So wise so young, they say, do never live long. –King Richard III, III.I.79

Tyr and the wizard who called himself Pollux Ophion Riddle but who was not so, sat in silence. Though they continually scanned the other's face, neither actually met the companion's eyes. No one else was present. The Parselmouth's four friends- whose names and faces must be false as their leader's, though Tyr had no idea who they might truly be nor how they had accomplished this deception- had other tasks to complete.

"So," he said finally, shattering the glasslike silence.

"It's ironic that you found out," Pollux noted analytically.

The werewolf shook his head. "Not quite so ironic. You forget that you spent the entire summer in my friend's home. I got to know you then."

There it was, right out in the open. The cat was out of the bag, the milk spilled all over the floor. The younger wizard, the one who kept secrets, stiffened.

"What I want to know first is how you change your appearances," Tyr continued.

Harry started. That was quite possibly the last thing he'd expected the lycanthrope to ask. He'd thought the other wizard would be more interested in how he had perpetuated this deception, why they used the Fae forms at all, why he should listen to someone so young and inexperienced, and why shouldn't he alert Remus right this second? In other words, he'd anticipated something more… practical.

"The Winter Queen has a lousy sense of humor," he grumbled.

Now it was Tyr's turn to stiffen. The shadow of the wolf lurked in his eyes. "The Winter Queen?" he growled. "The one from stories who likes nothing better than to abduct people, keep them captive for a hundred years, and let them go once everyone they've ever known and loved has died?"

"The one and only."

The alpha stood, towering over his sitting companion. "And what in the name of Odin possessed you to meddle with them? And for that matter, how did you convince them to give you something like that?"

"Saysa and the Fae Queens know each other," Harry elucidated. "I wouldn't call them friends, but she's made certain they know about the prophecies. One of our prophetic tasks is to rebuild the roads between their world and ours."

Tyr's face went white. "Do you have any idea what that would mean, boy?" he hissed. "The raths were destroyed for a reason, you know."

"I know that," Harry snapped back, "but the raths were there for a reason, you know. They brought magic into the world. Once humans started closing them, the flow of magic diminished. That's why our world is so weak now- the world's natural magic isn't being replenished."

Color slowly returned to the lycanthrope's visage. Still, his breathing was heavy. "Who told you that?"

"Pallas looked at a rath with her serpent sight and saw it spilling magic into the world- and into us, as well. We deduced the rest on our own. It's obvious, really- look at how few weather witches and Parselmouths and Seers and Animagi and runemasters there are."

"Might be worth it, though, if it keeps the Fae out."

"Is it?" Harry demanded.

Tyr looked at his hands. Each full moon they changed to claws and paws. "What about magical non-humans?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Non-humans, like myself and your friend Saysa. We're innately magical."

An ugly thought was blossoming in his mind. If, as Harry/Pollux was suggesting, the Fae brought magic back into the world… what would happen to magical creatures if it died out?

But it seemed that, clever as Harry/Pollux was, he hadn't made that essential next step. And no wonder- the child (how old was he? Thirteen? Twelve?) had enough on his plate already.

But they were distracted enough already. If he mentioned this now, they'd get even further off topic, and he'd never learn what in the worlds was going on. He sat back down, ignoring the Parselmouth's confusion, and ordered, "Start at the beginning."

"That'll take a while."

"Then give me the short version."

"Okay, then. I ended up with a Horcrux in my head after Voldemort killed my parents, which remained dormant until my Sorting. The Hat woke it up. I thought at first that I'd received some ancestral memories, but after battling Voldemort for the Sorcerer's Stone at the end of the year, I realized they were his memories and spent the summer trying to adjust to that.

"Second year, Saysa told Pallas, Apollo, Al, and me about the prophecies. I went off to meet the Winter Queen, where I received this lovely new form. Meanwhile the Chamber of Secrets was invaded by a possessed first year, who in turn was driven off by an angry dragoness. The kid sent Voldemort's diary, which was what had possessed her, to Lucius Malfoy, who started kidnapping pureblood girls in a search for the Heiress of Slytherin. We rescued them and finally found Bianca, but Saysa noticed that my scar was a Horcrux- which in retrospect was pretty obvious. How else could I have gotten the bloody memories? Anyways, you know the rest." He spread his hands, palms out.

Tyr didn't blink. He repeated the man-child's words to himself. Horcrux… Hat… possessed… scar….

When suitable time for contemplation had passed, he met Pollux's- Harry's- eyes. "I don't like putting kids in danger," he announced bluntly. "But I don't like the thought of coming so close to Thiess's cure and not obtaining it just because you're young. So I'm going to ask you now: Harry James Potter, are you capable?"

The Lightning Speaker didn't hesitate. "I am."

Oddly, Tyr scowled. No child should have answered that way. A child should have hesitated, doubted, not squared his shoulders and met his eyes and said that he could change the world. "It's foul," he growled, "putting this burden on a kid's shoulders. I don't suppose you'd wait for a few years, gather up your strength and resume this once you're of age?"

The look on Harry's face was answer enough.

Tyr's frown deepened. "I could make you," he noted, very slowly, very calmly. "I could tell Remus. How do you think he'd react? And I could reveal your youth to the goblins. It would be pretty difficult to do anything without a following. I could expose you to the world to keep you safe."

"Is that how you'll repay me for saving your people?"

"By saving your life and your friends' lives? Yes."

"Then why didn't you?" he demanded. Harry stood, using Pollux's height to his full advantage. "You could easily have confronted me back when the other were still around. Instead, you waited to speak with me alone."

"It's a lot easier to give out knowledge than to take it back," the werewolf pointed out.

Harry acceded the point with a nod. "That doesn't change the fact that you kept quiet."

"Doesn't it?"

"It does," the Parselmouth proclaimed fiercely. "If you were going to sell me out, you've done it already." His chin jutted out, a picture of defiance.

"It's not selling you out, boy," Tyr snarled.

"Isn't it?"

He was silent, seething. "It's wrong," he condemned. "You're nothing but a child. You should be playing Quidditch and worrying about homework, not playing politics and worrying about werewolves and the Fae!" He slammed his fists together with a resounding crack.

"Not as young as you think," Harry hissed. "Voldemort's memories, remember? He'd older than you are."

"And he's such a good example." The lycanthrope oozed sarcasm.

"Believe it or not, he is. Whatever his flaws- and I know better than anyone that he was a foul, twisted piece of scum- he was cunning. And he provides another example, too- what not to be."

"If you know what not to be, you should know to wait."

"Wait for what? Should I wait for the werewolves to give up hope? Should I wait for the other races to abandon our cause? For Dumbledore to destroy my only remaining family? For Voldemort to rise again and send our world back into chaos?"

Their voices had risen to shouts. Had the cottage not been soundproofed to keep out the melody of the full moon, they would have been audible in the fortress proper.

"I will not wait, not when waiting serves no purpose. You asked it yourself- am I capable? I am, despite my age!"

"And what about your friends?" Tyr roared. "They can't be more than a few months older than you! You might be prepared, but are they?"

"They are more than prepared," Harry growled, voice low. "And they are certainly more prepared than everyone else. If not us, then who?"

He could not answer. They stood there, knuckles white, eyes blazing, shoulders heaving. The room was silent, save for their panting breaths.

Tyr deflated. His fists unclenched. His eyes lowered to rest their gaze on Pollux's fierce face. His breathing grew quiet as his shoulders rose to a permanent position. "If not you, then no one." It was a grudging admission, dragged out of him only by the most powerful force in the world: necessity.

Pollux melted, leaving Harry in his place. The boy seemed old and young at the same time: bowed down with experience beyond his meager years, lost and unhappy, but wise and filled with youth's unending hope.

Within Tyr's mind, a wolf bowed its head. Alpha he might be, but this one was Moon-Lord and Restorer.

"I'll keep your secret," he sighed. "Merlin help me, I'll keep your secret. You realize, though, that you can't keep this quiet forever."

"I know," Harry groaned. He rubbed at his temple.

The werewolf spoke the truth, though Harry didn't like to admit it. Sooner later Remus or Sirius would connect the dots. They'd realize that their ward was marked with lightning, and that the prophecies referred to a twin brother, that Harry and Pollux were never in the same place at the same time. Perhaps he could buy time with Polyjuice potion, throw a wrench in their agile minds, but he couldn't stop them from figuring out his true identity. Padfoot especially he was worried about- the Animagus had, after all, deduced that Moony was a werewolf with nothing but logic and luck.

On the other hand, at least he didn't have to worry about Dudley figuring him out. However, he did have to be careful against carelessness around him, because the Muggle would report his slip-ups to one of the Marauders.

"Think of a way to tell them," Tyr ordered. "Because if you don't, I will."

Harry stiffened. One hand drifted to his wand.

He could negate the werewolf's threat with a single word. No, not even a word, a thought. Obliviate.

Tyr's eyes followed the younger wizard's hand. His jaw grew tight as he met Harry's eyes. Well, boy, it's your choice.

It would be easy, he knew. But falling always was.

What would he become if he cast the spell? Another Voldemort, another Dumbledore. Another Dark Lord hiding behind a mask of light. The thing he'd vowed never to become.

He lowered his hand. "One day," he promised softly. "But not now. As you said, I'm young. I need to at least hit puberty before admitting my… extracurricular activities." He would have preferred to have come of age before making his confession, but that obviously wasn't going to happen. He'd be lucky to keep this a secret until his fourteenth birthday.

Tyr nodded. "You'll tell when the time's right. No sooner, no later." He scowled again. "But that still doesn't mean I have to like it."

"Where were you!" Hermione screamed.

The witch was red-faced with rage. Her hair bristled like a cat's puffed fur, making her larger and more threatening than she actually was.

Saysa stared, not understanding her friend's anger. "I was consulting with the centaurs," she replied. "They believe that our attempt to retrieve the chalice will be successful, provided that Tyr and Sisith and I accompany Harry."

Hermione's mouth worked like a fish out of water. Neville stared from her to Saysa and back again. "That's creepy," he decided.

The basilisk had the distinct impression she was missing something.

"That's what we decided at the meeting," the Gryffindor tried to explain.

Saysa frowned. There had been a meeting without her? She had thought that they would wait.

"Well, if you agreed, of course," he amended hastily. "We were going to ask if you were interested, but it sounds like you are."

The Guardian was not accustomed to the prophecies moving along without her. She had been at their center for over a thousand years; now others knew the secret and were acting on it. She did not like how that made her feel.

But, she admitted to herself, she was at fault too. She'd lingered too long in the forest, contemplating what else the horse folk had told her.

"You've missed a lot," Neville said. His face set into a grimace. "Mark's a Horcrux and it looks like Tyr knows about who Harry really is."

Saysa went completely and utterly still.

Hermione regained the power of speech. "It's true. I looked at Mark with my serpent sight. He's a Horcrux. Harry… I don't think he's taking it well."

"Of course he's not taking it well!" Neville burst out. "You've seen how much he loves Mark, even after he's been a prat for the entire year. He's spent too much time protecting him to take this well."

At this, cold fear wormed up Saysa's spine. "Has he done anything?" she asked, forcing her voice to remain level.

"Not unless you count jumping off the Astronomy Tower," Hermione groused. She blanched at Saysa's horrorstruck expression. "But he turned into the raven before impact, so he's fine. He just flew around the Forbidden Forest for a while and completely exhausted himself."

"Daphne thinks we should put the Horcrux project on hold," Neville announced. "She says that we haven't made any progress, so we should take a break from it, digest everything we've learned, and focus on things we can do. I think she might have been trying to take Harry's mind off of it. Like I said, he's not…." The boy shrugged helplessly. "But she's right. There's nothing we can do."

"I wish that made it easier," Hermione lamented.

"Tell me more about the meeting," Saysa suggested. Like Daphne, she saw the wisdom in keeping their minds off unpleasant things. Yes, the ugliness and shadow would have to be confronted, but not yet. Not now.

They (mostly Hermione, though Neville occasionally piped up with a forgotten detail or two) replied with a quick summary of the day's events. They spoke of how Blaise's dream had led to Harry revealing Pollux's Animagus form, how that in turn might have clued Tyr in to their most closely-guarded secret.

How strange, to think that events were moving apace without her guidance. One of the major prophetic cycles had been planned without her input, her help. She knew intellectually that the prophecies no longer belonged to her- they were Harry's now, Harry's and the others'- but it seemed unnatural to see living proof of that fact.

But there was one fact that worried her even more than their new independence. "Harry is with Tyr now?"

Hermione's head bobbed in confirmation. "We should have stayed, but it looked like he wanted to face Tyr alone."

The serpent-woman sighed heavily. "What's done is done. All we can do is hope and pray that Tyr doesn't tell anyone else."

"Er," Neville gulped, "I don't think that will happen."

"I don't know," Hermione mused. "Harry can be very persuasive when he wants to be. Maybe he'll convince Tyr to keep quiet." But her tone was doubtful.

Saysa hated feeling so helpless. She'd only spent a few days in the forest, first to consult with the centaurs, then to decide what to do about Firenze's prediction. Death comes for you, Lady of the Chamber…. Like a fool, she had expected time to stay still for her. But it hadn't, and now Tyr knew their most closely held secret. He'd probably already told Remus and Sirius. The serpent-woman knew Harry would be fine physically- beating a child was frowned upon in this day and age- but what could and would they do? If they so chose, the Marauders and Alpha of Britain could destroy all their plans, expose them to the goblins, and ruin their chances for success.

"How long ago?" she asked softly.

"It took us almost two hours to find you," Hermione moaned. "Oh, I wish we had our Animagus forms!"

The basilisk's heart crumbled. They were too late.

Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass knew that Harry had to handle Tyr alone- and even if he didn't have to, he wouldn't let them interfere anyways. The two Slytherins reasoned that if the werewolf refused to see reason, Harry could always Obliviate him and move on. He'd have to Confund the alpha also, make up some plausible excuse for why they'd been conversing in secret, but the Parselmouth was creative enough to come up with something.

"We should just make Hermione do this," the wizard grumbled, flipping through the ancient tomes in the Chamber of Secrets. "I'm sure she has some kind of spell to find it right away."

"You should have asked her," his classmate replied.

"I should have," the other Slytherin admitted, "but I kind of had a lot on my mind."

"You were looking for references to the First even before our meeting began," the girl pointed out. "You should have asked her then. She arrived early enough."

"I didn't think of it then. Have you found any more references yet?"

She shook her head, blond hair streaming. "Nothing so far. Have you?"

"Nope," he grumbled.

Daphne frowned. "Maybe we're going about this the wrong way," she murmured. "Instead of looking to the prophecies, perhaps we should find someone in the real world who fits what we already know about the First."

Blaise looked at the pile of thick, ancient books. Did he really want to go through them again, hunting down obscure references that might be about a first, not the First? Hermione would, but he wasn't Hermione. He couldn't read riddles for days on end and escape with this sanity intact.

"It's not one of us," he commented. "We get to be the four elements." That was so blindingly obvious in hindsight; four companions for four elements. Even their prophetic names hinted at fire, water, earth, and air. He had no doubt that the First's identity would be equally obvious.

"Perhaps it's another name for Saysa," Daphne speculated. "She certainly qualifies."

"First to know of the prophecies," Blaise acknowledged, "but what about the other stuff the First is supposed to do? First to love the silver dome." He thought of the other line from the prophecy and suppressed a shudder. One of the only ones to lose.

"It's only a possibility," the witch shrugged. "Do you have any other suggestions?"

"It could be Sirius," he mused. "He was the first person to get out of Azkaban. He's certainly lost enough to qualify."

"He could be," Daphne agreed. "What were the exact words of the prophecy again?"

"First to go, first to come/ First to love the silver dome/ First to change, first to choose/ One of the only ones to lose," Blaise recited. "The first to change bit kind of does sound like Saysa. And she kind of is the first ally 'brought to heel' or whatever the exact words are."

Daphne stared at the prophecy. Her lips worked soundlessly. "Silver dome… the moon?"

"You think it's Tyr?"

She shrugged. "It could be. He has always believed that lycanthropy is not inherently bad, just cursed. And when we retrieve the Chalice of the Moon, he will undoubtedly be one of the first to drink from it."

"Our first non-Saysa ally, too," Blaise murmured. "I think you're right, Daphne." He chuckled. "Are you sure you're not really Truth's Messenger?"

"Positive," she grumbled. "And I'm glad of it. Hermione's task might be the most difficult of all- she doesn't even know what riddle to solve."

Blaise froze. "Say, Daphne… if Tyr really is the First, what's he going to lose?"

"His memory?" she suggested.

"Maybe," the other Slytherin mumbled.

Later that day, when they learned that Tyr had grudgingly agreed to keep silent (though that might change at any moment), the two Slytherins exchanged nervous glances. If Tyr was the First and wouldn't lose his memory, what would he lose?

I don't like this chapter. I just... it's better than I thought, now that I'm looking back at it, but I still don't like it.

Hopefully the next one will be up more quickly. Sorry about the wait.

-Antares