Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland

“Did you have any weird dreams last night?”

Potions Master Severus Snape stared at his colleague for a long moment, before blinking at him. “Is that the new greeting now?” he asked, dryly. “Whatever happened to ‘Good morning’?” He pulled out a chair and settled himself at the Staff Table.

“Good morning. Did you have any weird dreams last night?” Harry Potter repeated.

Severus took a sip of his morning coffee – never mind all that British-tea-lovers nonsense, give him a good strong cup of coffee any day – and eyed the Defence professor over the rim of his mug. With the death of Voldemort, the curse on the position had been broken, and Harry, although young, had been a natural choice, once he’d decided that he’d had enough of chasing dark wizards, and wanted a slightly safer career.

“Well?” Harry insisted, impatiently.

“No more than usual,” Severus finally replied. He raised an eyebrow inquisitively. “Why?”

“Because—” Harry glanced around and lowered his voice, despite there being nobody anywhere close enough to overhear them. “—I dreamt of Voldemort last night.”

Even six years after the megalomaniac’s demise, Severus still stiffened automatically at the sound of his name. “Nightmares are common after traumatic events,” he said, slowly.

Harry shook his head. “This wasn’t a nightmare; or, at least, not a normal one,” he said. “Take a look.”

“Harry,” said Severus, warningly.

“I know you swore off legilimency, but it’ll be easier than trying to explain it,” Harry whispered. “Please.” His eyes beseeched Severus, until the older man gave in with a sigh.

“Very well. But in my quarters, after breakfast.”

Satisfied, Harry nodded and turned back to his meal, leaving Severus to wonder just what fresh hell was approaching this time.

By the time they’d reached Severus’ quarters, he had remembered that he had a Pensieve. Harry argued, but Severus prevailed, and ten minutes after that, they were both falling into the silvery-grey memory strands.

Ten minutes after that, Severus was lurching backwards away from the Pensieve, his face frozen in a mask of horror. He ricocheted off a cabinet, and almost fell over the back of the settee. “No,” he mouthed, his right hand scrabbling at his left sleeve.

Harry laid his hands over Severus’, stilling it. “No, not yet,” he said, softly, apologetically. “But soon, I think.” He led Severus around the settee and pushed him down onto it. “Whiskey?” he queried. When Severus didn’t respond, he went rooting through the cabinets, and finally returned with two large glasses and a bottle of firewhiskey. He poured a generous amount into one glass and handed it to Severus. “Here,” he said.

Severus stared at the drink in his hand for a moment, then tossed it back in one go, shuddering at the burn going down his throat. “I thought—” he croaked, then coughed to clear his throat and tried again. “I thought your link with him was broken when he . . . killed you.”

“I thought so, too,” Harry sighed, sipping more gingerly at his own drink. “But he’s obviously a stubborn bastard; you have to give him that.”

“I don’t think I can say what I’d ‘rather give him’,” Severus said, dryly, and Harry laughed, almost choking on his firewhiskey. “How long?” asked Severus, quietly, and Harry gave him an enquiring look. “How long before he comes back again?”

“I honestly have no idea,” the young professor admitted. “I think we were lucky I got this much warning. Depends how long it takes that ‘Source’ to find a way to do . . . whatever it was planning on.”

“The source of all evil,” Severus mused. “I wouldn’t have thought there was such a thing.”

“But trust it to find Voldemort, huh?” Harry topped up both their glasses.

“We must let Albus know,” Severus said, yet again tossing his back. “He must gather the old Guard again.”

“I thought the whole war was supposed to be over. What happened to the peace we were promised?” complained Harry.

“Unfortunately, Harry,” he said, “evil never dies.”

Halliwell Manor, San Francisco

“Paige! Piper! Chris!”

“In the kitchen, Pheebs!” Piper Halliwell called over her shoulder, then re-focused her attention on her son – her first-born son – who was currently more interested in playing with his breakfast than eating it. “C’mon, Wyatt, just one little mouthful,” she coaxed. “For Mommy?”

Her younger sister, Phoebe, hurried into the kitchen, an anxious look on her face. “I think we have a problem,” she declared. “A big problem, a huge problem!”

“And good morning to you, too,” Piper said, raising her eyebrows at her sister.

“No, I don’t think so,” Phoebe denied, shaking her head. “I had this really weird dream last night, which I think might have been a premonition.”

“You think you had a premonition in your sleep?” Piper sounded sceptical as she tried to get another spoonful of mashed banana into Wyatt’s little mouth.

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time. Remember the Sandman?” Phoebe reminded her. She suddenly seemed to realise that they were missing two members of the family. “Paige! Chris!” she bellowed.

“Ow! What?” retorted Paige Matthews from where she’d been standing right behind Phoebe.

“Oh, sorry, Paige!” Phoebe gasped, briefly bringing a hand to her mouth.

Paige stepped around her older sister and headed straight for the coffee machine. “So what’s all the noise for?” she asked, as she poured a mug and took a big gulp.

“I had a premonition last night,” Phoebe started.

“She thinks,” Piper interrupted, dodging the handful of banana that Wyatt flung at her. “Wyatt!” she warned.

“You think?” Paige queried, looking askance at Phoebe.

With a huff of exasperation, Phoebe threw her hands in the air. “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time!” she repeated. “Remember the Sandman? Anyway—” she hurried on before either sister could interrupt again, “—in my premonition I saw some weird . . . thing, with red eyes, and the Source. I think he’s found a way back.”

Dead silence fell in the kitchen, broken only by Wyatt’s happy gurgling.

“You think the Source is coming back,” Paige finally said, flatly.

“Pheebs, we vanquished the Source . . . several times,” added Piper.

“I know, I know, but are we really sure that he can never come back?” Phoebe pointed out. “He’s the Source of All Evil.”

“Perhaps you should get L— uh, I mean, Chris to check with the Elders?” Paige suggested, wincing at her near slip. The subject of Piper’s currently ex-husband and Wyatt and Chris’ father was a very sore topic at that moment.

“I suppose it can’t hurt,” Piper agreed after a moment. She looked up at the ceiling and raised her voice. “Chris!”

A stream of blue-white lights gently wove its way down through the ceiling, creating a column just inside the kitchen doorway. When it solidified, a tall young man with dark brown hair and luminous green eyes appeared. “You called?” he asked, glancing around at them all.

“Oh, sure, you he answers!” Phoebe grumbled. She glared at her nephew. “Did you put me on mute again?”

“Later, Pheebs,” Piper said, hushing her with a wave. She looked back at her other son. “Phoebe thinks she had a premonition of the Source finding a way to return. Could you check with the Elders as to whether that’s possible, please?”

“Sure, Mom,” Chris answered, and disappeared in another swirl of blue-white Orbs.

“I think he had me on mute,” said Phoebe, indignantly. “Did you see how he ignored me?”

Piper snorted, and Paige muttered something that sounded very much like, “Well, can ya blame him?” into her coffee mug.

Phoebe huffed, and turned to go back upstairs to get ready for the day. If they ended up having to kick some demonic ass again, then she had to be prepared.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland

“Come in, come in, my dear boys!” Albus Dumbledore eagerly beckoned Harry and Severus into his office. Thanks to a very weak version of a Philosopher’s Stone, and with a little help from Fawkes, the elderly wizard had managed to survive the curse protecting one of Voldemort’s Horcruxes, but he was no longer as spry as he had once been. “Tea? Lemon drop?”

“No, thank you, Albus,” Severus said, shaking his head. He exchanged glances with Harry, who moved his head in an encouraging gesture. “I’m afraid we’ve come with some rather . . . unsettling news.”

“Oh, dear, you’re not leaving, are you?” Albus asked, his shoulders drooping.

“No, no, nothing like that,” Severus assured him. “You see . . .” He paused again, unable to find the words to describe the horror that might be coming.

“I had a vision,” Harry said, bluntly. Albus gaped at him. “I think – we think – that Voldemort has found someone, or something, that will help him to return again.”

There was silence for a few moments, broken only by the occasional chirp from Fawkes.

Then, to the surprise of both of them, Albus leaned back in his chair and burst out laughing. He laughed so hard that tears gathered in his eyes, then slowly rolled down his cheeks and were absorbed by his beard. After five minutes, Harry and Severus were exchanging worried looks, as Albus was turning red and hiccupping for breath in between peals of laughter.

“Albus . . ?” Severus said, finally.

“It wasn’t that funny,” Harry muttered half under his breath.

Albus gave one last hiccup, and sighed, reaching up to dab under his eyes with the end of his beard. “Oh, thank you, boys,” he said. “I needed that. Now, what’s the real reason you came to see me?” He looked expectantly at them.

“Uh, that was the reason,” said Harry, frowning slightly.

“Oh, Harry, you did away with Voldemort completely once you destroyed his Horcruxes. I thought you knew that. Have you been worrying about that all this time?” Albus smiled kindly – and slightly condescendingly, to Harry’s mind – at him. “No need to, dear boy. Thanks to you, we are all quite safe, and likely to remain so for some time. After all, no one will want to go up against the Boy-Who-Lived now, will they!”

Eventually – after a very painful and increasingly frustrating half an hour – Harry and Severus gave up, and left Albus to his lemon drops as they retreated to Severus’ dungeons to plot strategy.

Halliwell Manor, San Francisco

The faintly musical sound of appearing Orbs alerted Piper to an incoming Whitelighter. She looked up from where she had just finished getting Wyatt dressed. Chris emerged just outside the nursery door. Even though she’d known it for six months now, Piper was still getting used to the fact that Chris – the tall, strapping, good-looking, intense young man – was her second-born son. It was nice to know that she’d gotten it right with at least one son, but to think that his future was so bad that he’d broken every rule about time-travel to come back here to fix it, knowing he could end up wiping himself out of existence, unsure whether he was making things better or worse . . . It gave Piper chills, and she couldn’t think about it too hard, or she suspected she’d never let the poor boy out of the house ever again.

“Where’re Paige and Phoebe?” Chris asked.

“Paige had to go to work, and Phoebe’s upstairs with the Book,” Piper replied, swinging Wyatt up onto her hip. “What did the Elders say?”

“They don’t think the Source could return for centuries, at the very least, if at all,” he told her, moving to the side to let her pass.

“So Phoebe just had a weird dream.” Piper sighed in relief. The recent scare with Chris and the spider-demon had only shown her just how much she needed to protect this son of hers. Wyatt had been able to take care of himself, but Chris needed all the help he could get, even if he didn’t think so. Bad enough fighting ordinary demons – if you could ever call a demon ordinary – without having to go up against the Source . . . again. He’d already caused the death of one Halliwell sister; she didn’t want to add to his total.

“Apparently,” Chris agreed. He looked up the stairs to the attic. “You want to tell her, or should I?”

“I’ll do it. I think she’d a bit annoyed with you,” Piper said, smiling. “Here, take Wyatt downstairs.” She handed the toddler over to his bigger younger brother. “His playpen’s in the sunroom.”

“Why is Phoebe annoyed with me?” Chris asked.

“She thinks you keep putting her on mute,” sighed Piper.

Chris laughed. “I do,” he said.

“Oh,” was the best that Piper could say, surprised. “Well, perhaps I won’t tell her that part.”

“Probably for the best,” agreed Chris, and headed for the stairs.

Piper turned towards the attic stairs, shaking her head and smiling.

“Really?” Phoebe folded her arms over the Book of Shadows and leant forward to peer at Piper. “Are they really sure? I mean, positive?”

“Yes, Phoebe,” Piper replied. She folded her own arms, resting them on her protruding stomach. Mini-Chris was asleep, at least for the moment. “Are you sure you didn’t just have a bad dream?”

“I don’t know.” Phoebe straightened up again and started idly flipping through the Book. “But surely if there’s even a chance he could come back . . .” Her voice trailed off for a moment, and then she glanced up at Piper. “Don’t we owe it to Prue to make sure?”

Piper was silent for a long moment. Two and a half years had not been nearly enough time to blunt the edge of losing their eldest sister. “That’s a low blow, Pheebs,” she said, finally.

“I’m sorry, really,” said Phoebe, apologetically. “But I think we need to be prepared . . . just in case.”

“Just in case what?” asked a voice from the attic doorway. The girls looked over to find Chris standing there.

“Just in case the Source does find a way back,” Phoebe answered, narrowing her eyes at her nephew. She hadn’t forgiven him but was willing to put it aside – for now.

“The Elders said—” Chris started, but was interrupted by a snort from Phoebe.

“Wouldn’t be the first time they kept something from us to teach us a lesson,” she said.

“Ha! That’s true,” agreed Piper, derisively.

Chris tried to frown, but couldn’t quite manage the expression. Instead, his face relaxed into a wry smile. He had his own reasons for not trusting the Elders.

“Whoa—Hey!” Phoebe exclaimed, as the Book suddenly began flipping pages by itself. She looked up at Chris and Piper. “Looks like someone up there agrees with me.” The others hurried to her side as the pages slowed, then stopped.

“To find what you seek, and seek what you’ll find,

Trust the vision that’s in your mind.

Mirror image, they’re just like you,

Deeply involved and searching too.

Follow the lines, to show the way,

Cross the water to the end of day.

They’ll guide your path, so drear and rainy,

To Evil’s lair and he who’s . . . veiny?” Piper read, her voice rising in sceptical surprise at the last word.

“‘Veiny’? Who wrote this thing?” Phoebe demanded, looking up.

“I suppose it’s hard to find a rhyme for ‘rainy’,” Chris pointed out, but his tone was amused.

If Piper made any response, Phoebe didn’t hear it.

She was suddenly standing in a room somewhere else. Underground from the feel of it. It wasn’t damp, but she could feel tons of rock pressing down on her.

For all that, the room itself was actually quite cosy. A fire was crackling merrily in the fireplace to her left, and there was a couch and two chairs grouped around a low table in front of her. The edges of the room were shrouded in darkness, as the only other light came from several candles, scattered around the room.

Two men were sitting on the couch, each studying a large book. The younger man suddenly flinched, and pressed a palm to his forehead, dropping the book to the floor.

“Harry?” The older man leant towards him, anxiously. “What is it?”

“My scar,” Harry hissed out between gritted teeth. And then he looked up . . . and straight at Phoebe. “Who are you?” he asked.

Phoebe blinked. He could see her? Her premonitions weren’t usually interactive.

The older man looked up and around. He obviously couldn’t see her. “Harry, there’s no-one there,” he said, softly.

The younger man rolled his eyes, eyes that were almost the same colour as Chris’. In fact, Phoebe realised, this young man looked a lot like Chris. “I’ll show you later, Severus,” he said. “But I think this has something to do with my vision and Voldemort.”

“I have no idea who that is,” Phoebe said. “I was looking for information about the Source.”

“The . . . Source?” Harry repeated, slowly. “The Source of all Evil?” He exchanged looks with Severus. And really, Phoebe thought, what kind of sadistic monster named their kid Severus?

“You know him?” she asked.

“No; I had a vision about Voldemort, but he met up with something that called itself the Source,” the young man told her.

“So you had the same premonition I did,” she realised. “And if I’ve come to you, then he must be returning here. Wherever here is.” She turned in a circle, trying to get some kind of hint as to where they were. She looked back at the men on the couch. “Where is here, anyway?”

“Scotland,” Harry said. One corner of his mouth quirked up into a smile. “I guess this won’t be so weird to you . . . we’re in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

Phoebe opened her mouth to ask, ‘what the hell?’, blinked hard several times . . .

. . . and found herself back in her own attic, looking at Piper and Chris.

“Phoebe? Phoebe!” Piper was repeating, waving her hand in front of Phoebe’s eyes.

“Whoa,” Phoebe breathed out, and grasped the podium the Book was resting on. Her knees felt shaky.

“Aunt Pheebs?” Chris asked. He grasped her elbow to help balance her. “What happened?”

“I think I just had an interactive premonition,” Phoebe said, breathlessly.

Piper and Chris glanced at each other. “Huh?” said Piper.

“I just saw two men, in an underground room somewhere . . . and one of them saw me,” she explained. “He had the same dream that I did, only I think they’re after the other guy I saw in it.”

“So did you find out where they are?” asked Chris.

“Oh, yeah,” said Phoebe. She looked at Piper. “You’d better call Paige home. She needs to Orb us to Scotland.”