A dream itself is but a shadow. –Hamlet 2.2.245

They Portkeyed back to the Chamber, but the serpent in question wasn't there. It wasn't surprising- Saysa had been spending a great deal of time with the local centaur tribe, who were obsessively pestering her for information on the prophecies- but the five humans were more than a little annoyed.

"Should we try to find her?" Hermione wondered, staring down the Chamber's exit. "I think we can handle ourselves in the Forbidden Forest at night." It was testimony to how worried they all were that the bushy-haired Ravenclaw had suggested they break one of the school's most important rules. She was fine with their centaur-guided classes or following Hagrid and Saysa when they were in danger, but obedience to authority was so deeply ingrained that she rarely ventured into the woods without a very, very good reason.

"No," Harry mumbled, fumbling for his wand. A streak of silver erupted from its tip, shooting into the black wilderness.

"You have got to teach us that," Blaise quipped, trying to lighten the situation.

"Yeah. I'll put on my schedule," he muttered.

They waited in tense silence, not daring to break the darkness. Finally Neville could bear it no longer. He flailed about mentally for an appropriate, not-related-in-any-way-shape-or-form-to-Horcruxes topic, finally settling on, "So when are we taking the Animagus Potion? It's almost ready."

"After exams but before we go home," Hermione replied tensely. Her tone demanded a return to silence, and Neville obeyed.

They stood there, fidgeting in the half-light of the Chamber, for almost half an hour before Saysa bustled in, wide-eyed and worried-looking. "What's wrong?" she inquired.

"I need you to look at the Horcrux." Harry answered without aplomb, without anything but deadly seriousness.

The serpent-woman nodded, confused. She shut her magnificent golden eyes for a moment before focusing them on Harry's scar. Her brow furrowed. "What am I looking for?"

"Just…." The Slytherin couldn't continue.

"Is there anything unusual about it?" Daphne queried for him. "Anything that wasn't there before?"

"No," she replied, perplexed. "I see no difference. The foul thing is the same as it always has been."

The Parselmouth's taut shoulders relaxed. "Thank Merlin," he breathed.

With that unpleasant bit of business out of the way, the quintet explained their encounter with the faerie knight. Hermione did most of the talking- after all, it was she who had actually heard the messenger's voice- but her friends added in details that she'd been too distracted to notice.

In their terror over the Horcrux, they had forgotten all about the Ravenclaw's surge of involuntary magic. Now, though, they were free to discuss the implications of her unwanted serpent sight.

"Do you think it will happen again?" she worried.

"Maybe, especially if you still want to restore the raths." Blaise shrugged. "But maybe if you're prepared for it, it won't happen."

"I don't think you should use that spell again, Hermione," Neville confessed. "We already have Saysa and the dragons; you don't need to do it ever again. Maybe if you don't, you can restore the raths without worrying about seeing that vortex thing."

"Maybe," she agreed grudgingly. Then she sighed. "Yes, I suppose you're right. It was rather foolish to do something so unnecessary. But what if simply quitting isn't enough?"

Harry took control. "You shouldn't do this ritual next month. Come with me or Daphne or someone; see if the sight flares then before trying it on your own."

"Good idea," she replied, "but what if it does come back?"

The Parselmouth grimaced. "I have no idea," he confessed. "We'll just have to cross that hurdle if and when we come to it."

Deciding that this particular topic had had enough attention, Neville turned to Saysa. "What do you think of Tyr's return?" She was the oldest and wisest of them; she would know what to do. "I've never heard of this Department of Historical Artifacts."

"That's because it doesn't exist anymore," Harry explained, not giving the serpent-woman a chance to answer. "About a hundred years ago, people lost interest in history. Most of the artifacts were given to the Department of Mysteries, where they are currently rotting in a storage room." He smirked. "Funnily enough, this happened around the time Binns's students started graduating."

Saysa's mouth thinned. She'd heard a lot about Binns, and she did not approve. The school was her home, had been for over a thousand years, and she loathed seeing it so corrupt. "A pity you did not curse him as well, Harry."

He slapped his forehead. "Why didn't I think of that? It's too late for this year, but I promise he'll be gone by next July."

"Hallelujah," moaned Hermione.

"Amen," Blaise agreed fervently.

"Back on topic," Daphne cut in, "what are we going to do about Tyr's information? We obviously can't just go to the Ministry and ask. Is it possible to buy the artifact or potion, whichever it may be, or will we have to steal it?"

They looked to Harry, the only one who'd ever heard of the Department of Historical Artifacts. "It's not. You can't even access lists of artifacts without becoming an Unspeakable. Voldemort tried- he'd heard rumors that they had artifacts from the Founders, and he wanted to use them for Horcruxes- but he had to break into the archives just to learn if they were real. They weren't, by the way."

"Good," murmured Saysa. The thought of another of her friends' prized possessions being transformed into a vessel for the foul human's soul was absolutely sickening. Besides, every Horcrux made him that much harder to kill. Even with only two remaining (only two? It was still worse than anyone had done before, still two too many), he was immortal, a cancerous plague that just kept coming back and back.

"I wonder why." Blaise tilted his head, speculating. "Not about the Founders' artifacts, though I wouldn't mind finding one that would help me with Seeing, but why they're so hush-hush about these things."

"They're quiet about everything in the Department of Mysteries," Daphne reminded him. "A better question would be why did they choose to place the artifacts there instead of, say, Magical Equipment Control?"

"Because as things, places, memories grow older, they also grow in size." Saysa's golden eyes were sad. "I have seen it many, many times. Take the rivalry between Godric and Salazar. Yes, they loved to compete, but there was no malice between them. Now their so-called hatred is the stuff of legends."

"You should write this down." Everyone turned to Hermione, who blushed. "A memoir, I mean. At least, you should think about it once the battle is over."

An odd, troubled look flitted across her face, but then it was hidden under a smile. "An excellent idea. You are correct; I should, and I will. Thank you."

"Are you all right, Saysa?" Hermione's brow furrowed.

She smiled. "Yes. I was just remembering them, trying to imagine how they would have reacted to these rumors."

Something about her explanation seemed off to her, but the Ravenclaw knew better than to comment. Blaise brought them back on topic. "So basically there were so many rumors and myths about the things in the Department of Historical Artifacts that when it closed down, they decided better safe than sorry and hid them in the Department of Mysteries?"

"I guess," Harry shrugged. "I'd have to look at the official paperwork to be sure, but that sounds pretty plausible."

"I really hope we don't have to break into the Ministry," Neville sighed, "but if we do- Harry, you still have those memories of his break-in, right?"

"Right. And I have the nasty feeling that we'll need every one of them."

The moon was bright, brighter and clearer than he had ever seen it. Its rays shafted down, covering the fresh snowfall beneath the naked youth's feet. He shivered, breath puffing, rubbing his arms.

Another man stepped out of the shadows of the grove. He, too, was naked, but he did not shiver as the youth did. "You have come here to make a great sacrifice, the greatest you will ever make. You have come to give up your freedom, your humanity, and perhaps your very life. If you continue on this path, you will know loss, hunger, thirst, pain. If you turn back now, none will hold it against you."

"I will not." The younger man forced himself to stop shivering, though his lips and fingers were blue with cold. "I will join you, and I will fight until my dying day."

A smile crossed the elder's face. "Then join us." He lunged- and changed.

Dark fur, clawed paws, tufted tail, amber eyes- the beast fell upon the youth, biting and howling. The watcher tried to help, tried to save him, but he had no physical form and was as helpless as the youth.

And then it was over. The large, wolf-like creature backed away, maw still wet with blood. The youth fell, twitching and trembling. One hand clutched the opposite arm, trying to stop the bleeding.

The beast shifted again. Bones reformed, fur melting into human flesh. The elder calmly wiped the blood from his mouth and walked to the center of the clearing. His reddened hands tightened around something that had been sitting on the stone, something that seemed to glow. The watcher squinted, but all he could make out was an indistinct pattern of shadows upon the dazzling brightness. Solemn and silent, the man walked over to his victim, handed him the cup.

The youth drank- and, like the elder before him, changed.

"Hey, Blaise, get up before you make us late for Tyr."

The Seer jerked up with an undignified shriek. Harry started. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he panted. "I just had a really weird dream about a guy who asked a werewolf to bite him."

"Must be because of Tyr."

"Probably." The older Slytherin wasn't convinced. "But still… it kind of reminded me of those prophetic dreams I got after Halloween, the ones that warned about Malfoy." He rubbed his eyes, shifted his weight. "But at the same time, I know it's not a prophecy."

"Weird," muttered Harry. "Let's ask Saysa about it. She grew up with Seers; maybe she knows something we don't."

"I can't wait until Divination starts," his friend muttered fervently.

"I have the nasty feeling we'll need to know what these dreams mean months before third year."

"I have the nasty feeling you're right."

It had been a long, awful night. Dudley had heard all about werewolves from Remus Lupin- and since the wizard was a werewolf himself, the Muggle was inclined to believe him. He knew that werewolves were tough and difficult to contain, and he'd spent hours tossing and turning in bed, worrying that Tyr would somehow escape. The wizard was nice enough- while he was human. He had no desire to meet the wolf.

He fell asleep a couple hours before dawn, and his dreams were filled with slavering fangs and feral eyes. The Muggle was grateful when Sirius shook him awake.

"Tough night?" the Animagus guessed.

"Yeah. I mean, he's nice, but…."

"I know." Padfoot shuddered, remembering the first time he'd seen Moony change: the blankness in his eyes, the terrible fangs, and the snarl rising from the back of his throat. "Trust me, kid, I know. But hopefully that'll be over soon."

Dudley shrugged. "Hopefully." He didn't buy it. Even if the cure for lycanthropy had survived the thousands of years it had been missing, how could anyone get it from the bowels of the Ministry? But then, he realized with a start, Azkaban was impenetrable too…. Yes, if anyone could save the werewolves, Pollux could.

But Dudley still didn't like him.

After a quick breakfast of blackened toast, the wizard and Muggle made their way to Tyr's new cottage. Pallas answered the door. "Did you sleep well?"

"Fine," Dudley lied. Sirius muttered something similar.

"Lo, Padfoot." Remus Lupin, gray and tired after last night's transformation, waved at them from the corner. "Morning, Dudley."

The change had not been kind to either werewolf. Remus was covered in swollen scratches. Tyr's arms were speckled with tooth marks, and Dudley had no doubt that his legs were as well.

Since the younger werewolf hadn't heard the story of Tyr's adventures in Livonia, the grizzled alpha quickly summarized what had happened. Then Pollux gave a brief history of the Department of Historical Artifacts and its absorption into the Department of Mysteries.

"Break into the Ministry?" Remus sounded nervous.

"Probably," Tyr replied. "Most wizards- present company excepted- loathe us already. If we could control the change, bite people whenever we wanted…." He trailed off, eyes dark. "It would not be pretty."

Remus hid his head in his hands. "So even if we could cure the madness, we couldn't tell anyone about it because then they might set out on a campaign of genocide."

Dudley wanted to ask what genocide was, but the serious looks on the adults' faces convinced him to wait. Whatever it was, it was quite plainly Very Bad.

Pollux exchanged nervous looks with his comrades. "If worst comes to worst, we can always bring you to Founder's Isle."

"Anything is better than the CC," Tyr growled.

"But all these plans are irrelevant unless we find a way to acquire the cure," Bianca pointed out. "Pollux, you know more about the Department of Mysteries than any of us. Is there any possible way we could gain access to the cure without breaking three dozen laws?"

"Yeah."

"Really?"

"Some ways only break two dozen laws."

Her eyes fluttered shut. "Very well, then, we'll obviously have to construct a plan to steal it."

Dudley shuddered. Why, oh why were wizards so backwards? In the Muggle world, all they would have to do is prove that the cure worked, and the government would take care of everything else. Admittedly, it would take several billion pounds and at least six years, not to mention far too much posturing and politicizing, but they would still do it. The Ministry of Magic, though, would probably destroy it before doing the geno-thing Remus had mentioned. Governments were supposed to help people, to protect them from others and from their own stupidity. Muggle governments… well, they didn't do that either, but at least they tried, most of the time.

"Getting into the Ministry itself is pretty easy," Apollo noted. "All you have to do is answer a couple of questions- you know, name and purpose- and walk inside." He smiled reminiscently. "I once told the security system that I was Lord Voldemort coming to assassinate the Minister, enslave all the employees, and raze the building to the ground. Do you know what the security said to me?"

"Have a nice day?" guessed Alexander.

"No. It wished me luck."

Sirius made an odd little choking noise. "Sadly enough, I'm not surprised. I pulled something like that once, too, except I was Grindelwald instead of Voldemort."

Pollux cleared his throat. "His point is, we don't have to worry about actually entering the Ministry. It's breaching the Department of Mysteries that poses a problem." He drew his wand. Light shot from its tip, forming pictures in the air. "You can only access it by going through a room with twelve doors." A circle with twelve slots floated gently in the air. "None of the doors can be opened until all the others are closed." The slots slid shut. "Once the doors are closed, though, they all start to spin." The circle room rotated rapidly. Dudley blinked away spots. "The doors are identical, so there's no way of knowing which you need to enter."

Pallas chewed her lip. "Perhaps if we put some kind of mark on the doors before they swing shut, we could find our way around."

"Good idea," congratulated Pollux. "Unless they've changed the layout, the storage area is one door counterclockwise from the entrance. They reasoned that if anyone tried to break down the walls of the hallway leading back to the main Ministry, they'd only find something relatively worthless."

Dudley stared at him for several seconds before realizing that he wasn't joking. Well, he supposed, it was… practical… messed-up, certainly, but still practical. He was tempted to ask what was on the other side before deciding that that really wasn't an appropriate conversation topic.

"The door actually leads to a hallway of records, which are pathetically easy to access. All you have to do is give a description of what you're looking for- physical characteristics, supposed magical properties, past owners, myths- and it will give you a list."

"Pity," sighed Tyr. "If I'd known this, I would've done more to find a description."

"A cup or goblet of some kind," Saysa murmured, "probably silver."

"Liquid moonlight." Apollo's voice was soft, lost.

"Your dream," Pollux replied, surprised.

"I guess."

"What dream?" demanded Pallas. "Did you see a vision of the cure?"

"Can Seers See the past?" His gaze fixated on Saysa, who nodded slowly.

"It is a rare gift, rarer even than sight of the future, but it is not unheard of. My… the four Seers I knew before could not, but… the younger woman knew one who could."

"Care to explain?" Tyr growled.

Apollo met his gaze coolly. "I'm a Seer, as you may have guessed, a dreamer to be exact. I See- more like glimpse- the future through my dreams. Now, apparently, I can do the same with the past." He described his two werewolf-related dreams to his audience. "At first I didn't think anything of them, but now I'm not so sure. No, I am sure- I'm sure that they're real."

"Last night was the full moon," blurted Alexander. The others fixed him with withering and/or confused stares. "When was the first dream?"

"May first."

Alexander shot Pollux a significant look. "Do you think it has anything to do with… with what you were doing both those nights?"

Dudley hated it when the adults started talking over his head. He took some small consolation from the confused expressions of Sirius, Remus, and Tyr- they didn't know about Saysa's four Seers or what Pollux had been up to on the first- but it was still pretty insulting to be talked down at, no matter how much company he had.

Pallas leapt to her feet, eyes bright with excitement. "Of course it does! It must- the knight told me- and the different types of magic-" Her eyes glazed over. "Oh, this is incredible!"

Bianca cleared her throat. "Pallas." She drew out the word, putting far too much emphasis on a mere name.

The Indian woman's dark cheeks went red. "Yes. Sorry, all. Apollo, are you sure you couldn't see any details on the cup?"

He heaved a sigh. "Sorry, Pallas. I'll try harder next time, if I ever get another of these dreams."

"You will, I think."

Something passed between the six adults, some reference to events and circumstances Dudley knew nothing about. He had the odd feeling that Pallas was right.

"Back on topic," Tyr growled. "What happens once you have the list?"

What list? Dudley wanted to ask, but it seemed that everyone else remembered. He searched his memory and finally discovered that 'the list' would tell whether or not this Chalice was in the Department of Mysteries.

"The list will give information on the object that you didn't ask for and direct you to where it's being kept. Unfortunately, I don't know anything more. The Ministry didn't have any of the artifacts my source was looking for, so he never went any further than the records room."

"Maybe we should ask your source for more information," Sirius suggested- quite reasonably, in Dudley's opinion. "Maybe he broke into it after your last conversation, or maybe he got more information. Anything could help."

An odd, bitter smile crossed Pollux's face. He did not bother trying to hide it. "He hasn't."

Padfoot hesitated, not understanding the other man's tone. "It couldn't hurt to owl him and ask," he pointed out. "Or we could Floo him, talk to him in person. I wouldn't even mind traveling to- say, where is he, anyways?"

Pollux's eyes grew distant. "Albania," he mumbled, sounding like a man entranced. The hairs on Dudley's neck stiffened. "Hiding in the Albanian woods, reduced to stealing life from tiny creatures to stay strong- at least, as strong as he is now."

Saysa hissed something in Parseltongue, the snake language she and Pollux spoke and the other adults understood. The wizard's eyes, which had been fluttering shut, snapped open.

Nobody dared to speak. All eyes fixated on Pollux's stunned, horrified face, watching the emotions flit across it before it settled into a blankness that didn't quite hide the fear in his eyes. "The point is he's not going to help. He's physically incapable of it at the moment, and he has no desire to actually help anyone but himself. Besides, I doubt you'd want his help."

"Where were we?" Pallas's voice was higher than normal, almost shrill.

"We were discussing how no one knows what's beyond the record room," Alexander piped up helpfully. "You said the records tell where the artifacts are hidden, right?"

"I did." Pollux's voice was flat, hard.

The other man chewed his lip. Dudley wasn't surprised. The black wizard was quiet even when his leader wasn't in such a bad mood. Then he bit the bullet and blurted out such a bizarre, utterly random question that everyone turned to gawk at him: "Can Sisith read?"

As usual, Pallas recovered her voice first. "I don't think so. Why?"

Alexander looked away. "I thought that if he could read, he could sneak past the records room and see if the doors were labeled. Maybe, if the doors weren't shut, he could even go inside and look around."

A wide smile nearly split Apollo's face. "That's brilliant, Al. Even if he can't read, we can."

"Explain," Bianca ordered.

"The Pensieve, remember? If Sisith is willing to do this, we could just extract his memories and walk around the Department. We might even be able to bypass the records room entirely."

Bianca graced them with a tiny smile. "I think I like that plan."

So they have a plan. Dudley is confused, Harry is nervous, and Saysa is writing a memoir. Next chapter, Sisith will enter the DoM and Sirius will come to a wild but not unfounded conclusion about his hosts.