After such a long hiatus, I suppose saying something is necessary. I suppose we can make the analogy of writing a story to drawing a circle. By the time you draw the first arc, the size of the circle is guaranteed and the onus has shifted from deciding the position and size of the circle to ensuring that it is round.

This Kaleidoscope segment is special, because the subject is the last new character of any main-stage importance, so to speak, to be introduced. Thank you for your patience on that front. He's not an OC, but all the same, it's a long running joke amongst certain elements of my fic writing acquaintances that he's pretty much who I would be were I inserted into a certain world.

This chapter especially, and indeed the end of the hiatus, is dedicated to Zombie. No matter what happens, know that you'll never walk alone. Get well.

Second Iteration

Chapter 1: Hope is a Four Letter Word

Kaleidoscope

He decided that it went without saying that when confronted with adversity, either the human spirit was crushed and collapsed under its weight or it grew to be ever stronger.

Kind of like the Saiyans, in Dragon Ball Z! Why the hell wouldn't they make a Dragon Ball Z fighting game. He was so damn tired of playing Street Fighter.

It was an interesting paradox. Had he not stolen the artifact, he would have never lost so much of himself. Yet, he would do the same if given the chance to cycle history.

Perhaps he could have more respect the next time around. And perhaps he would be competent enough to recycle revenge.

But despite everything, he was back in England. Back in a land of piracy and knighthood, of mages and Merlin.

Back in the stronghold of the Association, as bureaucratic as it had ever been. And, since the events of the past month, the rank and file had only found more comfort in its poorest habit of structurally denying competency.

Being a first generation Magus, he wasn't well connected by any stretch of the imagination. He hadn't realized that the recall notice, much more urgent than the last eight, have been sent out for important reasons. One reason was a deep wound that Grand Marshall Kaleidoscope had sustained. The man had left two messages - one with the ever impossible to find Lord Flamel and the other with General Barthomeloi. Something more worrying was the death of the Green who had been appointed quite recently.

The whispers reached even him in the faraway lands. One tale was of a reform minded, kind, loving woman who had a unique command over magic - someone who would lead the Mage's Association well. Another was of the Bumblebee's incursion into Association affairs.

And now, the Blue was being considered for a Sealing Designation. The more conservative elements had quite a bit to say about the girl before, but now it had reached a fever pitch.

Waver used to joke that he and the Blue were very much similar - but only one of them was talented. It was not a joke which was well received, especially by the somber folk of Universal Research.

He was glad he was wrong and he would prove it, again and again, no matter the setting or time.

"Next. In. Line. Please state your name and business with the Mage's Association."

"Maya. Maya Rorkin. Private business."

"Authorization?"

Waver stared at the girl's backside. She was roughly his age and extremely beautiful. Her voice was rather snooty.

"Authorization?" she wondered, as though she couldn't believe the question being asked of her.

"If you possess no authorizations of rank or diplomacy, you must state your business."

"Please," she started, with some venom, "my family has been bearers of the Association's standard for a millenia. Do not meddle-"

Waver couldn't resist. "- In the affairs of Wizards, for they are subtle and quick to anger."

Both the receptionist and the self-identified Maya Rorkin turned to stare at him in disbelief.

"No? Blank? Lord of the... of the..." Waver tried, his hand turning in circles in some attempt to telekinetically coax the answer out of either of them.

He heard a low chuckle to his left and turned. A breathtakingly beautiful girl with sharp features and vacant blue eyes who could not possibly be completely human was shaking her head at him.

She tilted her head like an owl, surveying him.

"Seldom give unguarded advice, for advice is a dangerous gift, even from the wise to the wise, and all courses may run ill," she finally decided, in a prominent French accent.

What You Can Carry

"Her name was Astrid. Astrid Greengrass. She left this world behind, not due to any fault in the stars, but as a choice between the right and the easy."

There was something fascinating about the dangers of obsession to Harry. As an intellectual crisis, it seemed to be the worst sort of news, especially in a mind as bright as Daphne's. But he couldn't help but sympathize and draw closer and closer yet.

They were Dumbledore's words during the funeral - beautiful, succinct and powerful. Dumbledore had been especially cryptic about his word choice, hinting that it was his duty to help her find rest, and perhaps someone might do the same for him one day.

Daphne mumbled it again, still sleeping in on that Common Room chair. Neville was penning what appeared to be a journal entry. Draco was listlessly flipping through a copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.

Harry thought it was telling that at this critical moment of mourning, Daphne refused to be near her father. Augusta Longbottom had nodded quietly when Neville informed her that he would, too, stay at Hogwarts in a show of support for his friend. Narcissa Malfoy, however, was an entirely different story.

After the furious exchange of three Howlers, followed by a screaming match in the Common Room's fireplace through the Floo network, Lady Malfoy had apparated to the gates of Hogwarts to personally retrieve Draco. She had burst into the Slytherin Common Room at two in the morning to the scene of Daphne wandering about and her son keeping vigil.

Narcissa did have the good sense to take the discussion out of sight, but even from beyond the entryway, their shouting grew louder and louder. At some point, there were a series of loud bangs. The next morning, Draco appeared at breakfast, his clothing disheveled and sporting a cut lip. His mother was nowhere in sight.

"She slapped me right hard across the face, that's when it really started. She shouted a bit about 'obligations' and told me at least eight times that blood was thicker than water. I think she got really angry when I got mouthy and told her that the phrase had originally meant the opposite of the way she was using it."

Neville winced. Draco collapsed into the chair across from Daphne and smiled brightly at her. She nodded back at him noncommitally.

"So I got hit. Even then, I was pretty sure I deserved it. And then she started crying and I felt really bad until she pointed her wand at me."

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, then adjusted his glasses. Draco began slicing his toast in half.

"So I ran down the hall and she chased me. I hid in the trophy room for five minutes, but somehow she knew and she followed me all the way up to Gryffindor Tower. I can't believe she still remembers where all the trick steps are." Draco stabbed the butter savagely. "I could not believe that she was right behind me the whole time, but I nicked the Gryff Common Room password off of Lee Jordan, the Quidditch commentator - you know, and the Fat Lady just wouldn't let her in. They shouted about it for ten minutes. The Weasley Twins literally pointed at me and laughed the entire time."

Daphne giggled.

Draco froze.

"What?" Daphne asked, quirking her eyebrows.

Draco shook his head. "Nothing. I-"

"Did you expect me to be sad for the rest of my life?" Neville frowned, displeased with her sudden change of mood, calmly and methodically chewing on his eggs. Harry noted that Daphne was rocking back and forth just ever so slightly and her hands were shaking, signs that she could be headed for an emotional outburst.

"No, Daphne, we're just really glad you're doing better," Draco corrected, frantically. Harry could only look on helplessly as Draco became the cause of his own undoing.

"Yeah, well, I've been so delicate, recently, haven't I? It's just such a terrible shame that her mom died..." Daphne took a heaving gasp, her fury mounting. "But I suppose it's only right, after all. Since we've all lost one of our parental figures, I guess this was bound to happen, wasn't it?"

And then she was gone. The doors to the Great Hall slammed shut and none of them had the courage to meet another set of eyes. The only sound which dared to pierce the somber silence was the tinkling of Professor Dumbledore stirring his morning tea.

"I'll find her," Harry promised, wishing he didn't really mean it. But someone had to.

Don't Lose Count

When Albus Dumbledore apologized, he ensured that he was doing nothing else. The theory behind the practice was simple - if there could be an action he had committed as grave as to deserve an apology that reached beyond the point of traditional British politeness, then he should not further insult his victim with either excuses or absentmindedness.

This was why he had left his tea, completely untouched by anything but a spoon, at breakfast. Similarly, the small bowl of lemon drops which he kept for conversations as an anecdotal tool at points and an easy way to ignore the other speaker at others was nowhere to be seen.

"The idea of offering bereavement counseling as a formal service at Hogwarts was not something that ever truly seemed either necessary or effective over the years," Dumbledore began, forcing his personal mourning away from the forefront of his mind. "In light of our evolving understanding as educators, perhaps such services could prove to have a noticeable benefit."

Harry wasn't entirely sure if he should step out of the office, but the single attempt he made to excuse himself was met with a long gaze from Daphne, pinning him to his seat.

"In the twilight of my life, I have come to take for granted the years I've had to consider the prospect of my own end, as well as the lives and legacy of my colleagues. It is with a heavy heart that I admit my shame in outliving the majority of my students. At the heart of every accusation there could exist a grain of truth, so it is always the imperative of the defendant to examine each and every indict thoroughly. It will always be the technical responsibility of someone making such a claim to have some sort of grounds."

Dumbledore sighed, folding his hands. "But for neither parties is it ever as simple."

And he fought, yes, Albus Dumbledore fought to keep his serenity with every word. "It is common knowledge that I take on a trio of students in, roughly, every seven year cycle. It is unfailingly interesting to me that these students are usually from the same graduating class."

Now, Harry could see traces of anger and disappointment in Dumbledore's face. "The cruelest aphorism, the strongest slight, which I hear less frequently as the years march on by, has been, unsurprisingly, about the greatest of my students. One will come to medalled recognition, another to a fatal accident and the third will murder the first and exhume the second to satisfy their deviancy."

The headmaster's expression was a cross between scorn and tragedy which Harry didn't see often.

"Yet I always take on any and all, sometimes three, sometimes more, sometimes none at all, students who show a certain promise or a certain spark. It is on days like these when I consider the idea that perhaps the attempt to light a torch in a dark world does not invite the efforts of its denizens to aspire to the higher concepts of love, wisdom and rationality... but simply attracts the forces who refuse a less savage path."

"As it happens, I wonder if the hand I extended to Astrid Greengrass, the same hand which was offered to Lily Evans Potter, had been a prophecy of their demise."

Across from Harry's seat to Daphne's right, a soundless timekeeping device perched on the wall decided that it was now eleven. In the now-empty Great Hall, Dumbledore's tea, now too cold to drink, disappeared.

If I Must Fall

A crumpled piece of parchment with Neville Longbottom's scrawl across it, Slytherin Common Room Fireplace, Hogwarts.

...ope I die having done more good than evil. If I do, that'll be enough, whenev...