A/N: And now, more catharsis...


Digimon 00

by Shadow Crystal Mage

Chapter 2: Something Wicked This Way Comes…

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot, and barely that. Would I be pushing it if I said I wanted an Invisibility Cloak?


Several months ago...


Albus Dumbledore was a very worried man. What Harry had told him of what had transpired after he reached the Tri-Wizard Cup had been very disturbing. It was by sheer dumb luck that Cedric hadn't grabbed the Cup with him.

Still, there were good things about the situation. He had a lot of advance warning, and had revived the Order within hours of Voldemort restoring his Death Eaters. The Ministry's refusal to help was a horrible setback, but not devastating. They would cope. They had to...

Dumbledore sighed, suddenly feeling very old. He couldn't do this anymore. He didn't want to. Didn't want to, but had to. He had a duty, if you will, as someone who in a position to do something to do something.

Still, he wasn't insane or senile enough to do this alone...

Reaching into his desk, he took out a cute little Mickey Mouse address book that had been around for a really long time. Carefully opening its aged pages, he leafed through several sheets of his own loopy handwriting. Coming to the 'S' section, he took note of the most recent address of a certain entry, then moved over to the 'G' section, did the same with another entry, and finally moved over to 'H' and jotted down the last address. He knew he could send his letters by owl or by Fawkes, but he felt certain that, while owls might be intercepted by the Ministry or Tom, Muggle post would not.

Setting the addresses aside, he began writing to a few of his World War Two buddies...


Ron Weasley was a very worried boy. What Harry had told them of what had happened with You-Know-Who had seriously freaked him out. Ron had always subscribed to the blithe belief that You-Know-Who would never really come back in his lifetime, despite what had happened in first year (they'd beaten him, hadn't they?).

So naturally, it had been very depressing to hear the Dark Lord of the Snakes was back, and with a vengeance. Specifically, vengeance against his best friend. Well, his best male friend, anyway...


Hermione Granger was a very worried girl. She was also trying to keep from giving in to the evil urge to start nagging Harry that she'd been right, and all those dreams, visions and scar-hurting had been important. She'd told him so, hadn't she?

She sighed as she continued writing her letter with only half a mind. She knew she wasn't supposed to, but she had to tell someone about this to get it off her chest, and she was the only one outside of Hogwarts she trusted enough to tell this to...


Harry Potter stared out his window at number 4, Privet drive, watching the way features in the street darkened as the sun set. The Dursleys hadn't called him down to do any chores yet, and he really didn't feel like eating with them right then.

He'd already sent Hedwig off to get him a subscription of the Daily Prophet, so he could keep an eye on the Wizarding World. Now he was waiting for her to get back so he could send a few other letters. He'd made a couple of letters to friends, one for Sirius, that sort of stuff.

Voldemort was out there, and Harry knew he wasn't alone or helpless anymore. Fighting down a wave of fear, the Boy-Who-Lived hoped that he'd manage to live through this darkness again...


Ginny hoped Harry was feeling alright. To say she was worried about her crush was an understatement. After all he'd gone through from the Tri-Wizard Tournament alone, she could only admire his strength in being able to keep himself together and not fall apart.

Clutching a strangely shaped pendant in her hand, she prayed to anyone who could hear for Harry to be alright.

Something horrible was coming, she could feel it. And she knew that whatever it was would be there soon...


Somewhere beyond where humans dwelled, in the far reaches of nothingness that had nothing to do with space, a white fortress resting upon a landscape of infinite clouds and a backdrop of infinite stars loomed. And if one were to look closely, one would see an ubiquitous sight. A tall, red-haired, vaguely Irish-looking man wearing a worn pair of breeches, a travel-worn shirt, a leather vest, and carrying a handkerchief-wrapped bundle on a stick over his shoulder was walking through the clouds- or was it mist?- outside the white fortress. And though none save probably Destiny knew it, Destruction walked outside Kandrakar.

And he walked whistling the tune from 'Cheers' and skipping every so often, just for the sake of skipping.

Destruction, despite his name and what it implied, was a very nice guy.

And so he whistled off, ignoring the enormous white edifice that was grander than anything that existed on Earth, heading away and towards worlds, planes and dimensions unknown, completely unnoticed and undetected by anyone in the Fortress at the so-called Heart of Infinity.

Certainly he wasn't noticed by the Oracle, the Lord and Master of the fortress. He had enough to worry about...


To say the Oracle was worried was grossly overstating the situation. He was still making his way over there.

The Oracle stared at an enchanted pool, viewing the last moments of Nerissa again and again. Something had been bothering him about the way the former Guardian had passed on, but he could not quite put his finger on it.

As he reviewed the incident again and again, however, a chill of what could have been fear ran up his spine. It could not be, but it was. It was the only explanation for what he had felt at that final moment. The darkness around Kandrakar at the time had tried to dull his senses, and it was only now he realized why.

Nerissa had escaped. The fallen Guardian still walked the Earth…

That was a BAD thing…


Voldemort was not exactly well loved. Being a Dark Lord does that. He's not a big believer in being liked by his subordinates. The only one he's known for being nice to is his pet snake, Nagini. He's contemptuous of muggles and muggle-borns, and an all-around not-nice person.

Thus, it is a 'hell-frozen-over' moment for him to be worried over a muggle-born, who by Ministry standards technically wasn't even a witch. She never went to Hogwarts or anywhere, after all.

"How is she?" he said, directing his question at the dark-haired man(?) next to him, who was trying not to wring his finger in worry. Never be seen weak in front of the help, after all.

His companion's silver-haired flunky straightened from his examination, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "She'll be fine," he said, answering the question. "Her chakra is disturbed and unstable, but not fatally so. A few days rest is all that is needed. You'll be ready to perform the ceremony in a few days."

Voldemort glared at him. How dare he deign to speak in front of him, the Dark Lord?

The sudden grip of his companion on his wand arm stopped him from cursing the man into a thousand pieces. "Leave us," his companion said, hissing slightly.

The silver-haired man bowed, taking his leave, before disappearing in a puff of smoke. Voldemort scowled.

"Muggles should not be able to do that," he said.

In other times, his companion would have rolled his eyes in exasperation and said something sarcastic. Not now. He was too worried. Instead, he stared worriedly at the woman lying so still on that bed. Voldemort hesitated, looking for words of comfort, but he knew how out of practice he was at being nice. Clapping a comforting hand on his companion's shoulder, he left the room, to prepare for the ceremony they would do in a couple of days. For the moment, killing Harry Potter and taking over the Wizarding World was the farthest thing on his mind. For now, saving his friend's life and power were more important.

He left the lovebirds alone in the room…


In a land far, far away, a young girl looked up in the sky and worried. She was by no means prophetic, but she had magic and that was enough. Something was disturbing the flows of power of the worlds. In was subtle, probably too subtle for any other to feel, but it was there. She would probably have missed it if she wasn't so in tune with a certain world.

Anxiously, she clutched the pendant that hung around her neck. It was an octagonal teardrop in shape, and glowed golden. In a space in front was carved a symbol that looked like a cross in front of an X. Superimposed on top of the cross was another symbol, two swirls around a circle, that looked like a simple flower.

Swallowing to ease the block in her throat, she prayed to anyone that was listening that nothing happen to her friends and the ones she loved…


Somewhere in the Digital World, two identical Digimon were playing cards…

"Got any threes?"

"Go fish, sis."

The first Digimon sighed. "You know, since those kids saved the Digital World and all, nothing exciting happens anymore."

Her sister looked up from her hand. "Isn't that a good thing?"

"But it's so boring!"

"It's what we fought for."

"I guess…"

The two finish their game, and reshuffle the deck.

"Hey, you feel that?" the first one said.

"Feel what?"

The first concentrates.

"It feels like…"

Her eyes go wide.

"Evil! The forces of evil are on the move! Yes! Finally, some excitement!"

"Isn't that a bad thing…?"

The Patamon watching them sweatdropped.

"Hoo boy, there they go again. Plotmon's never going to learn, is she?"

"Come on!" Plotmon yelled, getting up and starting to walk, leaving her sister to clean up the cards, which is hard to do when the form you have doesn't have opposable thumbs. "We have to go find our partners! They'll need us to save the world and stuff!"

"Hey! Wait a minute!" Salamon said, muffled by having a mouthful of cards. Patamon took pity on her and helped her clean them up. ";Ptoey;" Salamon spat out. "Thanks. Hey, sis! Wait up! Where do you think you're going, anyway?"

"I'm going to look for some human kids! Maybe one of them can give us a ride to the real world!"

"Is that really such a good idea?"

"Hey, this is me!"

"Exactly," Patamon said, handing the cards back in their box to Salamon.

Plotmon gave them a wide smile. "Have I ever led us astray?"

"Yes!" Salamon and Plotmon chorused.

Why did Patamon get the feeling this was going to end badly…?


- To be continued...


A/N: In case you can't tell, this is set at the end of book four.

As I said last chap, I don't like people dying, so Diggory gets to live. Harry touched the Cup a split second before him, so only Potter got sent to Moldy Voldie.

Mushy Voldie. UGH!

Please review, C&C welcome.

Until next time, this is Shadow, signing off.