Children from the Stars

by Eyefantasy

Whispers of prophecy and a tournament of power and prestige echo though the Wizarding World of 1994. Hogwarts is about to step on the world stage this year as an edifice for the talented and magical to gather in her walls. However, the arrival of five new students entering her halls will forever shake the foundations of the magical world and the course of history.

3. Chapter II

AN: Updated 2/22/24: This one is long, but the next one is a doozy.

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Chapter II

The forest was treacherous. This was Trowa's first thought as they journeyed through the dark trees and shifting, engulfing shadows, stepping over winding overgrown roots. They erupted from the ground like enormous brown veins that bulged through the soil, hardened by the fierce northern weather, the earth, and time. The canopy of overhanging trees blocked most of the sunlight, but some were able to bypass the leaves and dapple through, a dim bluish-gray light falling through the air, lining the ground.

Trowa's senses had been high, almost at edge. His eyes and ears were working overtime, taking in this strange forest and its exceedingly strangeness that could be felt the more they traversed this unknown place. He could only use "strange" as it seemed different than anything he could relate or identify with. Perhaps magical would suffice, but he still thought magic as a childish wonder of the extraordinary, like Firenze. If he learned more, it might change for a better word to contextualize the situation.

He could now hear the distant echoes of hoots, of what he known were owls perched above. It was slightly amusing to him that it was only a year ago when he first heard a hoot from an owl since he had left for space. He had kind of forgotten, gotten lost in hearing the distant echoes of wind-cutting and whistling bullets, rolling explosions, the thunder of artillery – the sounds of brutal warfare – pounding his ears in and out of combat zones.

Other strange creatures came into view, scurrying across the forest floor, their blue and turquoise fur melding with the dark blue light emanating from the forest. They moved like squirrels, quick and nimble with swift agility, but their faces looked like platypuses, with a short, upward curved, duckbilled, orange beaks. One stopped long enough for Trowa to count its three, orange paws before following its brethren by fleeing up a tree until it was obscured by the thick, heavy branches and the sky-clotting leaves.

Despite being on his toes – he was sure his comrades were on theirs – he was somewhat at ease in the forest. Through its strangeness he had felt at ease. It could have been the comfort of nostalgia when he ventured by himself into woods and forests when he was with the circus troupe or that mercenary gang back in his mercenary days. He was not too sure, but he knew it made him calm despite the strangeness – as he eyed Firenze – of the situation.

Trowa walked close to Quatre, who had posted on his left; Firenze took his right. The other boys flanked Firenze's left. They moved with caution, eyes on the forest, its creatures, and Firenze. The centaur had been silent as he guided them, eyes always on the forest. Trowa thought he was looking for adversaries, of shadows and tracks of things that might prove challenging or a hindrance.

The group walked in silence until Firenze spoke. "I think we should be safe enough for conversation." His head gazed around the forest before finding the Gundam pilots.

"Where exactly are you taking us?" Trowa was the first to ask. "You said this 'Hogwarts'?"

After ducking under a branch, Firenze responded, "There's a school at the edge of the forest. A school of magic and wonder that has been around for centuries teaching young magical humans. Humans like yourselves. A man named Albus Dumbledore, who is the presiding headmaster of Hogwarts, will see to you."

A magical school? How coincidental, Trowa thought while stepping over another long winding root. Coincidences were warnings, and they never seemed to be positive. In fact, from experience, they were often life threatening and heralded some form of danger. He would take this in caution.

"And this was all in the stars?" spoke Quatre puzzledly, briefly glancing up. He had to shield his eyes as filtered light shone on his face.

Firenze nodded and replied as quickly as if he had been expecting such a question. "The sky does not lie, but it also leads to various interpretations as star patterns shift with the seasons."

"So, Firenze, right? You're a centaur. I still can't believe what I'm seeing," Duo muttered the last quickly. "You said there's more. What do you mean?"

Firenze chuckled, seemingly amused by the question. "I am a centaur. My colony, my herd, have lived in these forests for centuries. We watched the stars and planets as is our aged-old tradition, divining them, doing as they command, for their will must be adhered.

"There are many in my herd who have grown rather fond of the notion that we shouldn't assist the endeavors of humans. That you are untrustworthy of our secrets and will see to our ruin as had for centuries. There is truth in this. Humans have broken our trust. Some in my heard decry, 'leave them to their own devices and misfortune,'" Firenze finished.

"You don't believe that?" Trowa said, letting his tone color in doubt. There was something in Firenze's tone Trowa found resembled resentment, and it seemed to be the case when Firenze bowed his head.

"You would be correct. I differ from my herd. Most would like to see me cast out and keep the world of the stars and planets to ourselves, in a prison safeguarded by an esoteric few. They are… close-minded in their thinking," Firenze confessed. He looked hesitant; his countenance troubled.

"Won't they see this as a betrayal?" Wufei asked. "A slight against tradition."

"I see it as…" but the words died on his lips as his head swerved to the right.

A whirl pierced the air and smacked into the dirt at Firenze's hooves, stopping Firenze short. He reared on his hind legs, backing away before falling on all four. Trowa moved behind a large root, taking a knee behind it, his right hand tracing the shape of his handgun in his back pocket. Quatre joined him, his hand gripping his shoulder, staying Trowa's retrieval of his weapon.

Trowa felt Quatre shake, so he put his hands on the cool grass and dirt instead. He watched his friends move as well, taking cover behind some dark shrubs and roots, eyes flashing dangerous, faces ready for battle. Firenze remained where he stood, pawing dirt with his right foreleg. His startled expression transformed to earnest, glaring in the distance.

Another sound of hooves came. It trotted from the shadows of the trees.

"A betrayal indeed," came a distinct baritone tone voice from the shadows. It rung with disgust and contempt. "Firenze, you know not your place."

The new figure emerging from the shadows of the trees was another centaur. His appearance contrasted deeply with Firenze. He had darker features and his black hair danced around him in discontent, his mane resembling loose spikes. He held his bow at them, aimed at the group, notching another arrow in his bowstring.

"And you do, Bane?" came Firenze, a challenge in his words. He stepped forward and Bane moved to meet him.

"Do not play games with me, Firenze," Bane bellowed lowly. He slowly circled Firenze, muscled arms taut like the arrow in his bow. "You have read the stars and planets, we do not interfere, yet you dally in these affairs of these humans. You embarrass yourself, and you'll have the heavens cursing us.

"Defilement," he spat. Anger called to his black eyes, turning them into deep, bottomless pits.

"And yet you only point your arrow at me," Firenze said calmly, watching his brethren. "You know who these children are."

"I would be a fool to anger the celestial heavens and receive their wrath. But I would be a bigger fool to interfere in their judgement. It is not our place." Bane stopped walking and then stomped his hoof in indignation, imprinting the ground.

A moment passed and Firenze did not say a word. When he spoke, his words were firm and clear, not giving an inch to Bane's anger. "You misread the situation. I am only showing them the way to their destination. From there, they are on their own, at fate's mercy, until we meet again."

Something seemed to cross Firenze's his mind as his eyes penetrated Bane. "If my eyes don't mistake me, you are here. Curious, Bane, as to why."

Umbrage glinted in Bane's eyes and made its way down his face, stretching his frown into a snarling scowl. "Do not make me a fool. We all heard of their arrival into the forest. You would have to be comatose to not to have heard of that violence quaking the forest floor – shattering our peace. As to why I am here, Firenze, I am here to keep you in check!"

At this, Firenze tilted his head to the side, slowly brushing a blond lock behind his ear. "Keep me in check?" Firenze asked, seeming to scoff at Bane's answer.

Annoyance flashed in Firenze's eyes as he opened his mouth, but he seemed to reconsider, and a slow smile spread across his lips, which Bane took offense, sneering. "And still, you are here, Bane. How about we negotiate? I'm sure you can join me in taking these children to the edge of the forest."

Bane seemed upset by this as he hissed, "You dare ask me to tempt the decision of the heavens and bring downfall to my herd! I will not have it! I would kill myself if I had to. No, I will not partake in your foolishness!"

He seethed and brought his hand further back on his arrow, threatening to release. After a tense moment, where only the animals inside the forest made noise, Bane lowered his bow reluctantly. He placed the arrow in a quiver strapped to his back and slung his bow behind his shoulder. Bane turned to leave but stopped midway.

"When you arrive back to the colony, we will have our talk, Firenze. This cannot be ignored any longer, not after Harry Potter."

With that, Bane stormed off.

"Um, that went well," Duo said with a grimace, standing up.

"I doubt it," Heero said, watching Bane.

"Firenze," asked Quatre, looking up to Firenze who was still watching Bane's departure, "is it really okay for you to be doing this? To hear Bane's passion and threat, he seems to mean you harm. Are you ignoring traditions for us?"

Firenze did not say anything until he turned to face Quatre. Bars of sunlight lined his face and body, lighting and shadowing his features. Firenze had a ghost of a smile. It looked forlorn.

"Children from the Stars, we are governed by extraordinary forces. They foretell of your arrival and your destiny, should you be willing. What they do not tell is how you will get your destinations. As I said, I am merely a guide. Nothing more until the stars reveal their intentions.

"I suspect Bane wanted to see if you were real. The stars and planets have favored you in a way we have not seen for centuries. Even I am curious, I confess."

Firenze then gave a heavy sigh and bowed his head, his blond hair curtaining his face. "Traditions are important. They are the wheel that preserves culture, and we, the vehicle, that moves it, that perpetuates and carry it to our progeny. To interrupt or go against tradition could be seen as rebelling, but we must understand that sometimes when new knowledge is presented," Firenze brought his face up and pulled back his blond hair, "we have to comprehend that somethings in our traditions might be outdated."

The word complacency sparked in Trowa's mind. He was reminded of the Colonies during Operation Meteor and how they were so quick to join OZ and Romefeller, to arm themselves, to scapegoat anything to ensure total peace at all levels. The Gundam pilots were left to fend for themselves as the Colonies united under their ignorance, codifying death orders against all who represented Operation Meteor. They were throwing out the past by mythologizing it into a convoluted confection of their own complacency that missed the times of colonial rule.

Trowa had been part of the rebellious group to thwart OZ and Romefeller, using espionage to change the way how the Earth thought of the colonies, but the task was far too large for himself. He was not trusted in OZ, and he had strong reason to believe he was being exploited as a former Gundam pilot. Trowa wondered if Firenze would survive with his herd as going against the community and their laws could be interpreted as a death sentence. All it took was one step out of place before the guillotine fell with a mighty roar of approval from the bloodthirsty audience.

He suddenly pitied him, but then, as swiftly as it came, he threw it away to the wind. Firenze did not need his pity. He was making choices he believed were instrumental to him and his herd. Whatever will fall will fall, and it was up to those willing to pick up the pieces and reforge them.

"We should get going," continued Firenze. "It will be dark soon. The forest is just as dangerous if not more in the dark. It will become perilous even if I am your guide. Come, we must be quick."

They made haste and within two hours, outside of small talk, the group made it to the edge of the forest, where the trees thinned, and looked like a large clearing unfolded. Firenze told them of centaur history and how his tribe had come north, following a war with the wizards in the 9th century and made the Forbidden Forest their home. They guarded the forest as the forest protects and shields them from the eyes of outsiders.

However, there were some wrongful dealings with wizardkind, on how they were limiting their land and throwing in odd beasts and creatures that affected the natural ecosystem of the forest, that proved trying for the centaur herds. Trowa got a sense from Firenze that these wizards broke their promises often with the centaurs, continuing to dismiss their sovereignty over their land.

"There're whispers of rebellion from deep-rooted hatred of humans and wizards. Bane has taken the head of this growing movement, espousing revenge and blood for blood to avenge our grievances. He's swaying the young. There's nothing more dangerous than investing a group with false superiority while acknowledging their pain. Yet, I do wonder how far the animus runs if he came to see you. Quite the curious thing," Firenze chuckled.

They came to a stop at the edge of the forest. Firenze trotted and then stopped in front of them, his face softening. "Here we are, children. I cannot venture from this point, but I will be with you when Rubeus Hagrid appears," Firenze said. "He will guide you to Albus Dumbledore and Hogwarts."

Trowa looked upward and found the sky quickly becoming a fading pinkish orange, taking on the effects of evening spilling into the deep midnight blue of night. The stars were burgeoning from above, white, luminescent balls of light that continued to spread the further the sky darkened. They came up on a small, wooden hut filled with warm yellow light spilling from its windows. Movement could be heard inside, of loud, heavy steps creaking against the wooden floorboards. A large shadow swept by the windows.

Laying lazily outside the hut, on its stomach, was a large dog, who raised his head to the sound of their footsteps behind the trees, ears quivering. Its eyes and head darted towards them. In an instant, it stood on all fours. Loud barks expelled from his mouth.

The door on the other side banged opened. "Ya ruddy dog, Fang. Wha' in the blazin' time are yeh up 'bout now?"

The figure made its way around the door and was by far the largest man Trowa had ever witnessed. He towered over them. He had to have been over eleven feet high and had a span two times as wide. Shaggy and tangled black hair rested down his shoulders, entangling with his thick beard. Two black eyes, through all that mass of hair, appeared like beetles. He wore a red worn button down, thick shirt tucked into elephant-like pants, all fastened by a belt buckle as large as a man's head.

His beady eyes squinted at the edge of the forest. "Firenze, is tha' yeh? Wha are ye doin' here? They're naw bullin' you at the colony, righ? Wait a minute, why are children wit yeh? They shoulda been on the train yesterday. I remember seein' them off that I did."

Something flashed across his black eyes, and he gave them a reproachful look. "Unless they been playin' in the forest? Did they get lost?"

"Good evening to you, Rubeus Hagrid," Firenze greeted.

Though his tone was muted, Trowa could sense a trace of humor coloring it, like Firenze was amused by Hagrid's questioning. Trowa furrowed his brow. Students must get lost often if Firenze knew of Hagrid's line of questioning. He idly wondered if the school, this Hogwarts, had lost children before.

"The heavens have foretold of a prophecy," continued Firenze. "The Children from the Stars have finally come, led by the alignment of the stars and planets Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, and the Sun, heralded by a flaming shooting star."

Hagrid cocked his head to the side. "Now wha' are you' are goin' on 'bout now, Firenze. A prophecy? Involving them?" Hagrid motioned his large hand to them.

Firenze merely smiled. "Tell Dumbledore the centaurs have foreseen a morphing darkness approaching, oozing across the land and continents. To counter this threat, there is an unknown force lost to history – and it's not just within the Boy-Who-Lived – that must be found and mastered. Get these boys to Dumbledore. They must be trained at once for what destiny awaits them."

Firenze turned to the Gundam pilots. "Now, I must leave you. We shall meet again, this the heavens have foretold, as our destinies have entwined, with you and my herd. Although I fear their resentment and antipathy will prove too rigid to break. We may be leaning on you more than you realize. I wish you well, but I do leave you with a word of advice."

Firenze moved closer and dipped his head to the five teenagers. His voice came out in a whisper, but it was loud and clear. "Do not look to the darkness for the answers but look within yourself. There are stars inside of us, burning with hope. Search for them and kindle their fire. Their light will guide your path."

Firenze gave them a small bow and then turned his blue eyes to Hagrid who looked quite bewildered. "A warning, Rubeus Hagrid. These children are new to magic. Please get them accustomed."

Without waiting for another word, Firenze trotted off into the darkness of the forest. Trowa looked to the giant of a man who gave them a surly if not skeptical look and then sagged, as if an anchor had pulled his shoulders. "Well, now, we best be gettin' ter the castle. I reckon Professor Dumbledore will wanna know 'bout this."

Hagrid then clapped his hands. "I guess we can be makin' some introductions. I'm Rubeus Hagrid, the Gamekeeper, the Keeper of Keys, and Care of Magical Creatures professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." Hagrid puffed his chest up with pride. It seemed to have its unintended effects of making him larger and wider.

"Wait! Wait a minute! Witches and wizards? They exist?" Duo exclaimed. "This can't be real," he complained into his hand.

Hagrid laughed a belly laughed. "Of course, they exist? Witches and wizards 'ave existed for ages. They're as real as the hand on yer face. You can give yeh self a slap to see if it's real or not, but I wouldn't recommend it. You might get a smartin'. Come on then. Let's getcha ter the castle. Hopefully, the professor be in his office. He is a busy man with the events linin' his schedule."

The large man turned and bounded forward, and the Gundam pilots, though reluctantly, followed. Hagrid took them up a long hill and there, at its crest, in the distance, was the silhouette sparkling in yellow beams of fire of a castle, gleaming under an ocean of stars.

"You see that!" Duo called, pointing. "Boy, whatta wonder! You don't often see this."

"Well, I'll be a son of a gun," Wufei commented. "I didn't think I'd see a medieval castle like this."

"Beautiful. The Earth never ceases to amaze me," Quatre said excitedly. "Such beauty in an enthralling landscape."

Quatre then laughed. "It's like I'm living in a fairytale."

Heero said nothing, but his eyes glowed with interest and awe, absorbing Hogwarts in its entirety.

Hagrid chuckled. "It never gets ol' now, does it? Dat would be ole Hogwarts." Hagrid then proceeded to bow. "Gentlemen, I welcome yeh to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. No better school fer learnin' magic than ol' Hogwarts. Many a witch and wizard 'ave passed through her gates and led incredible lives."

Hogwarts rose in the evening sky, an enormous, dark structure, atop a long, rocky, gray bluff. Its surrounding towers touched the sky, standing strong and sharp as if they could rise into the winking stars. Hundreds of its windows were aglow with yellow light. As large it was, it looked small in comparison to the surrounding mountains as a long valley embraced it.

Trowa could see the curtain wall and ramparts, its battlements streaming across its stoned front. Despite their age, the fortifications looked pristine and well kept. A considerable amount of preservation must have gone through to keep this centuries-old castle habitable. The mere size of it was simply enthralling to behold.

In his peripherals, he caught Hagrid giving them a fond look. A large smile had settled along his lips, moving his black beard. There was kindness, a genuine warmth in his eyes. He looked proud.

"Now, boys, lettus go meet the headmaster. There's no witch or wizard better than our headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, great man he is." Hagrid then led them to a giant circle of large stones. A redbrick gazebo settled at the edge of the stones, cozied below.

"This 'ere is the Hogwarts Stone Circle. Students come 'ere ter relax from their studies. Been 'ere since I was a kid, really," Hagrid explained. "Migh' be one of the oldes' spots 'ere at Hogwarts."

Trowa gave it a brief glance, but then the Time-Turner hummed against his leg. He gently brushed his fingers against his pocket, feeling it vibrate and turned his eyes back on the circle of stones. They were arranged in a way the sun caught light. The vestiges of day were barely lingering as the morphing and growing shadows extended their reach.

It reminded him of a –

"Sundial," he said the rest aloud quietly.

There was nothing remarkable about it as Trowa gazed at the stones, noting their worn and cracked surfaces. He let his eyes drift over to the grassy clearing inside and felt the Time-Turner twitch again. He started for the clearing when Quatre's voice called out to him.

"Trowa, come on!" Quatre waved.

The group was standing near the entrance of another gazebo that led to a long, derelict bridge constructed of aged wood beams. Changing direction, he quickened his pace to the group. Seeing Trowa catch up, Hagrid started across the bridge. Quatre sidled along his left, his voice coming in a whisper.

"Was there something that caught your eye, Trowa?"

Trowa gave another quick glance back at the sundial and then back to Quatre, his voice matching his tone. "A feeling. There was something there, though, I'm not too sure what it was. It felt like a pull, like something wanted me to go there, for whatever reason."

"Something there?" repeated Quatre.

Trowa nodded once and said no more. Whatever the pull was, he ruminated, it wanted him to investigate the sundial. Trowa suspected something there, something Time-Turner wanted to show, of a great value or consequence. How could he not be inclined to check it out when the very device buzzed affirmatively at his thoughts?

Trowa promised silently he would spare the sundial another check. Whatever magic there, called to him, called to the mystery of these ancient relics of old.

As he walked across the bridge, Trowa turned his head to look out the bridge, his feet continuing-on autopilot, dimly aware of the dips and curves of the wooden planks on the walkway. They were now over a ravine, walled by those long, green mountains and above a crowd of spritely, thick birch and oak trees bunched together like small gatherings. Stretching out, on the right-hand side, was the expanse of an enormous dark blue lake. Each step felt hollow and unsafe, but apparently, magic held it together. He inferred this by observation.

This rickety old thing would be in no condition for passage. Trowa was pretty sure without the aid of magic, the floor would cave from weight (Hagrid's weight especially), and he would topple down to his death. The trees would probably kill him first than the fall to the forest floor by impaling his chest.

Reaching the end of the bridge, they came upon a fairly large courtyard. Cut stone patterned the floor and circled around an intricate if not antique fountain filled with aquamarine-colored water. Four, large, carved, stone eagles were the fountain's silent guardians, chests puffed arrogantly as if they were filled with air, wings splayed intimidatingly to flap at offenders, and sharp beaks poised in the air. In the corners, and up the walls, crawled vibrant green vines and ivy that snaked their way around the castle walls.

Duo walked near one eagle and bent down. "They're so life like. Look at the detail on those feathers on this thing! You can count every one of them. The design looks amazing!"

He went to touch the eagle, his fingers outstretched, when, as if sensing his action, the eagle's eye blinked and rebuffed his advance by swiping his hand with its wing. "Ow!" Duo cried, quickly bringing his hand to his chest. His other hand went to cradle and massage it as he threw a scowl at the statue.

"I'd not touch 'em if I were yeh. They don' like ter be touch, only fa gazin', neva touchin'," came Hagrid's warning.

"Should've said that before my curiosity got the best of me," grumbled Duo. "That whack hurt like hell."

Hagrid wore a half smile as he stood in front of what appeared to be a large clock tower. He put his large hand on the polished oak doors and pushed. The doors opened with a low groan. They traveled through the Clock Tower to another larger courtyard, and then moved through a corridor down inside the castle.

"Heero, is it me or are those portraits moving? Is it some kind of animation?" Duo asked.

Hanging on the walls, blanketing the stone bricks, were copious portraits. They were in large and small, wide and short frames. All of them were moving and talking. Their voices were in low whispers, but their voices traveled down their frames to his ears. Trowa laid eyes on one portrait of a woman in a Victorian dress actually leave her portrait and traveled to another, conversing with the lady of that frame who was gesticulating at them. They looked to have their own sentience and awareness. It was bizarre.

"Aniem- what now? Hagrid asked, looking down at them.

"Animation, like cartoons," Quatre clarified to the larger man. He pointed at a painting of a man lounging on a chaise, wearing striped night garments. The man was giving them a curious look as he yawned to himself.

Hagrid gave Quatre a bizarre look. "It's magic," Hagrid explained simply. "Magic makes 'em move, brings 'em to life. Advanced magic, it is. Nothin' like those Muggle talkin' boxes."

If magic could make pictures move, give them free will, Trowa wondered what other things can magic do. The thought of the Time-Turner passed by him, and if magic can give sentience like AI, what dangers could it produce? What wonders could it also produce?

As they moved down the corridor, a rushing green silhouette almost swept past them. The figure stopped and peered their way like a curious cat. Up close, it was an older woman with a stern-looking face. From head to toe, her dark green, emerald robe was immaculate as was the large, strange-looking pointed hat sitting on her head. Her black eyes narrowed through her squared spectacles, her stern face tightened, and she paced towards them.

"Hagrid, I thought you'd be in your hut at this time. However, I can see we have some visitors," the woman stated, eyes sharp and they flickered slowly on the teens. "If I recall, all students should have boarded the Hogwarts Express yesterday, making their way back to London. Where did these children come from?"

She said the last words with a hint of reproach, a reckoning of punishment dancing with a severe reprimand of breaking school rules. Trowa liked her immediately. She reminded him of Une, a no-nonsense type of person who did their job well. He liked blunt, ambitious people who knew what they wanted and were forthright yet displayed kindness and empathy when necessary.

"Deputy Headmistress and Professor Minerva McGonagall," said Hagrid, giving a short bow with his head. "I would be there, but a matta of urgence has called me to see Professor Dumbledore. These kids 'ere," he said, "were found in the Forbidden Forest. It was thanks to Firenze that they were able to make it out ter there."

"In the Forbidden Forest? What in Merlin's name were they doing there? What possessed them to be in there?" she exclaimed, her eyes now seeking theirs.

"That's what I wanna know, professor. Firenze all but said to take 'em ter Dumbledore. Somethin' to do with a sorta prophecy. Somethin' Dumbledore woulda understand 'cause I can't make a sickel out of it. But ter Firenze, it sounded extremely important to relay ter Dumbledore."

"A prophecy? I see," Professor McGonagall stated slowly though Trowa doubted that she did. Some adults wanted to appear in charge when things out of their control came to forefront. Perception of strength was more important than vulnerability.

"Who might you five be? Judging by your ages, I don't seem to recall your time going to Hogwarts, and I certainly know my students."

Duo spoke first with a large grin and wave at the stern woman who seemed to slightly deepen her frown. "I'm Duo Maxwell. I might run and hide, but I never tell a lie. That's me in a nutshell, lady."

An eyebrow slowly shot up McGonagall's face, but she curtly inclined her head. "It's Professor McGonagall, Mr. Maxwell. Charmed."

Quatre followed with a smile. "My name is Quatre Raberba Winner."

"Heero Yuy, pleasure."

"Wufei Chang."

"Trowa Barton."

"Now tha's out the way, is Professor Dumbledore 'ere or gone? Knowin' wha's goin' on with the Dementors and you-know-what happenin' next year, I expect the headmaster to be busy?" Hagrid asked, lowering his tone.

"You-know-what" was a silly way of describing something that should be hidden or not publicly acknowledged. It did give Trowa pause as what might these unknown things be, but regrettably, it held no consequence to him. The words Dementors, Trowa found, was interesting. He had no knowledge of these things, and it sifted through his mind like a boat without anchor or a mooring. When Hagrid said it, there was a deep tremor of fear in his serious tone, like the word or thing's presence still haunted him.

"I was just in a meeting with him, Hagrid. He's in his office." Professor McGonagall gave another look at the teenagers, sweeping them in her dark eyes. Her brow furrowed. She seemed to have something on her mind.

When she came to a decision, McGonagall said, "Well then, I'll come with you. I would like to hear myself how these boys arrived from the Forbidden Forest. To be found their alone," and her eyes dipped to their hands, "without wands. What sheer dumbfounded luck it was."

Encouraged by McGonagall's words, Hagrid smiled. "Pleasure to 'ave ya escortin' us, professor. Let's not waste time."

Gaining an extra member, McGonagall, as with practiced ease, took the lead of the group, her gait gracious and quick. Trowa realized she had increased their pace, from Hagrid's lumbering speed, to a more urgent and expedited one.

Soon, they found themselves in a dark corridor, lit by red, flickering, torch lights that illuminated and warmed gray stone walls and floors. Night had taken hold, and the shadows shifted with the flames like black dancing phantoms, flickering and swaying across the stone walls. Besides the stony silence, the sound of their shoes clicked off the hard floor surface like a slow-moving herd of animals.

At the end of the corridor, basking in the twin flame torchlight, was a large, bronze, sapient gargoyle of a griffin with curved wings the size of a grown man, cloaked against its body like a shield. As they grew closer, the griffin, whose shiny eyes were the size of a man's closed fists and reflected the orange flames of the torches, peered down on them. Trowa wondered idly, and half cautiously, if the griffin would move to hit them if they touched it like the stone eagle.

Replaying Duo getting whacked by a larger avian statute in his mind almost brought a smile to Trowa reserved expression.

They halted a foot away from it as McGonagall stood in its path, eyes fierce and bold. "Fiery Black Pepper Imps."

Trowa scrunched his brow. Fiery Black Pepper Imps? What was that? A code word? Duo echoed his thoughts aloud.

"What the hell is that?"

"Language, Mr. Maxwell. It is candy I find too hot for my taste and sensibilities," Professor McGonagall said sharply, giving Duo a look, eyes reprimanding, as the ugly gargoyle stood back, and a winding staircase took its place.

Duo simply shrugged good-naturedly, getting another hard stare from McGonagall. She would learn disciplining Duo would never truly go her way unless Duo wanted it too. That was, if he could stay out of trouble. Trowa chuckled inwardly. Unfortunately, trouble and Duo were almost synonymous with how well they worked together.

McGonagall raced up the stairs and Trowa after, crowding behind Quatre as they made their way up the hidden staircase. This day seemed almost surreal. Getting a magical tour in a castle with moving and animated portraits, to moving objects and gargoyles, it was like an enchanted fairytale by the Brothers Grimm.

They moved through a short corridor to a smaller oak door. McGonagall went and rapped the door three times. "Headmaster Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall and Hagrid with some… visitors would like to speak with you. It is an urgent matter."

A pause. Then, "Enter," came a deep, baritone voice.

The door opened by itself, and Trowa was barraged by a room filled with small wonders. It was a large and beautiful circular room, full of funny little noises and trinkets. Several curious silver instruments stood on spindle-legged tables, whirring and emitting little puffs of smoke. The walls were covered with portraits of old wizards and witches, all of whom were snoozing gently in their frames. There was also an enormous, claw-footed desk and, sitting on a shelf behind it, a shabby, tainted, black wizard's hat.

McGonagall led them up some smaller stairs to an office desk. Behind the desk, sat a wizened old man. He appeared thin, weary, and tall, dressed in ornate light blue robes with a tassel hat sitting on his head. He gazed at them from behind his half-moon spectacles, blue sparkling eyes full of appraisal and curiosity. Indeed, there was a lot of curiosity there behind his eyes as his thin lips slowly spread into a smile. Besides his hands was a newspaper, headlined: Dementors Leave Hogwarts! Criminal, Mass-Murderer Sirius Black Escapes Again!

But that wasn't the peculiar thing about the headline where the words "Dementors" and "Sirius Black" rang hollow like echoes thinning into nothing. What did not ring hollow, what came in waves of fright, was the date of said headline. Trowa felt a shiver roll down him, his heart slightly racing, heartbeats building closer to an impending, climatic realization. It was something he knew in his heart that something was not right with the date; it was unfathomable to think of.

The date was the same: June 18, –

A soft trill interrupted his thoughts, bringing a pleasing warmth to his soul. It was like a rush of warmth singing to him, filling him with hope. Trilling softly to the man's right, on a perch, was an exotic, black-billed bird with flaming red feathers. It moved its head on them, on him, its black eyes holding an intelligence Trowa likened to humans as it expressed the same curiosity as the old man. It trilled softly and something in Trowa rose. It was like being hit and embraced by a blanket of warmth.

Trowa eyed the peculiar bird before redirecting his gave to the old man.

Trowa watched the old man's eyes fall on his, felt something prick at the surface of his mind and then leave as Dumbledore's gaze went lower, landing on the Time-Turner. He held it there for a moment before passing his gaze on the rest and then towards McGonagall and Hagrid.

"Ah, Professor McGonagall, what brings you back to my office with Professor Hagrid in tow?" the headmaster asked quietly. "With children no less? I would think they'd be home by now. Although, I don't seem to recall these boys enrolling at Hogwarts."

"A story I would like to find out as well, Professor Dumbledore. While I was on my way back to my office, I encountered Professor Hagrid with these five boys – Messrs. Duo Maxwell, Heero Yuy, Quatre Raberba Winner, and Trowa Barton," she introduced, waving her hand respectively to each person.

"I think Professor Hagrid can explain it from here." McGonagall gave a short nod to Hagrid and took a step back, joining the young men in the back.

"Good evenin', Professor Dumbledore," Hagrid started, taking a step forward. He preened his front. "I 'ope ya were havin' an eventful one, sir."

"A good evening it is, Professor Hagrid. Before we begin," Dumbledore ushered to a bowl of what looked to be candy inside with his hand, "would you care for some lemon pops? I feel candy can relax the nerves. The sweetness of lemons, and candy in general, was always a great pastime of mine."

Dumbledore chuckled lightly, giving a soft smile. "Oh, the wonders of simple joys in our life. We can take them for granted and become selfish or indifferent to their miracles like the inevitable rise and setting of the sun, but they do serve a purpose. Granted, we must take time to experience them."

Trowa blinked, perplexed and slightly stunned. Was this old man offering them candy like they were children? It was almost outrageous. He did not know whether to be intrigued or insulted. Dumbledore started at him, his electric blue eyes looking in askance.

"You're offering us candy?" Trowa asked, doubt expressed in his voice. Then, just as quickly, refusal. "I'm not interested."

Dumbledore nodded slowly, moving along to Heero, who quietly declined. Wufei rejected the offer with a wave of his hand. Quatre, a bit hesitant, thanked the headmaster and took one. When he finally landed on Duo, a large eager grin had settled on his lips, and he rushed to the bowl, much to Dumbledore's delight, only for his delight to jump in surprise as Duo grabbed not one but a handful of them.

"Mr. Maxwell, one should be more than enough," McGonagall chastised; her expression scandalized.

Duo barely gave her a look as he responded, "It's not every day we're given free sweets and besides, the headmaster didn't specify how many we could take. He should be more specific next time."

"Thanks a bunch, Headmaster D." Duo pushed them into his pocket except one, ignorant of McGonagall's scandalized and stricken look and Hagrid's amused smile. He unwrapped the plastic and plopped a pale-yellow pop into his mouth, content settling on his features as he let out a pleasant hum.

"Mr. Maxwell," McGonagall's chastised reply came. "The headmaster should be known by his title, not some shortened, risible, childish nickname."

"Sure thing, Professor M," Duo shrugged much to McGonagall's chagrin as her face grew sterner and she seemed to get taller.

"Professor Hagrid, please continue where Professor McGonagall left off," Dumbledore said, watching the byplay between Duo and McGonagall with amusement. He wore a polite smile as he clasped his hands on the table.

"Righ' away, professor. As yeh be knowin', I was in my hut wit Fang when I 'eard a disturbance comin' from the dog. He was barkin' his throat out. I thought it might've been a knifler gettin' too close to him or somethin'. It was when I left me house to find Firenze of all thin's there at the edge of the forest tha' took me by surprise. I thought his 'erd might've been bullyin' him again – cause yeh know things are goin' so well with the colony and his frequent arguments with 'em.

"I came to fin' out he was there with these five boys. He was talkin' somethin' about a prophecy from the stars, some centaur legend or somethin'. What did he say? Ah, yeah, the Chil'ren from the Stars 'ave arrived. "That is what he said. 'eralded by a flamin' shootin' star. Yeh know what he be talkin' 'bout, professor?"

"Children from the stars, heralded by a flaming shooting star… what prophesy is Firenze supposing Albus?" McGonagall asked, looking at Dumbledore, concern etched on her face. The word prophecy seemed to have troubled her greatly.

Trowa looked toward Dumbledore and frowned. As Hagrid was telling the story, Dumbledore seemed to grow more rigid. The twinkle in his blue eyes dimmed, and his clasped hands tightened, surfacing blue-green veins running and bulging across his wrinkled, pale hands. He was silent for a long time.

"Albus?"

It was McGonagall's voice that broke him from his trance, and he turned to Hagrid, eyes blazing. "A story I've heard once before from Firenze, decades ago. He was adamant then… and I stored it away. I'll have to revisit it in my pensieve. The Forbidden Forest… Hagrid, did you ascertain where exactly they were from before you brought them here?"

Hagrid looked to the side, looking sheepish. "Tha' kinda slipped me mind, professor."

Dumbledore nodded his head slowly and turned his gaze to the children. "Now, boys, how did you wind up in the Forbidden Forest?"

As if it was the simplest thing to say, Quatre answered, "We suffered a malfunction in space and crashed our space shuttle in the forest. We're lucky no one was hurt in the collision."

As if on the same thought, the three adults in the room, blinked owlishly, looked at each other, as befuddlement spread crossed their faces.

---

Albus Percival Wulferic Brian Dumbledore carefully eyed the children in front of him with closely guarded suspicion and a hint of curiosity. He had dealt with children for the majority of his adult life as a transfiguration teacher and then headmaster, and even at the tender age of one hundred and fourteen, he knew when children were lying or withholding the truth.

Their body language usually gave them away; they couldn't keep still or make simple eye contact. They'd also become a stuttering mess, if not, when pressured, confessed in a river of tears and sobs, blaming themselves, projecting, or misappropriating that blame and castigating someone else, remaining the consummate victim – which then devolved into a task of contact tracing where the original story began. Some of them even feigned interest or disassociated with the situation surrounding them.

The best ones were usually upfront and bold, making close eye contact, too relaxed in their confidence, thinking teachers were gullible beings – alas some of them were, even the best – and too trusting. There were others who hesitated, took their time to form a response, or were far too quick in their defense. The former were students that took time to cajole, but left with time on their own, they usually confessed.

Now, the five boys gathered in his office were around the same age, different in their complexity and countenance, and quite young, told an outlandish tale that piqued his interest. He hadn't heard something so ludicrous since talking with his friend Meryl Olsten and his melodrama over witches were secret mermaids who ventured out to sea during new moons. It was an awful and humorous take from such a brilliant old man. Albus thought the boy's tale so farfetched he would have laughed it off as an undertaking of a terrible joke or excuse to dismiss their trouble. But observing their appearances, he found them straight and honest.

There was absolute certainty in the blond boy's, Quatre's, tale that spoke with a tone of seriousness he had not seen from one so young in a while. None of the other four boys, when Quatre shared the tale, looked amused or by chance struggling to contain their hilarity. In fact, they were all in agreeance, eyes drilling into Albus that implied the situation was grave. Albus gave them another silent observation. He thought about using more passive legilimency, but he would wait. He needed more information.

Under scrutiny, they carried themselves like boys who have been through an ordeal. Children, he was reminded, of a time when war came to the island from the continent. He had to teach many of them who were dealing with air raids from Nazi Germany. Those were dark days where dark wizards and autocrats embraced a simple but resounding view of the world, and only darkness and bloodshed were the next steps to human degradation and entropy.

He trembled at the thought what they could have been through, but alas, he was getting far off from the situation at hand. Albus ordered his thoughts, and then let out an internal sigh. How was he to contextualize that these teenagers arrived here by crashing a space shuttle in the Forbidden Forest? They said those simple words as if they were talking about the day, about how the sky was blue, how the summer breeze shook the oak tree leaves. As if it was normal for teenagers knowing how to fly space shuttles.

How utterly remarkable, he thought, as he looked the other teens to see if they would show any indication of lying. Were the Muggles that advanced in technology that teenagers could travel into the fathomless depths of space? The last he remembered of a space shuttle was in 1986. Despite wizards and witches not being attuned with the current Muggle world, he had heard of the American space shuttle Challenger exploding into an inferno in the firmament, saw the shocking pictures that had captivated the Muggle world for weeks on end. It was a tragedy.

It was a significant moment on the contraptions and ambitions of Muggle engineers. Albus had taken these sciences to heart. To say teenagers were now flying after the space incident was amazing, and quite disbelieving as adult astronauts were the only ones, that he knew, went to space these days.

Albus bit down his amusement and then dismissed it. Pushing down the small smile that quivered at the end of his mouth, he said, "Let me get this straight: You suffered a malfunction in space and crashed your space shuttle into the Forbidden Forest?"

"Obviously," came Duo's sarcastic reply, rolling his eyes. He had crossed his arms, annoyance or impatience had settled in. "We were on our way to Luxembourg when there was a malfunction of some kind" – he looked to Trowa to explain further as he deferred to him with a simple, pointed nod. Trowa remained silent.

"What were you going to do in Luxembourg, if you don't mind me asking?" Albus questioned lightly. He decided to placate them, see what they would reveal.

The teens stared at each other, eyes speaking for themselves in a silent conversation. Trowa answered next. "We were invited by the widowed pacifist leader, Julia Noventa, to her estate in Sicily, Italy. Our plan was to land in Luxembourg, at their spaceport, and transfer from there through a local airline, but we encountered a problem in the troposphere where we passed our landing zone and had to commit to a forced landing on your… property?"

The Forbidden Forest his property? Albus chuckled. It was not the first he had heard the Forbidden Forest belonged to Hogwarts. The inhabitants living in the forest would have been more insulted if they were claimed as wizarding property, though the Ministry of Magic would love to hold that claim as they kept restricting land to some of its inhabitants while dumping more magical beasts that were not native to the forest. Albus imagined his old friend Felix Scamander would have been apocalyptic over the state of affairs of the Ministry.

"Oh!" Hagrid remarked. "Tha' was yeh?" He briefly looked at the children, astonishment flashing in his dark eyes, and then back to Albus. "There was large boom echoin' in da forest dis evenin', professors. I was in the middle cookin' some stew when I 'eard it. Righ' loud it was. I thought it migh' 'ave been the giants or trolls makin' a ruckus, choppin' down some trees or somethin'."

"Was there now, Hagrid?" Albus said while rubbing his beard. There's one grain of truth, but still missing many others in the bag.

"Tha's righ', professor," Hagrid acknowledged with a hearty shake of his head. "Practically scared all the birds away with tha' boomin' sound. It sounded almost like the roar of a fully grown dragon, tha' it did."

Albus declared there he would need to investigate it. It would be first thing of many to uncover this mystery. He had been at the Ministry of Magic at the time, making sure they rein their Dementors back to Azkaban, the wizarding prison. Their foul presence left a chill on him that he still hadn't quite recovered from.

"The Forbidden Forest, although Hogwarts's dark companion for centuries, is not our property, though we delve into it from time to time," Albus explained with a small nod of his head, now addressing the children. "Now, this pacifist leader, Julia Noventa, does she know what has happened?"

Trowa shook his head at his answer. "She does not. We haven't had the resources or ability to contact her. If we could, we would like to use your telephone devices. For some reason, we cannot use our cellphones. It just keeps glitching."

"Cellphones?" Hagrid asked, gripping his coat. "What in the bloody world are those things?"

Piercing green eyes darted on Hagrid. "Hagrid," chastised Minerva stiffly, "language, please."

"Me apologies, professor," Hagrid said with a small, embarrassed bow of his head.

Albus smiled inwardly. Minerva's sternness could lower the tallest mountain to a humble knoll. It kept the students in line and safe, copacetic, for the most part. Those even more adventurous and recalcitrant saw her sternness as a request than an order, which, as a result, found themselves with copious, creative detentions. Minerva was always one for creativity since he had taught her at Hogwarts in the 1900s.

There was a shift of attention, followed by puzzlement from the boys from Hagrid's answer. They looked bewildered, astonished that he was ignorant of a technological topic. Dumbledore, although mostly up to date with Muggle media, had not heard of this. It had been some months too since he perused a Muggle magazine.

Duo turned to Hagrid. His was face scrunched with disbelief. His hand raked through his bangs as he gave a scrutinizing look at Hagrid. "Ya can't be serious? Ya know, a cellphone, a handheld device you call people with. One of the most common things in the world."

When Hagrid continued to look puzzled, stroking his long black beard, Trowa reached into his pocket and pulled out the miraculous device the size of a large chocolate bar. It had a clear glass screen, with two buttons on the right, one on the left and one at the bottom. It was something he had never seen before, which stirred his curiosity even more.

"May I see the device," Albus asked kindly. Albus hoped he did not sound too eager. Being too eager might lead to suspicion.

Trowa shrugged and placed it in his hand. It was cool to the touch. Dumbledore peered at it from behind his half-mooned spectacles. Muggles, they always come up with fascinating technology every year, especially without the use of magic. Now, they had remote telephones they could take with them was simply fascinating. This might even beat out floo powder and the Patronus Charm, though they all have their specific uses.

Hagrid maneuvered his way forward, which meant the children had to maneuver around Hagrid as he bent over Albus's desk, beady black eyes squinting and narrowing at the object in his hands.

"Looks like a shiny piece of glass and metal to me," Hagrid said. "Never seen a phone tha' small before." Hagrid then stood back and made his way around Minerva and stood at her side.

"How fascinating," Dumbledore observed, rotating the phone in his hand. "This is used for communication for Muggles without wires or landlines?"

"Uh yeah," Duo said nervously, looking between Hagrid and Albus, unsure of what he was seeing. "Ya know it can, um, play music, video call a contact, take pictures, work as a GPS, act as a document. Whatever ya need it to be as long as it has enough memory space and a wireless network connection. It's essentially a small handheld computer."

"A small computer?" came Minerva. She then moved up to his desk to peer at it her. "I've seen one of those Muggle computers and their as large as Hagrid's head. I don't believe I've ever seen anything like this before, not even at the home of our Muggle-born students."

"You're using that term 'Muggle'. What does it exactly mean?" asked Wufei.

Albus moved his eyes from the phone in his hands to Wufei, smirking. "It simply means non-magical people. In absence of magic, they are deemed as Muggles or non-magic people. It's a word wizards and witches use to differentiate between those with magical abilities and those without. Similar to a squib who has minimal to no access to their magic, but a squib is usually born to a magical family, and thus has familial ties with magic and wizardkind."

Albus turned to Trowa, offering him his cellphone in his outstretched hand. "A truly remarkable invention I would like to see outside of Hogwarts as Hogwarts renders most electronic appliances inoperable. Magic and electricity have been fundamentally at odds with each other, short circuiting them in an instant," he chuckled at the last, remembering recent times where students had brought their own radios and these new audio devices called CD players and found, in their dismay, them to be useless at Hogwarts. Electronic appliances and devices required heavy charms to work in tandem with magic.

Quatre stepped forward, his expression one of shock. "You're kidding, right?" Quatre said. "Electronic devices won't work?"

Albus caught a shift of movement in the children. It was subtle but profound. They tensed, eyes narrowed and flickered, as if automatically to Trowa and his Time-Turner hanging down his front, and then landing back on Quatre. Uneasiness had slithered its way into them. Albus surmised whatever the Time-Turner did, it was responsible for why they were here. But the how remained, and he wanted that answered.

"The headmaster is not kidding, Mr. Winner. Electric devices, although they have their uses, will not properly function in or near a place strong in magic," answered Minerva, her tone taking one of a lecturing approach. "However, there are certain technology like specific cameras and radios and others that can be adapted to power on magic. It's up to the wizard or witch to charm the technology. It is a complicated process of enchantment but has lasting results should you find the need for it."

At Minerva's explanation, Quatre turned thoughtful. Albus watched him carefully. His eyes fell to the floor, flickering with emotion. It brought a sense of joy to Albus. Children, when handed new information, made it their own, combining old and new, and formulated an original response. A child's mind was one of kind, unrestricted by barriers from those who thought the impossible. Albus wondered what ideas were sprawling in the mind of the platinum blond-haired boy.

When a brief silence had fallen on the room was when Heero decided to broach it with a question.

"How does one have magical abilities?" Heero asked bluntly. "I'll admit until recently I am new to this whole concept of magic and myth being real. If one can be born without magic as you say, how does one have an ability to use magic?"

It was at this moment that the ground shook and his desk trembled from underneath his hands. Hagrid had just jumped in surprise. It was enough for the children and Minerva to distance themselves slightly, with Minerva elbowing Hagrid in the side. "Oh, tha's righ', I forgot to mention that Firenze did say they were new to magic."

Minerva sighed exasperatedly. She squeezed the bridge of her nose before giving a pointed look at Hagrid. "Hagrid, that would've been important to know at the beginning of our meeting."

Dumbledore stood. He decided to stretch his legs a bit and paced back and forth in front of his desk. It felt good in a way, despite all that was buzzing in his mind, to resume the role of a teacher. Albus, about to speak, tucked his hands behind his back and clasped them.

"A wonderful question, Mr. Yuy. How does one have magical abilities? It's a sought-after question magical theorists have pondered since the first of wizardkind. The origin of magic and it's abilities in humans. How is one magical? Where does magic come from? Is it an innate ability that we are all born with?

"Theorists like my dear friend, alchemist Nicholas Flamel and his wife Perenelle, have theorized it's in our cells, where magic is born and manifested. We all, including Muggles, according to theory, have innate magic. Some magic is dormant while others have it at such a low-level its impotent, for example, Muggles and some Squibs.

"Others have proposed, though wrongfully I might argue, that some people are born with innate magic through a sole magical ancestor and others without that ancestor siphon that energy away – it's a quite animated debate. It is also polemic depending on the debater's beliefs."

Albus gave a brief smile. "Those whose magic is strong enough manifests in early childhood development. Things like making things float, inexplicably causing mayhem by accident – what we call accidental magic – originate from our magic awakening."

This is where Albus peered at them carefully, locking eyes with each boy. It was definitive that they understand what magic was, for not knowing – and he quickly glanced at Trowa's Time-Turner – could render grave consequences the likes not seen since the sad fate of Eloise Mintumble, a young woman trapped and aged prematurely by time.

"Has there been any occurrence that would seem unnatural, that have happened by accident, or that you willed it to happen by desire. Things that you could not fully explain?" Albus asked slowly.

It was a standard question he had asked when he was tasked to collect new students who were new to magic, to see if they had magic. Silence reigned as the boys dove in thought. Then, one by one, heads bounced up, turning to Heero, and then to Trowa, the former who had a deep grimace on his face and the latter frightening still, impassiveness closing his expression.

"Yes," Heero said, but that was all he said, his blues eyes looking haunted and far away. It was in that stare that Albus found terror. Children, whose expressions were intimate with horror, suffered. He had seen those looks during the Muggle and wizarding wars, comforting children who have lost family members, relatives, and friends.

"Oh, yeah, I remember!" Duo called out to them. His energy could not be contained by the wretched and haunted atmosphere that fallen on them.

Duo moved to Quatre and swung an arm around his neck, looping it, while looking at Trowa. "Trowa, don't ya remember on Libra! I heard ya thoughts in space."

Trowa looked to side, thinking, then he smiled. "I remember that too, something about me not overdoing it, right?"

"Ha! Which you totally did," Duo said. "Leave ya on ya own enough and it's not a surprise things become more chaotic than they should be."

Quatre patted the arm wrapped around his neck. "I'm pretty perceptive, especially with feelings and machines. I remember feeling Heero's thoughts back on the moon. Who your heart was thinking of and the kindness you were given."

Quatre grinned at Heero. "Was I wrong?"

Heero, who had been attentive to Quatre's answer, gave a curt nod. "It's as you say," Heero answered, neither expanding nor denying.

"On the moon?" came a surprised Hagrid. "Blimey, wha' were ya doin' on ter moon if ya don' min me askin'? Never 'eard a tale tha' silly. The las' I 'eard of tha' was in the sixties."

Wufei frowned at Hagrid and then dismissed the question with a wave. "A tale as silly as being on the moon compared to real life magic… The irony. Regrettably" – and Wufei did not at all appear or sound apologetic – "It's of no concern of yours. I'm more interested in this castle, in this room. I can positively feel your magic like I am touching it. It's simply stunning how everything feels enhanced, like a force stimulating my senses."

His voice seemed to tremble in wonder as his dark eyes explored the room. Albus tried to follow the conversation but found he was at a lost as with his fellow staff members. The moon? He echoed Hagrid's confusion. Did they inhabit the moon? Albus wondered. Somehow, he felt giddy, as if a new energy had shaken his core. Were these children from the far future and in this future people lived in space? The possibilities seemed endless.

Dumbledore's eyes landed on the Time-Turner. The tale keeps getting far longer and wilder.

Dumbledore had to withhold a few words as he recalled Wufei's words. They were able to sense Hogwart's magic. Powerful wizards, through time, could sense magic – and they could sense magic was without wands at their young ages! Simply an astounding feat.

Is their magic manifesting without the use of wands? Has experience allowed them to access magic without the use of a wand or a conduit?

It was not unheard of those wizards without training had found new ways to exercise their control of magic. People were varied and their needs differed according to their circumstances and situation. One only needed the desire and will to manifest it to a particular outlet. It could be as a narrow as a river or as broad as an ocean.

"Experienced wizards and witches can sense one's or an object's magic. It is an uncanny ability not all are able to achieve or gifted. It would do well to refine those abilities when you are able, Mr. Chang, as this gift can breed more exceptional abilities," Albus said.

"Magic can often be passed down from family members," Albus lectured. "Do you know of any family members, perhaps a parent or related guardians, that were, by chance, magical?"

The result of this question took on a thoughtful and reflective silence. Albus spied the children thinking, but it rose questions in his mind. There lack of outright answers was powerful. It meant if they could recall having a living magical guardian or being present with magic. It also meant to see about any guardians or parental figures in their life.

Duo was the first to speak, sighing, and doing a light shuffle on his feet. "I wouldn't know. Never knew my parents, so I can't answer that one." He shrugged as if was just natural of him.

"The same," echoed Heero and Trowa respectively.

"My parents and guardians are dead," Wufei said simply.

"My mother died during childbirth, and I'm not too sure of my father before his passing," Quatre explained, eyes drifting to the ceiling as he grabbed his shoulder. There was an unmistakable heaviness in his voice. "We had our differences."

Albus blinked and felt his heart become heavy. He was dealing with children without parental figures. Orphans. It was another thing to add about their mythical background.

Albus nodded solemnly and said, "I see. Let's move on with this conversation, and as I love to talk matters of magic, we must reroute our conversation at the task at hand and your appearance from the Forbidden Forest. Now, your ship, does it remain in the forest?"

"Yeah," Duo said, now frowning. He looked uncomfortable as he turned a finger behind him. "It's northwest of Hagrid's hut. A two-hour-thirteen-kilometer walk, I'd say, and a good twenty-four-minute drive by vehicle."

Minerva gave a sharp look at Duo. "An acute calculation, Mr. Maxwell," Minerva stated primly. Despite the firmness in her voice, Albus knew Minerva was impressed.

Duo shrugged and then sighed when he turned to her, looking somewhat defeated. "It's a pretty gnarly sight. The crash, I mean. We were more than lucky to survive. Ya wanna see it?"

"Lucky is the operative word Duo, and it came at the right time," said Quatre, a frown on his face. "Now that we know magic exists," and he chanced a glance at Trowa, his eyes lowering to the Time-Turner –and oh, Albus connected the dots – "can affect electronics, it provides us with more wherewithal to act accordingly in the future."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Perhaps another time, Mr. Maxwell. The Forbidden Forest becomes dangerous to lurk at night, even for a wizard of my standing. Unless the need is urgent, it's best to wait till morning. Now, you said your ship malfunctioned, do you know how?"

Albus turned his gaze on the boys, but they focused on Trowa, or more pointedly, what was wrapped around his neck. The boy seemed to sigh and pulled off the Time-Turner. He held the gold chain loosely, as the Time-Turner gleaned under the lighting of his room, swaying side to side.

"Is that a… Albus… a Time-Turner? Where did you boys get ahold of this?" McGonagall gasped, almost faltering in her delivery of the question.

Looking unshocked, Trowa explained softly, "A wizard at my circus. Called himself Mauricio the Magician. Gave it to me after it started pulsing and whispering."

Albus tensed, his shoulders stiffening, and his blue eyes widening. "Whispering, you say?"

Albus drew closer to Trowa.

Trowa nodded solemnly. "The words were communicated in Latin."

Hagrid took a step back, face taking a mask of caution as his words came in a loud whisper, "Nothin' ever good be happenin' when magical objects talk. If they 'ave a mind of their own, then it's best to leave it be."

The room went still. "What was it saying?" Albus asked, breaking the silence.

"It talked about the shadows covering the Earth in darkness and the starting of time with the emergence of a shooting star. I am perplexed by its meaning."

"And when did it say this, Trowa?"

"While we were reentering the Earth's atmosphere," Trowa said. He started to tell them of the events that happened in space while their ship reentered the atmosphere, how gold energy pulsed out, freezing time. How their ship malfunctioned because of the effect of the Time-Turner's magic.

"It's why we're younger," Quatre said, rubbing at his elbow. "I noticed something off when I saw my reflection in the shuttle's side windows.

"Younger? You don't mean?" McGonagall asked frighteningly, and she received at nod from him.

"We were de-aged by a year," Wufei confirmed. "I'm glad I'm not the only one who had noticed."

Worry flashed in Wufei's dark eyes. He seemed to be aware of the danger of the Time-Turner if left unmanaged. They all did, which was good, but that did not explain why the Time-Turner was speaking. Something about this device felt wrong.

"I knew somethin' felt off," Duo complained. He touched and rubbed his face. "My pants felt a bit loose around the waist."

It was an intriguing tale that Albus found himself contemplating with concern. Time-Turners were not known to activate on their own and create a golden array of magic. Their known purpose was to send their host back in time by a few hours and minutes. If it by chance was malfunctioning or was not a real Time-Turner, this put the room and the people in it in jeopardy.

Another concerning thought niggled its way into Albus's mind, restless and deeply troubling. He wondered what possessed the Time-Turner to de-age its wearer and the people here. The danger it possessed could become stark if it fell into the wrong hands, and they managed to control it. A wearer de-aging themselves…

It spoke of immortality. A person could escape death, like the Sorcerer's Stone, like the ancient tale of the Deathly Hallows. Left unchecked or in an irresponsible person's hands, a person could, possibly, erase their own existence.

Albus thought it best to move with caution, less impatience and impulsiveness be his end. "If you would be so kind, may I have a look at the Time-Turner?"

"Albus, are you sure?" Minerva asked, her voice holding a small tremor. "Should we at least confirm this with the Unspeakables in the Department of Mystery? Their consultation might provide us the guidance before we do something drastic."

Albus relieved her with a gentle nod, though it did not take the fright from her eyes. "It's best we take care of this before something terrible happens."

Trowa seemed hesitant, or merely wary of him, and then held it up. Albus drew his wand and levitated it up and out of Trowa's fingers, holding it afloat to his face.

"Whoa! Is that a magical wand?" Duo called, eyes widening. He was about to rush to get a closer look when Quatre held him back, his arm pressing against Duo's budding enthusiasm.

Albus chuckled a little. It was always quite something to new magicals when they saw magic performed. Being spellbound was an understatement. Their joy and surprise were palpable.

"It is. It is merely an instrument, a conduit for wizards to transfer their magic into. You too will own a very wand of your own when you're ready to begin your magical learning," Albus said confidently as he let his eyes drift onto it.

With a subtle twist of his wrist, Albus rotated the Timer-Turner slowly. His gaze roamed over it, moving across its curves and nobs, hovering over the hourglass where a small dune of blue sand settled at the bottom. Not all Time-Turners were made the same. The Ministry ones had a… more standardized set, but often, those noncommissioned by Ministry, varied in their shapes and sizes, designs different by their creator.

On the surface, it looked like a regular Time-Turner until – What's this? He grabbed the Time-Turner by the chain and held it up to his face. There was a friction, like two different opposing forces pushing against it. It almost distorted the air. To an untrained wizard, this would have gone unnoticed, imperceptible. There seemed to be a strange and powerful transfiguration work applied to the Time-Turner.

Delicately, Albus lifted his wand and gave the Timer-Turner a gentle tap. The device then started shuddering as if shaking something off and then gold light spilled from its surface, shining and shining. Albus let go of the Time-Turner and covered his eyes. The Time-Turner's brilliance reached to blinding, almost like glare of a sun at its zenith. Then, as Albus turned his head to the side, the Time-Turner pulsed, creating a rumbled boom. From the boom came a blazing ring of fierce golden light exploding outward.

It barreled into Albus like a shockwave, taking him off his feet and slamming him into the ground. Albus's back hit the floor hard, the shock and pain came sharply. His long hair, now free from his hat, splashed across his face. Feeling his back clench and squirm in pain, Albus rose his head up from the ground fighting through it.

The pulse shattered the windows in his office into thousands of shards of cutting glass and blew over ancient magical trinkets, scattering them across the floor. He heard Fawkes shrill in terror as he bolted off his perch. He heard the screams and shouts of fright from the portraits on the walls. He heard the Sorting Hat bellow some harsh words as it impacted the ground.

Albus was lucky enough to retain a hold of his wand, and half rising from the floor, aimed his wand hand at the floating Time-Turner.

"What in the hell?" exclaimed Duo, punctuating the noise from the destruction, from somewhere on the ground.

The Time-Turner, or whatever it was, was now a condense ball of golden light. Its brilliance had lessened, but strobes of light lit the room as it revolved in a clockwise circle, reflecting off damaged surfaces, floors, and awed if not scared faces of the children, Minerva, and Hagrid. Something then happened, as Albus's free hand was on the ground. The floor rolled underneath him. It was as if the wards of Hogwarts trembled, as if it was reciprocating whatever the device's magic, connecting to it on a superior level far beyond his understanding of magic.

Ancient magic had awakened.

After a moment, Albus shakily stood up. He watched the children stand as well as Minerva and Hagrid gathered to their feet, Hagrid moving to the kids and placing himself in front of them, but it did little as they poked their heads and moved their bodies around the man to get a glimpse of the golden orb, making faces that portrayed their annoyance at Hagrid's altruistic behavior. Minerva, square glasses askew, primmed hair ruffled, stern expression twisted in concentration, had her wand trained on the golden sphere.

Albus saw the danger in her actions. Anger burned in him. Anger at himself for the endangerment of his friends and the children. I will not let them involve themselves in my folly for curiosity!

Quickly, he flicked his wand at them, moving them backwards.

"Do not get close," Albus warned, moving his wand with caution. "The device's magic is unstable, completely volatile. It seems I have disturbed something that had been left untouched for decades, perhaps centuries. Hagrid, Professor McGonagall – make sure the children get to safety if I cannot hold off its magic."

Albus saw them give their approval, and he turned to the device, about to cast an incantation when the the golden ball, as if sensing his thoughts, stopped rotating, its golden strobes falling still.

The golden strobes of lights then retreated into ball. They became swirling rings of light, moving like rushing water. Up and down, side to side, diagonally – they moved gracefully, splashing and shimmering as they touched each other, spilling golden like-embers that faded when it strayed too far from the orb. It was arcane magic Albus had never seen since the 1940s, since his duel with Gellert. It was the magic of dreams.

In an instant, simultaneously, the liquid light moved from the orb into the floor and up into the ceiling. It struck with such force the floor quaked and the ceiling shook. Again, the floor shifted and curved on itself like waves, rolling underneath his feet and hitting the wall, and rolling up the walls, knocking portraits and shelves down. It reached the ceiling and moved to the light, absorbing the motion.

The light then stretched out, moving like golden cracks along the floor and ceiling. They ran under Albus, the staff, and the children; and ran above them, leaking whisps of golden light.

Albus braced himself, watching his office seemingly be destroyed by foreign magic. Using his wand, he sent a spell to contain the light. As if again sensing him, the light, like a sentient being, intercepted the spell, and dissolved it. Albus did it again and found the attack repeated, dissolving like mist.

Frustrated, Albus turned to Hagrid and Professor McGonagall, warning them amid the humming of the light, "Get the children out of here! You need to leave! GO!"

The golden orb glowed. Albus's warning proved for naught. "Professor Dumbledore!" Hagrid yelled. "The door's not there!"

"What?" uttered Albus, flabbergasted, turning to towards the door. But there was no door.

The door leading to the staircase had shifted; its wooden frame had morphed into the stone wall.

"Move over, Hagrid, and shield the students!" Professor McGonagall shouted, her pale arm flashing through her robed sleeve, wand gripped tightly, waving through the air. Hagrid, using his large arms like rope barriers, edged the children away from Minerva.

Albus watched the wand movement and knew it was a Bombarda Maxima, a powerful one at that, knowing Professor McGonagall's strength. Professor McGonagall unleashed the spell and it crashed into a flurry of sparks as it hit the wall. Stunned, Professor McGonagall turned to Albus, her green eyes mirroring his fear, lips about to speak words he was not too sure he could respond, when the cracks of light changed.

A luminescent, blue energy emerged inside the golden orb, growing larger until it eclipsed the golden light and stretched up and down into the floor and ceiling, infiltrating the cracks, oozing through them like slush through pipes. The blue cracks started to blend, floor and ceiling respectively, changing into a familiar runic symbol that struck at his Albus's core. Shivers crawled up and down his spine as the cracks of light formed a seal. He had seen this symbol before.

"I-I know this symbol. The Heroic Guild," he uttered in awe while his eyes traced the seal.

It started at the center, forming a five-pointed star inside a circle, pointing north, south, east, and west. At the points, blooming outwards, were five wings. Each wing rippled feathers of blue energy aimed at the center circle. The room dimmed to darkness, only the gold and blue energy lit the room.

"What is this?" Duo gasped. "What's happening?!"

"I don't know," replied Quatre, echoing his fear. "You're guess is as good as mine."

Albus turned to him and then froze, eyes widening. He could feel his blood freeze, and he could not keep the shock from his face. Duo, Heero, Wufei, Trowa, and Quatre were aglow in blue energy. It swirled and fluttered around them, running along their arms and legs and bodies like fluttering ribbons.

Duo tried to shake it off with his hand, waving it up and down. He then switched to his right leg, shaking it like trying to rid water. It was Trowa's hand who stayed him, green eyes calm and face thoughtful.

"Stop. It's not working, and I doubt whatever this is" – Trowa nodded at the swirling energy along his fingers – "will allow us to leave. It seems to have a motive, a purpose."

"He's right. Let's wait to see what happens," Heero said moving toward Duo. He stopped a breath away from him and looked at the orb, just as contemplative as Trowa.

"See what happens, the man says. You say that like it's not gonna kill us," Duo complained with a grimace. "We've already look younger. What – next its gonna steal our souls? I mean if it comes to that, its gonna suck so bad."

"It's best we stay calm," Trowa reassured. "No need provoking an incident that could result in our deaths."

"He's right," echoed Wufei. "We have to keep calm. We don't have anything to fight against it. This magic is seeking a purpose as I sense no ill intent so far."

Albus scrunched his face, feeling confusion bubble up. "Ill-intent? What do you mean, Mr. Chang?"

Wufei, keeping one eye on the orb and other on Albus, replied, "Whatever this magic is, I don't think it means us harm, rather…" and he narrowed his eyes on the orb, "I believe it is evaluating us, searching for something."

"My word, Albus!" Professor McGonagall gasped, "What are we to do?"

"There has ter be somethin' we can do, professor? By ter look er things, this magic doesn't seem ter be evaluatin' us. In fact, we could be the safes' ones in the room compared to the lads."

Hagrid made an excellent point. The blue energy had skipped over them, in its picking for far younger blood. And it seemed to want to contain them, hold them hostage. The question that ruled his mind was: What for? What did this magic want, and why would the Heroic Guild seal appear?

What was this fake Time-Turner device after? What was the motive of this magic and the Heroic Guild seal, a legend as old as Hogwarts herself? Thoughts of the arcane tore through his mind, but before he could decipher them, to discern the meaning of this magic, the pillar of blue energy rippled.

A voice boomed from the orb, echoing throughout the room. "And so, our story begins…"

It was feminine voice, with a hard razor edge as sharp as a glinting knife, tinged with age like the speaker had lived for a century, almost like Albus's. It was weary, proud, and earnest at the same time. It held power, ancient power that made the fine hairs on his arms stand and caused his heartbeat to race.

"Grim times are approaching again, dressed in shadows, watching with bated breath and patient murderous crimson eyes, lurking in the blackest of hearts and souls, all waiting to cover the earth in darkness," the voice spoke, tinged with discretion. "Grim times where magic will be tested and contested, where murderers drown innocents in oceans of blood, where obsession and desire stoke the ambitions of the greedy and desperate, filling their hearts with blood-painted riches. A time where might makes right, and malice and tyranny, its chief operators, throw the world asunder.

"A time of chaos and fear drenched in the tears and wails of despair."

The voice paused for a moment, letting their words sink in. To Albus, it reminded him of prophecy, of portending doom. He gripped the handle of his wand harder, tightening his fingers until they dug and buried into his palm. To be caught in a prophecy meant fate had written and ratified new laws on the mortal world, contracting mortals with specific terms of destiny. It never bolded well for the parties involved.

"Is this the future you speak of?" Albus asked. He waited for her answer quietly, feeling his heart race impatiently, his blood pounding against his skin.

"A future… one of possibilities… if the world does nothing but retreat into fear, inured by the seeds of sorrow and despair. If it lets the shadows spread and slither and forms its noose around innocence, then we shall perish by its sword. Death is what awaits, armed with terror and apathy. Apathy is their sword that will cleave hope and behead passion, that encourages suffering, and imprisons liberty. To do nothing is to perish into oblivion.

But…" and the voice had a lilt, like a cautionary hope, moving through it. "With grim times comes pillars of hope. The hope of magic brightening the world once more, like times of old, sealing it forever."

"Like the Heroic Age," interrupted Albus as faces shifted towards him. "The Era of Shadows."

Albus felt the voice smile in its reply. "Oh. Albus Percival Wulferic Brian Dumbledore, the presiding headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. So, you have heard of the Era of Shadows?"

"You know of me?"

"Hogwarts has told me much of you. She speaks very highly of you, this castle. Please continue, Headmaster Dumbledore."

Albus nodded grimly. "An era where the Shadows stretched across the world, killing in their bloody conquests. They came from wells of darkness, siphoning off evil in man's heart. They were only hemmed by the Heroic Guild, who, through battle, defeated them."

"Defeat them? No. Sealed them away, yes… for a time. However, that time is slipping with each moment like falling grains of sand – and the world still needs her heroes."

Something in Albus cracked as he felt a pit of terror crawl in his belly. He slowly turned his gaze on the five children, their bodies enmeshed in blue energy. "You don't mean… Y-you can't mean them?" he whispered. "They're not of age. They're just children! You mustn't!"

"Blood finds blood, Albus, and these children are not who they seem to be on the surface. Destiny has declared these children to face my trials. If we deem them worthy of Hogwarts's secrets, of becoming heroes, the Chamber of Destiny shall open once more, and Hogwarts shall give shelter to those who prove themselves worthy of her gifts. She will once again birth new, storied tales of hallowed heroes. If they fail our trials, then they shall die, and the world will fall into a long, cold, dark night."

"Is that why you brought us here? Why you called to me? For these silly trials of worthiness?" Trowa asked, disdain laced in his voice.

"And here I thought our scraps with death were over," Duo droned. "Just great. Why dontcha get it over with."

The pillar of energy rippled as if it was amused. "Trowa Barton, on March 13, in that fated hangar, you made that bloody choice. On April 6, you implemented that choice. All of you implemented that choice, on the eve of war, to be shooting stars of rebellion. It cost you everything. Would you be willing to let millions, if not billions, perish because you refused to go ahead with your path?"

Stunned surprise flickered on Trowa's face, erasing his disdain. He was not the only child stunned by the orb's words, and Albus tried to follow along the conversation. What rebellion had happened in the past, or was it the future? These were questions that he should not be asking, for the future, when known, could alter the past. But there was no mistaking this: crisis had roped these boys into fated destinies.

"How did you know?" Trowa asked.

Again, the pillar of energy rippled. "Space and time and memories all exist within me. From your darkest secrets to your vaunted dreams, I know you inside and out, what compels you and what stays you. Until you have no need of me, I am bound to you. We made our fated contract when we became a shooting star."

Whether in surprise or anger, Trowa narrowed his eyes. The voice continued. "I will be your guide for what awaits. When it's time, I will come to you and see if you are worthy of Hogwarts's secrets.

"The future is never set in stone, so march on Children from the Stars. March on and light the skies on fire."

A burst of light so bright overtook Albus's sight and then he saw himself falling, falling, and failing into pitch-black. When he hit the ground, Albus's eyes immediately shot opened, finding himself on the ground, face down, his cheek pressed against the cold stone, in the dark. With his hands, he scoured the floor, groping empty space until he felt the coolness of his wand in his grip. He dragged himself up, and lit a Lumos Maxima, brightening the room in light.

Before him, he found the children, splayed across the floor, on top of each other like sandbags. Hagrid and McGonagall were behind them unconscious. At first, he thought them dead, his breath caught in his throat, until he saw the slow heaves of their chests rise and fall. He let out a sigh of relief. Albus then looked for the orb, searching the room through its destruction. When his eyes found the boys, they lit up in shock.

Clutched in Trowa's hand was the Time-Turner, only it was not in its previous form. It had changed shape, revealing what was underneath the enchantments and transfiguration. It was a small, golden ball the size of a snitch. At its center was the hourglass with blue grain trickling down.