Now the dark begins to rise,

Save your breath, it's far from over.

"I Will Not Bow," Breaking Benjamin

Two weeks into her summer vacation, Hermione Granger wished with all her heart that she was back at Hogwarts.

This was not, despite what some of her classmates would automatically assume, because she missed her classes. She had quite enough books to last her through the entire summer, thank you very much, and contrary to popular belief, she did realize that there existed a world beyond the confines of academia. Nor was it due to the Reasonable Restriction on Underage Sorcery. She had access to an ancient Portkey that would bring her to an Unplottable island at a moment's notice; she had plenty of time to practice her magic without the Ministry pounding at the door. No, Hermione's wistfulness stemmed from her parents' recent behavior.

Hers was not a bad home or a bad family situation. They had never hit her or neglected her or locked her in a cupboard under the stairs. They were often busy with their jobs, yes, and preferred a laid-back approach to parenting, but Hermione had never had cause to doubt Jean and David Granger's love.

And therein lay the problem.

Loving someone meant desiring to ensure her safety. Hermione had nearly died not even three months previously, and that experience had inevitably left its mark upon her parents. They walked on eggshells around her, calling home six or seven times a day from their workplace, and threatening to remove her from the source of their fear entirely. As dentists, they had skills high in demand throughout the Western world. They could quite easily pack up and move to France or America or Australia, anyplace except their British homeland. The only reason they hadn't packed their bags and fled already was that they'd sent a letter concerning Hermione's withdrawal from Hogwarts while she was still in the Otherworld, which had resulted in a very confused Professor McGonagall showing up in their fireplace. She had, she told the Muggles, asked 'Hermione' (really the changeling taking Hermione's place) about the letter, and 'Hermione' hadn't known a thing about it. Somehow, the doppleganger's ignorance had led to accusations (politely veiled, of course) that the Muggle Grangers were trying to take their daughter from the wizarding world against her will, which was illegal.

In other words, Hogwarts was watching them. Perhaps it wasn't Dumbledore himself, but Hermione was such a good student that it was not inconceivable that the headmaster should take a personal interest in her attendance. If he decided that he didn't want Hermione to withdraw, if he decided to steal her from the Muggles who had ripped her from the wizarding world….

Jean and David knew intellectually that their daughter had been in disguise when the headmaster cursed her. They knew that Dumbledore thought Pallas Dhar was dead, that nothing had ever happened to Hermione Granger. But the fact remained that Albus Dumbledore had tried to kill their daughter. Of course they weren't going to react well to that.

They had actually been reading up on espionage both magical and mundane. If an opportunity presented itself, Hermione did not doubt that her parents would drag her out of the country without a second thought.

If the opportunity presented itself. It hadn't, not yet, but it wasn't for lack of trying on the Grangers' parts.

So Hermione, who had no intention or desire to leave the country, was feeling a bit stifled. And the other changes in her life were not helping.

The last thing she needed was the news Harry blurted out when she and her 'cousin' (really her companion/replacement/doppelganger/unofficial bodyguard/connection to the Fae) Lynelle popped over to the Forbidden Forest for their exercise session with Firenze.

"What do you mean Voldemort's back?!"

"I believe he meant exactly what he said," Lynelle volunteered helpfully. From anyone else, Hermione would have suspected sarcasm. Lynelle, though, was a changeling, newborn from the greenwood, and still fairly unfamiliar with many of the social skills that humans took for granted. It was a sad day indeed, Hermione had felt, when she realized that even she possessed better social skills than this poor young creature of magic. "How did that happen?"

"He was about to explain that when you arrived," Firenze the centaur informed the girls.

Harry winced, looking exceptionally guilty. "Right. Like I was trying to say, I had a vi—oh, come on." For Blaise Zabini, the Smoking Mirror and another of their friends, appeared in the forest clearing they used as a meeting place. "Is this just going to keep happening?"

"Is what just going to keep happening?" Blaise queried.

Harry grimaced. "I have some bad news—" Hermione snorted; that was an understatement if she'd ever heard one "—and I've been trying to explain it, but then someone else pops up." As if on cue, Daphne Greengrass, Daughter of Frost, materialized a few feet away from Blaise. "See?" Harry continued. "And now, if I try to explain it again, Neville will show up and interrupt me and we'll have to start all over again."

"Start what over again?" Daphne asked.

Harry rubbed at his head. "Can we just wait for Neville? I'd really rather only say this once."

"Say what once?" asked the boy in question. Neville Longbottom, Prince of Flowers, had made his entrance just in time for Harry's last sentence.

"Voldemort's back," the boy announced.

"What?"

"How on—"

"That's not funny—"

"How did that happen?"

"—earth did that happen?"

"—but I really, really hope it's just a cruddy joke."

"I'm afraid not, Blaise," Harry sighed. "He's back."

"The stars warned of this," Firenze mumbled, lifting his gaze to the now-blue sky. "The Pleiades were so very bright last night, even the Lost Sister could be seen. But there was a halo of red corruption about her, and she formed an angle of ill omen with the constellation Serpens. We worried, for you had mentioned that the Viper's mother was named Merope. We feared it had something to do with him."

"It did," Harry confirmed, head jerking in a nod. "I wish you were wrong, but it did."

"We should get Saysa and Sirius so you can explain to all of us at once." That was Daphne, as practical as ever, even if her eyes were still wide with fear, the whites showing all the way around and blending in with her colorless face. "I'll go get them. Where—where should we meet?"

"Bring them back here," Firenze instructed. "My people must be informed as well." He turned, galloped into the thicker parts of the forest where his people dwelt.

Harry looked ready to hit himself. Evidently he hadn't thought about warning the centaurs.

"I'll go with you," Neville told Daphne. She managed a tiny smile. The two shifted into their alternate forms, gifts from the reluctant Winter Queen, and withdrew their Portkeys. The golden oak leaf and silvery snowflake would transport them to Founder's Isle, where Sirius, Saysa, and Harry's reformed delinquent cousin Dudley Dursley lived.

Blaise was frowning. "I didn't get any Dreams about this," he whispered, gazing off into the distance. "You'd think I'd See something about the bloody Dark Lord coming back, but…. Nothing." He spread his arms, palms out. "I haven't Dreamed anything about Voldemort."

"Lucky you," muttered Harry.

"No, it's not lucky, because I should have Seen something! The bloody Viper coming back from the dead ought to merit at least one vision!"

"It did," Harry growled. "That's how I saw it."

Blaise's eyes went wide. "You're a Seer now too?"

"Course not." Harry lifted his bangs, revealing the pale lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. That scar, a remnant of Voldemort's failed Killing Curse, was one of the reasons he was called the Lightning Speaker. It was also the seat of a Horcrux, a parasitical fragment of Voldemort's soul that clung to him for life. "Apparently this foul thing gives me insight into Voldemort's… activities." He couldn't suppress a small shudder.

Hermione's blood ran cold. What exactly had Harry seen to disturb him so?

Blaise winced. "Oh." He fell silent.

Hermione frowned, chewed her lip. "Scar or not," she pointed out, "Blaise is right. You would think that, if the Viper and the Spider are the two enemies we're supposed to face, he would see the Viper coming back. What have you Dreamed of lately?"

"Bones," was the response. "A blood-spattered bone with a bit of flesh sticking to it."

Harry swore violently and creatively.

That, of course, was when Saysa and Daphne (now returned to her ordinary form) showed up. The basilisk in human form raised a thin black eyebrow. Harry flushed.

"In his defense," Daphne said, "the news I warned you about really is bad enough to warrant that kind of reaction."

The eyebrow dropped to its normal position. Saysa's expression grew worried. "What is this news?"

"Harry's just going to spit it out all at once," Blaise explained. "Firenze has gone to warn the centaur elders, get them gathered together. We're supposed to get you and…. Say, are we supposed to wait here for Firenze and everyone or did he want us to go after him?"

"He didn't say," Hermione answered.

"Let's wait until Neville and Sirius arrive," Daphne suggested. "Maybe Firenze will return by then."

"And if he doesn't," Hermione added, "we can start making our way towards their village. At the very least, we'll save Firenze a few minutes coming back."

Blaise forced a smile, tried to add some desperately needed humor to the situation. "Well, I suppose it is one of our exercise days…."

Nobody laughed. Not even the people who still didn't know what, exactly, was wrong could find any humor in the situation. Harry's worry—no, his fear—and anger and dread filled the very air, infecting them all with foreboding. They made their way through the forest in silence.

The prophesized five had been training with Firenze for over a year now. They would never know the Forbidden Forest like the centaurs or Hagrid or Saysa, who had wandered its paths for decades, but they knew enough to lead Sirius to the centaurs' grove.

The community was peaceful, surprisingly so, to Hermione's mind. She knew in her head that it had no reason to be disturbed, that the humans' news had not yet diffused through the population, but there was still something jarring about knowing that Voldemort was back, he was at large again, and seeing these people wander about without a care in the world. A few people acquired pensive expressions when they saw the quiet group, but most of the centaurs ignored them. They didn't often meet with the centaur elders, but it wasn't a reason to comment or worry.

Hermione almost envied their ignorance.

"Should we ask around?" Neville wondered.

"No." Blaise nodded at a place to his right. "I think that's him."

Hermione turned, followed her friend's gaze. Sure enough, a pale shape was making its way through the green gloom. She recognized it and allowed herself a tiny half-smile. "It is."

The prisoner, the basilisk, the changeling, and the five students approached Firenze, meeting him at the border of the clearing. By now, more centaurs had caught onto the fact that something was wrong. Silence fell, even the children's laughter trailing off into nothing. Every eye in the forest, or so it seemed, bored into Hermione's back.

"They await you," Firenze announced quietly. "Follow me, Harry Potter."

"Thank you." Harry inclined his head, tried to make himself smile with gratitude, but the expression did not—could not—reach his eyes.

Once again, their journey proceeded in silence.

Normally, Hermione would have occupied herself with observing the forest. She had noticed a deeper connection with the woods since returning from the Otherworld: the colors were brighter, contrasts more vivid, birdsong more beautiful. It would sometimes make her serpent sight activate against her will, but that was a small price to pay for the beauty all around her. Besides, the serpent sight was beautiful as well, even if it did occasionally make her want to empty her stomach. Moderation, she had found, was the key.

That day, though, she ignored the plants and birds and chittering squirrels around her and focused on Harry. The boy walked in front of her at the head of their group, so she could not see his expression, but his posture gave everything away. Stiff-necked, shoulders rigid, spine painfully straight, he walked like a messenger dreading delivering his news.

Hermione did not blame him.

The grove to which Firenze led them was smaller than the main centaur settlement. Summer flowers bloomed throughout it, purple buds peeking from between the roots of ancient trees and yellow blossoms soaking up sunlight. Moss grew on every trunk, rich and verdant, and on the great gray stones that lay scattered about the clearing. A tiny stream babbled nearby.

Four centaurs awaited them. Hermione recognized three—Charis, the eldest elder; Bowen, the youngest; Stavros, a renowned archer even in his old age—but the fourth was unfamiliar to her. Harry, however, paused to scrutinize the new mare closely. "I know you," he said slowly.

"I am Barsarbe," she reminded him. "It was I who tutored briefly in etiquette before you met with my colleagues and predecessor, who has now passed to the stars." The five centaurs bowed their heads, falling silent for a moment out of respect for the dead.

Harry nodded. A little of the tension drained from him. "I remember you now. Please forgive me for not recognizing you right away, archon." He pressed his hands to his belly and bowed, first to Barsarbe, then to Stavros, Bowen, and Charis in order of seniority, as was proper.

"You are forgiven," she replied. "I understand that you are under a great deal of strain from the news you must impart to us?"

Harry's eyes darkened to pine needles at midnight. "Yes, archon. I am."

Hermione listened in steadily growing horror as her dear friend narrated his dream from the night before—no, not a dream, a vision. Only once did she turn away from Harry, and that was to view Blaise's reaction when the younger Slytherin revealed that Voldemort had been brought back from flesh, blood, and bone. The older boy had gone white beneath his dark skin, his eyes sharpening to shattered obsidian. Hermione could almost hear him cursing himself in his head.

When Harry finished, everyone in the clearing remained silent. Even the birds had ceased their songs. Only the babbling brook, a cheery contrast to horrible news, dared to make a sound.

Harry sighed heavily, head lowering. His bangs dangled before his eyes, obscuring them from view. "We need to plan."

"Aye." Sirius sat, legs folding under him. The Animagus patted the ground beside him. Harry stared blankly, but the other humans and Saysa seated themselves on the grass. Hermione took Harry's hand, half-dragged him to the ground. If his hand trembled ever so slightly in hers—well, she wasn't going to say anything.

"We need to break into the Goyles' manor," Daphne declared. "We need to get rid of… him… before…." She trailed off, eyes going distant. She had grown up in the wizarding world, where grown men were afraid to speak Voldemort's name. Harry had broken her and their other wizard-raised comrades of that habit, but old fears died hard, and Daphne had been taught to fear Voldemort since before she knew what fear was. He was the monster her mother had told her about at night, the antagonist of her childhood nightmares. The thought of facing him directly, no matter how necessary, was enough to make her shudder.

Neville wrapped an arm around Daphne's shoulders. She scooted a bit closer, uncommonly clingy—but no one blamed her.

"You're right," Neville agreed, and he was shaking too, for he had grown up in the same environment of fear. But their eyes were hard and bright and determined, and Hermione couldn't help the pride which swelled in her heart. She had such brave friends. Sometimes, she wondered how on Earth they thought they deserved her.

"Do we have any way of knowing if he's still there?" Blaise asked.

Harry frowned, brow furrowing. "Where else would he go? We've destroyed enough of his hidey-holes that he's a bit pressed for space."

"But he doesn't know that," Blaise pointed out. "For all we know, he could be popping around the country getting progressively angrier and cursing the name of whoever ruined his safe houses. I'd rather know exactly where he is before storming Goyle's manor and having an angry Voldemort attack us from behind."

Charis spoke up. "The stars have implied that this portion of your destiny shall not end so quickly or so easily."

"The prophecies seem to agree," Saysa concurred.

Hermione looked sideways at the serpent-woman. Saysa had suffered horribly at Voldemort's—or, rather, Tom Marvolo Riddle's—hands when he had taken advantage of the blood bond which forced her to obey descendants of Salazar Slytherin. She had submitted voluntarily to the spell before her master's death, but only because no one had known how long it would be before the Lightning Speaker appeared and the Founders had feared the onset of senility in their long-lived friend. This way, the Speaker, who they assumed would be an heir of the only Parselmouth in Britain, would be guaranteed at least one ally in his struggles.

Needless to say, that plan had backfired quite spectacularly.

Saysa was freed of the blood bond now. Hermione had discovered a year and a half ago that Salazar's blood ran in her veins, having passed down through an unknown Squib and generations of Muggles before her arrival in the wizarding world. As Hermione was not the kind of person who enjoyed the thought of having a slave, she had released her friend from the geas as soon as she knew she could. Saysa had nothing to fear from Voldemort anymore—well, nothing more than anyone else, as the man had a nasty habit of killing people—but the memory of how he had forced her to kill an innocent child and Petrify several more haunted her to this day.

Harry glared at the females. "What, so are we just supposed to throw in the towel before we even try?"

"Of course not," Saysa replied, "but we must not expect this to be easy."

"And one of the reasons it might not be easy is that we don't even know if Voldemort's still with the Goyles," Blaise interjected, nipping an argument in the bud.

Harry smiled a cold, vicious smile that did nothing to soften his eyes.

"Oh, that'll be easy enough to find out."

A warning: I probably won't be able to answer any reviews. This is pretty much the weekend from Hades for me, so... Yeah. But my life will get less miserably busy in time for me to write the next chapter, which is due December 27. Until then, adios and feliz Navidad.

-Antares