beneath that were two phrases, written in elaborate, old-fashioned script: WAND OF ELDER, NEVER PROSPER. WAND OF ELDER, ALWAYS PROSPER.

"What does this mean?" she wondered.

The owl crooned. Hermione sighed, smiled. "You're right. I shouldn't ignore you." She offered her arm. "I can figure this out later."

Her Animagus form accepted the offering. It sank into her skin, feathers melting into flesh, and Hermione Granger awoke.

"Thank Merlin that Firenze is a ruthless teacher," Daphne murmured as she jogged across the frozen tundra. "Else I'd never have made it this far."

Until joining with her friends in January, she hadn't spent a great deal of time outside in winter. Then, once she'd entered their little group, she had become subject to the centaurs' training routine. Unfortunately for the rather pampered girl, a great deal of that training routine had involved running outside in the dead of winter.

She had loathed that part of the program then. She still loathed it. But, she grudgingly admitted (if only to herself. Firenze would never hear of this), there was some sense in learning to endure extremes of temperature.

But the laws of physics could not be denied, and she was getting colder every moment. Her breath fogged, coating her eyelashes with tiny ice crystals. Her toes were beginning to go numb.

If she didn't find her form soon, then….

Daphne bit her tongue. The pain of the bite forced the sickening, terrifying thought from her mind. She was not going to die. She was not.

She was Daphne Greengrass, Daughter of Frost, and she would make it out alive.

Something pressed against her leg. The Slytherin, who had been staring straight ahead, trying to make out her form, tripped. The thing that had touched her yelped indignantly.

Daphne pushed herself into a sitting position. So did the other.

It was a little canine with a long, luxurious tail; intelligent amber eyes; a dainty, pointed snout; and pure white fur: an arctic fox.

The fox glared at her, plainly offended by the human who'd had the gall to trip over her. She huffed. Her breath fogged, just as Daphne's had.

"Hello," the human said, very quietly. She stretched out her hand, offering to stroke it. The vixen pranced away.

Daphne scowled. Her patience was worn thin. "Listen-"

The vixen's ears flattened against her skull. Her tail puffed up, making her seem larger than before.

Daphne wilted. She didn't know how the knowledge had come into her mind, but she understood why the canine had been so upset. Slowly, she removed her glove, then squatted down and waited for the animal to come back.

Amber eyes met ice-blue, and the fox pressed her head into Daphne's palm.

The world melted.

"What a view," Neville murmured, gazing out across a gorgeous panorama. He could see parts of his own 'animal place,' for wont of a better description, as well as segments of the others'. His friends' worlds stretched on as far as the eye could see, only ending at the invisible walls, which kept the four realms apart.

Unfortunately, marvelous as the view was, it did not contain any animals.

Neville sighed heavily, turned to face the opposite direction. Nothing.

He wished he knew what to look for. Definitely not a lion, despite wh-

Ow!

Something slammed into him, a compact mass of muscle that knocked him to his knees. He fell headfirst into a patch of mountain flowers. His nose collided with the ground, broke, bled.

"Ow," he moaned, sitting. "Bud buz da fo?" He looked around, searching for the thing that had attacked him, but saw nothing.

"Bell," he muttered, squeezing his nose in a vain attempt to stop the bleeding, "ad leasd idz nod a mouse."

The animal… bleated? Confused, the Gryffindor turned his head.

A small ram, just barely out of lamb-hood, darted several feet away from him before pausing and looking back. Its fleece was brown and curly, and two tiny horns were just beginning to sprout from its forehead. Unlike Neville, it seemed comfortable in its environment, sure and fleet-footed. It bleated again, a questioning sound.

The Gryffindor thought he understood what it was asking (though, as it was an animal, he had no idea how it could be asking anything at all, nor did he much care). He scowled at it, not approving of the question.

"Ob course I tod I'd be a mouse," he snapped. "I'b nod lige Harry ad de odders- I'b nod brabe lige dem."

The young ram pawed the ground. Clearly it was prepared to charge him again.

"I'b nod!" Neville cried.

The ram charged. Neville scrambled aside, but not quickly enough to avoid its budding horns. "Ow! Dad hurd! Aren'd you subbosed to helb be?"

Another bleat, this one contemptuous. I am helping you, bonehead.

"Do you're nod! You're jus- why am I doin dis? You're an anibal. A sheeb." He grimaced. "A sheeb. Bell, I subbose I shouddn'd be surbrized."

The ram snorted, stalked away.

"Waid!" Neville leapt to his feet. "You ab do helb- don' go!"

The ram paused, but it did not return to its human. Instead, it glared at him, bleating up a storm.

Neville grimaced. "You're ried. I shuddn'd be so hard on byselb. Ib… ib I do dad, will you…?" His voice trailed off, for the ram had given its answer. It was approaching him. Though sheep are not particularly expressive creatures, Neville imagined that his was smiling.

He touched its soft, woolly head. Then he opened his eyes.

"Here, beastie beastie beastie…. Here, beastie…." Blaise slapped another vine out of his way, then paused to wipe sweat from his forehead. "Show up already, will you? I'm dying of heatstroke here."

A large (though only half-grown) cat, short tawny fur covered in dark spots, jumped from the tree before him to the ground.

Blaise did what anyone would do when confronted by a large, sharp-toothed predator: he yelled.

The cat- a jaguar, he realized- seemed to smirk. It trotted away, tail twitching jauntily.

"Hey," Blaise snapped, recovering from his shock, "you can't just do that." He jogged after the animal. It responded by jumping into another tree.

The Slytherin scowled. "Bloody beast," he growled. "I'm not good at climbing trees!"

The jaguar licked its paw.

Oh, wonderful. His animal was a smart aleck. Well, he had to admit he wasn't surprised- he was rather sarcastic himself- but seriously?

"Stupid cat," he grumbled, hauling himself onto a branch. "And stupid- hey, don't leave!" For the feline had simply leapt to another tree, where it resumed grooming itself.

Blaise's scowl deepened. He wasn't foolish enough to suppose that he could catch a jaguar in its natural habitat (at least, not anymore). How, then, was he supposed to convince it to join with him?

He pondered the question for a few minutes.

How had he attracted the beast in the first place? All he'd done was call for it, ask it to come down. Would that work again?

Well, he reasoned, no harm in trying.

"Mind coming down?" he asked hopefully.

The jaguar's self-ministrations stopped. It looked down on Blaise with large, mirror-like eyes.

The Slytherin smiled ruefully. "I know. Why should you go out of your way to help someone? Especially since that might mean making sacrifices, believe me, kitty cat, I know exactly how you feel." He trailed off into silence for a few moments before nodding. "But I can guarantee that it's worth it."

The jaguar pounced.

"I'm starting to get worried," Harry said quietly. "They've been under almost half an hour, and no one's showed any signs of waking up. Not to mention Daphne and Blaise…."

A few minutes ago, he had noticed that Daphne's otherwise motionless body was shaking, and Blaise's forehead was covered in sweat. He'd cast Heating and Cooling Charms on them, respectively, but that hadn't alleviated their symptoms. He could only suppose that they were somewhere very cold and somewhere very hot.

"Their colors have not changed," Saysa sighed. For once, she looked… not quite her age, but much older than her human body appeared to be. "They are still mingled."

Harry groaned. "Wake up soon…."

As though his call had summoned them, the four companions of the Lightning Speaker, acting as one, opened their eyes.

This was a fun chapter to write.

Owls: messengers, associated with Athena, wisdom, air animals.

Arctic fox: cunning of foxes and coolness.

Ram: symbol of power, strength, etc. Also adult form of meek little lambs.

Jaguar: associated with Tezcatlipoca, eyes like mirrors, power.

Can anyone guess what the owl's message meant? No? Thought not. : )

-Antares