By: Takara R. M.

Summary: A letter addressed to Professor Dumbledore claims that Mr. Harry Potter was placed in the wrong House. With only one year left, a very bored Harry gets sorted into a new House.

Author's Note: Here it is! All FOURTEEN pages of it. Yup.. that's right! A nice loooooooooooooong chapter! Sorry if there is any mistakes... it was a hard chapter to beta!

Disclaimer: No, I do not own the characters… they belong to the lovely JKR. :smiles:

Genres: Romance, Humor, Drama, Supernatural, Action/Adventure, Suspense, Who Knows, Fluff, Smut, Hurt/Comfort

Rating: Death Sentence(NC-17) Censored for Rated for later chapters.

WARNINGS: Sexual Content, Violence, Adult Language, Character Death, Dangerous Muse, Slowly click away..., Suicide, Any, Major Fluff; This fic is rated: MA. other known as NC-17! If you are not of age... then DO NOT READ! (rated for later chapters)

Chapter Nine: Mothers & Prophecies

The birds were singing, the sun was yawning, little furry creatures played out on the grass, and all that could be heard in the seventh year guys' dormitory was the loud noise of one Ronald Elizabeth Weasley as he snored the late morning away.

The rest of the seventh year male population of Gryffindor was already gone and finishing up their breakfast. It was a beautiful Saturday morning and they all had plans they wanted to get under way.

Hermione followed the sound of Ron like a beacon to him down the hallway and found his door ajar. Once inside, Hermione smirked mischievously and with the flick of her wand, Ron found himself soaked with ice cold water.


Hermione giggled. This was too funny! Ron was sitting on the floor pouting and trying unsuccessfully to curse at the same time while rubbing the large bump on his head from his sprawled position on the hard stone floor.

"Bloody – hurts – sleeping – cold –"

"Come on Ron! It time to get up."

Ron turned his head to look at the bushy haired girl standing innocently in his doorway, grinning like a goldfish. Hermione watched as his eyes darkened in understanding and comprehension. Ron thrust an accusing finger at his girlfriend.

"It was you!" his voice was low and held the promise of vengeance.

Hermione shrugged off the ominous air surrounding her as it radiated off her boyfriend and flick her wrist toward his wardrobe.

"Here, let me help you."

A set of robs went flying into a still very soaking Ron.

"Oh! You're still wet!" Hermione pouted, her mind torn from wanting to leave Ron suffering under all that cold water, letting the clean robs soak it up, and performing a spell to dry him up and thus save the robes. What to do!

"Oh fine!"

Ron snapped his head to look at Hermione with a confused expression. I'm dry? But why? He kept staring at her waiting for an answer to his silent question.

"Why are you just sitting there like that? Get up!" Hermione turned her back on the dry, yet still cold and in pain red head, and slammed the door behind her. It's not worth it to ruin prefect good robes.

Hermione let her body fall onto a massive bed. I see that the house elves have already been here. Next to her head laid a beautiful purple bud, one of many she had received this past week. Every morning a house elf comes in and cleans up the girls' private rooms and for Hermione, well, she had a suspicion that one house elf had a crush on her. Why else would he always leave flower bud for her to find.

Hermione twirled the stem of the bud between her fingers. Why buds?

Each and every single one was a bud. Not only that, but even after a week, none of them bloomed. They stayed in perfect living form.

Hermione mentally pushed the unimportant topic from her mind and forced her comfortable body to stand up and move to her window. She had magically secured a vase full of its own never ending water supply to the outside frame where she kept the gifts. Adding the newest one, Hermione flipped in her mind to thinking about Harry.

From what she had seen, her friend was doing alright. He was talking more and smiling and even laughing. Ever since the war ended, she had been hard pressed to find some way to help him satisfy his thirst for action, meaning, a goal to achieve of some sort.

The problem was that every challenge she set forth to him he accomplished with little effort and most of the time, found the tasks themselves to be of a boring nature.

Now Harry was in Slytherin. It was a completely new change for him and although she was happy for him, Hermione had a gut felling that something was about to go terribly wrong. She had no idea what it could be… but she new that something was going to happen.



Ron passed back and forth across the common room. He had promised to spend the day in the library with Hermione and he wasn't about to back it. The know-it-all was always more willing to help him with his work when he agreed to do it in "reasonable time from when it was assigned".

But even though he was ready to face the enemy, she wasn't there to offer her knowledge. Ron looked toward the small table near the dead hearth. Still there and she never leaves without them! The girl's books sat neatly on the table with the rest of her homework supplies just waiting to go to the library.


Ron flopped down in a chair and mentally cursed who ever thought of the idea to allow the girls into the boys dormitory, but not let the boys enter the girls. It was fair! Why did the girls have so much… power? Why did they get the special privileges?

"Let's go."

Ron did not notice the small raven haired girl, nor her companion until now. A slightly older girl was beckoning her to move. When she turned, Ron got a perfect view of her oddly amethyst eyes full of sorrow.

"Come on, Lye. We need to go before she summons us again"

Lye turned and fled the room, trying to get away from the older boy who so resembled her. A shudder violently quaked down her spine and went un-witnessed by the Weasley. A shadow lingered at the top of the girl's stairs watching the two girls escape.

A punishment is in order.

Hermione made her way down the staircase, shivering when she passed the top.

"What are you looking at?"

"Those two girls," was Ron's reply, his eyes never leaving the hole in the wall.

"What girls?" Hermione took a deep breath.

"Two little ones… looked to be first years." Ron tilted his head thoughtfully. "I think one of them was scared of me. They did take off in a hurry."

Hermione laid a gentle hand on Ron's shoulder. "I'm sure you just surprised her."

Ron shook his head. "No. She was definitely afraid."

She scrunched her brows in concern. Why won't he just let this go? It's not like him to hang on to something like this.

"Well, be that as it may be, we need to get going." Hermione picked up her books and started heading toward the exit. When she was almost there, she turned back to look at Ron. Now she was really worried.

Ron stood there watching as Hermione walked into his line of vision, stop, and turned around. Then his mind decided that it wanted to over lap Hermione's face with that of the little girl. The frightened look from the girl on Hermione's face was permanently etched into his memory.


"What? Oh! Yes. Coming!"

Hermione felt something clutch her heart. The look on this face was that of a shattered soul. Did her reaction really mean that much to him? Hermione pushed the thoughts to the side to think about later. She wanted to be alone when if she was going to think about Ron being with another girl.

Harry stretched out his body. He had skipped breakfast again and opted for a yummy morning smoothly that Winky delivered to his rooms. The house elf seemed to love doing special favors for him and did not care that he was now in Slytherin.

He through his sweaty clothes into a basket in the bathroom and proceeded to prepare a shower. His muscles ached and his skin screamed for the cold salvation the shower had to offer.

Harry paused to glance over his image in the full length mirror. Hm. Looks like my morning jaunts have been working their magic. I don't look too scrawny anymore.

With a soft laugh, the evenly built boy stepped into the Artic shower, blissfully allowing the pressure of the water bullets to pierce through the tension in his taut back.

Harry lifted his head slightly and caught sight of the ominously locked door. One of these days I will open you and figure out your secrets. I good at finding secrets in all shapes and sizes.

"Isidore! Watch where you're going!"

"Sorry mother," a young teenager answered.

The woman smiled warmly in forgiveness. "Make sure you remember to be aware of everything around you all the time." She paused to give him a wink. "What would your father say?"

Isidore's eyes quickly became large pools of pleading. "You're not going to tell him, are you?"

Musical notes filled the air with her laugh. "No. Just make sure never to bump into your father. He doesn't want to think that all the training you have done so far is going to waste."

"I'll watch myself!"



"Now, now. It's not that bad."

"What do you mean? He hates me now!"

The woman embrace the young man of his early twenties.

"And how do you know he hates you? Do you ask? Did he tell you?"

He shook his head. "He doesn't have too!"

She cooed as his eyes unleashed a waterfall of tears and did not speak again until he had calmed down a bit.

"What did your training teach you about assuming situations?"

"Never assume any situation no matter what. It will always end up being wrong and most likely get you killed," he replied in an automated voice closely resembling his father's.

"So why are you crying again?"

The man look sniffled. "I assumed that Malak hated me because I told him my feelings." He gave a small snort. "Does my training extend to issues of personal matter, mother?"

"Yes, my dear Isidore. You training extends to every part of you and every aspect of your life."

"Thank you."




The woman flung herself into her son's strong arms.

"Your father –" But she could not get the words out. Her tears burned down her cheeks and strangled her throat, preventing her from speaking. It was the only time he had ever seen her this distraught.

"I know, I know," he whispered into her ear.

"Lady Atiya," a deep soothing voice called from behind her son. "I hate to bring this up now, but we must move out for the war."

Queen Atiya held on to her son more tightly.

"Malak is right, mother. We need to go." He took a deep breath, savoring her sent. "I need to go."

Reluctantly, she slowly let him go. It tore her heart to watch him leave for battle after just loosing her husband. But she knew he had to go.


"Yes, Lady Atiya?"

She sent him a sad smile. "Lady Atiya?" she questioned.

"Mother Atiya."

"Better." He watched her smile transform. "Make sure you protect my son out there, Malak. He is my last living treasure and I don't want to lose him too."

Malak tried to keep the emotions he felt hidden under a mask of seriousness, but felt as if she was able to look right through his mask without hindrance. "I would give up my heritage to save his life. I am his guardian and with him gone I would have nothing left to tie my soul to the land of the living."

Isidore placed a hand on Malak's shoulder to offer comfort not realizing the capacity of such words. Atiya looked between them and nodded her head.

"You better do what you can to come back as well. I want both of my sons to come home to me."


"Yes. You are my son as well."

"I will do everything I within my powers to make sure we both return," Malak fought to keep the tears that threatened to over take in at bay. "Mother."


Atiya watched her son in consuming sorrow. Ever since that moment when he came back to her, he had never been the same. He just sat there and stared off, lost in his mind, and barely spoke to anyone.

'So many deaths. So much lost.'

Looking at her son, she made a promise. He will get a chance to know happiness! And she would make sure of it.

Draco shot up in his chair breathing hard. He could have sworn he just had a vision, but no memory or lingering traces of it could he find.

The Prince of Slytherin blinked and looked down at the book flipped open on the desk before him. That's right. He was doing his homework.

Where were you!

What do you mean?

What just happened?

I do not understand what you are asking?

We were talking and then there was complete darkness and when I tried to reach you all I got was emptiness.


Draco drew out a parchment from a hidden drawer and in his neat, elegant penmanship, wrote out the events which just happened.

A vision? And you do not remember anything about it?

That is what I wrote.

How odd.

Draco agreed and quickly added a name to the parchment before stowing it away again.

Should the name Atiya mean anything to me?

Atiya? Why do you ask?

I do not know. It's just there, in my mind.

I do not think you must worry about a name popping into your head.

And Ylva? What of that name?

Ylva… that sounds familiar.

So I have heard it somewhere before.

It is a possibility.

Draco took his quill and refreshed its ink.

I need to finish this work.

In another room in the Slytherin dormitory, Harry finished a new painting. He wanted to work on his sculpture, but the canvas called to him, the paints pleaded, the brushed demanded, and his hands responded.

Now he stood before a beautiful painting of a woman who resembled his late mother, but with differences.

First was the sense of sorrow about her. She stood proud, but her eyes reflected wisdom and suffering. The green of her eyes where cast off to the side of the painting, as if looking to someone. Her hands looked frail and her skin much too pale. Lastly, she stood by a large window with little glowing green specks just outside. It was night in the picture, so there was not much of a landscape. Stone walls with a tapestry just behind her and as well as a marbled floor made up the rest of the picture.

Harry leaned in to see the name he painted at the bottom.

Atiya Malaika

Later that afternoon, Ginny withered in pain as she curled up in a ball on her bed.

Do as I say!

I love Harry.

The prince! You love the prince!

Ginny whimpered and was punished with a ripping sensation down her spine.

A nock at the door ceased the rest of the pain that would have come.

Answer it.

Ginny carefully left her bed and to the door. Upon opening it, she was greeted with a small dark head of beautiful straight hair.

"Lye, you are late."

"I-I'm s-sorry."

"Come in."

Lye trembled as she entered the older girl's rooms. Fear completely radiated fro her.


Ginny was not ready for the sudden surge of power in her and soon only knew darkness.

Now, that's better.

"Lye, girl, follow me."

Hermione had been keeping an eye on Ron all day. Something was wrong, she knew that for sure. At lunch, he asked her to help him look for the girl and Hermione found her sitting at the far end of the table by herself.

Ron hardly touched his food then. And at dinner, he did not eat at all when neither of them could find her. Something was up and she was going to figure it out.

"Sorceress Ylva!"

The young, powerful sorceress tipped her head faintly in acknowledgement to the ruling woman gliding with purpose into her dark chambers.

"I need a favor."

Ylva tilted her head in curious surprise.

"You never wanted nor needed a favor from a touched one before. What could you possibly need of one now?"

Atiya bowed her head in sorrow. Ylva noticed the trembling in the elder woman's clutched fists and slim body.

"I will not bring back the dead."

"Nor would I ask you too. The dead should remain as they are, dead."

"Then what is this favor?" Ylva gestured in an invitation to sit and Atiya suddenly found that their was a large cushion on the floor behind her. "Have a seat."

When both woman where seated and Ylva conjured fresh water for them to drink, Atiya found strength enough for her voice to speak.

"I want a prophecy."

"Are you sure?" Ylva was stunned beyond belief.

"Yes. I want my sons to be reborn. No, I want everyone involved in this war to be reborn."

"Including Hasan Ceallach?"

"Yes. I want everyone to live again."

Ylva twirled the glass in mid air with a simple twist of her wrist.

"Be careful, Atiya, for although I can create a prophecy, I cannot control it essence nor its outcome."

The queen straightened her back.

"That is a risk I am going to have to take."

"As you wish."

The area before them vanished and a large hole in the ground appeared in its place full of pitch black liquid that moved freely as is if it were alive.

"I will need a few things from you in return."

"I am prepared." Atiya fished out a small, delicate pouch from within her many fine robes. "This should be more than enough."

Ylva went through the contents.

"You came very prepared. I thank you."

The sorceress scooped out some of the liquid in a dark blood red bowl. She carefully added a clear, salty substance from a small jar with a few stands of sliver hair.

"How do you manage to procure these?"

"They were gifts given during his first few weeks here."

"I understand."

Next she added the thick red substance within another small jar.

"And this?"

"From Isidore's wounds when he returned from the war," Atiya replied.

"I had believed he was unharmed, or rather, that he had been completely healed."

Atiya sighed, watching the young woman before add the last substance.

"Not mentally."

"I understand."

Ylva fought her mind to concentrate on the ritual at hand, but her thoughts kept leading back to what Queen Atiya had just told her. 'Isidore, brother, you could have come to me. I would have listened to your sorrows and I would have helped you. Why turn to such actions.'


The musical voice brought Ylva from her thoughts.


"What is left to do?"

The young sorceress brought the bowl to her lips.

"To drink."

The mixture had no taste, not that she had much time to think about it for when it first touched her tongue, all Ylva could think about was the powerful wild magic and the flashed of images that belonged not to her.

A young boy stood next to his father and she could feel his contempt eyes gore into her; then the same man arguing with her before turning his back on her; the boy from earlier sneering down at her; a group of people throwing rocks at her; pain of rejection, pain of youth.

Tears streamed down her beautiful features as the images kept going.

Wings appeared on her peripheral vision and the pain of them tore through her back; loneliness as she waked by others with their wings displayed proudly; a woman rocking her to sleep with a heavenly song; the feeling of wholeness with just a glance at a little prince riding a horse; the feeling of fear while standing in the presence of the royal family; the joy, happiness, completeness of waking up with the prince in her arms.

Ylva gasped for breath as the visions turned dark.

The sharp, overwhelming pain while watching the prince die; absolute emptiness when holding his limp body in her arms; the face of that man as he grants her plea, his eyes finally filled with love and guilt; the feelings of confusion and incompleteness when looking around the small clearing she stood within; shocking pain, eyes filled with hatred, a sword sheathed within her chest, and the killer's words ringing in her ears: "Die, Guardian!".

Queen Atiya watched as the sorceress clutched her chest in agony. She was just about to reach out to her when words in another language left Ylva's perfect lips.

Ylva could feel the supremacy of the wild magic within her. The tears and hair of an angel brought more power into the mixture than she thought it would. The world of darkness ensnared her and protected her from the other visions threatening to posses her.

"Child, why are you here?"

She opened her eyes to find herself in her chambers, all alone, and clean of any evidence that the queen had been there.

"Who am I speaking to? You are not the Mother."

The voice chuckled dryly.

"I am not her, but I am her son."

'Explains the deep voice.' Ylva tensed suddenly.

"Where I am?"

"You are in your own rooms. Can you not see this?"

"These are not my rooms. This is an illusion. Where am I?"

The darkness returned.

"Very well." The shadows molded into different creatures and beings. Some became bits of light and sparks. Each was completely unusual and unique. "You are within the essence of wild magic."

"Will you grant my summon?"

"And that is?"

"A prophecy."

A random animal came up to her. A cross between a tiger and unicorn, it seemed, with its long, white, slender body, mane, and twisted horn.

"You may ask for a prophecy, but you cannot choose it."

"I understand." She spoke to the creature.

"What is your wish then."

"I have no wishes, only requests."

"Your request then."

She held her hand out to the creature in a sign of beckoning.

"That everyone included in the war of my people be reborn in the future and the Prince Isidore and his Guardian Malak be given a chance at a life with one another."

"Do you understand what you are asking?"

"I do."

"And you accept all consequences?"

"I do."

The creature surged forward and impaled its horn in her chest, piercing her heart.

"Then, oh touched child, you shall have your prophecy at the expense of your freedom. You are to be bound to the murderer of angels, that of your own flesh and blood, she who you call sister. You will take your place in this prophecy."

Ylva's being filled with the ancient language of the prophecy he spoke.


Ylva gasped as a surge of light flashed before her eyes.

When her vision cleared, she found herself in a meadow and a lion cub sleeping beside her. A woman with an unearthly grace and presence stood off a little ways away from her. Her hair reflected the light and every color in existence, plus some not yet in existence, sparkled in each strand as a slight breeze played with it. She was taller than Ylva and wore a simple black robe.

Ylva struggled to stand and forced her legs to carry her to the woman.

"I did not expect you to awaken before my son, nor has any human been able to move freely in this place before."

"I am no ordinary human."

"No, you are not, touched child." The woman examined a butterfly sleeping upon a flower. "I should send you back before my son rises."

Ylva opened her mouth to speak, but found her voice to weak.

"I must apologize for my son. He has been watching your realm for a long time and was quite angered to witness the death of an angel, especially Malak." She tipped her head back and closed her eyes. "Your prophecy has created others. All of which fall into a larger one. One that I myself created many years ago."

"So this was all meant to be?" came a whispered reply.

"No. I had thought the prince to be the one to fulfill my prophecy, but alas, the Hasah being got in the way."

A bird flew in between them. The breeze grew more chilled.

"Off you go, now. Take comfort to Queen Atiya and tell her the prophecy has been born."

Ylva blinked. And then blinked again.

The queen sat holding her hands tightly together to keep herself from reaching out. Ylva blink one more and relaxed the tension in her being.

"It is done."

That night, seven people woke with a start, their hearts racing, breaths ragged, and thoughts scattered.

Prophecy? Which one?


Oooo! I told you it was long! 14 pages! Man…. That took awhile. I hope you all like it! Chapter ten is giving me a bit of trouble and with work, classes and other pressing business, it might be hard for me to get it out soon…. But I'll try my best! My beta-man is going to go over chapters for my other stories, but he's even busier than I am, so those will be coming as we get through those.

Oi! I worked really hard on this chapter so I think if you read it.. you should take the few seconds to a couple of minutes to leave me a wonderful review! Tell where you're confused. Tell me if anything seems amiss! There's so much going on that anything you tell me would be welcomed! Just leave the flames in the hearth… besides, it's too hot here for a fire right now.. so just don't even think about them! .

As I said: Tell me if you need help with anything! Is there something you think I have left out, or maybe I might have forgotten? Please tell me.

Remember: REVIEW! O.O