They followed the orders of the soft voice and entered a room that looked like a cross between a museum and a science lab. The windows showed only the dark, stormy sky, leaving the room in the dim light of floating candles. Hundreds of books were cluttered on shelves, and on the many teetering tables were dozens of devices, some spinning, others puffing and whistling. The walls were lined were portraits of previous headmasters of Hogwarts, each craning their neck to get a look at the students still huddled by the door.
"Don't be afraid," Dumbledore half-stood from the chair behind his enormous desk, beckoning them in.
They edged toward the five armchairs that had been arranged for them. As they approached, their attention was drawn to the bird perched beside the desk. He was the size of a large swan with feathers of scarlet and gold. He peered down his beak at them with wide black eyes. To Branwen, he was the loveliest thing she had ever seen, but the bird seemed to leer at Peter and he scuttled to the chair farthest away.
"This is Fawkes," Dumbledore indicated the bird with a smile. "A more faithful companion has never been born." The Headmaster waved a hand and a full tea appeared before each of them. "Now....I trust you're doing well, Mr. Potter, Mr. Black, Mr. Lupin, Mr. Pettigrew, Miss Potter," he chuckled. "That's quite a mouthful. Perhaps you would do well to come up with a collective name for the five of you. You know, Madam Pomfrey has often described you as her 'marauders,' always running around on clandestine operations, nicking treats from the kitchens...."
"If this is about those pies, I told Sirius not to go back for more!" Peter gushed.
Sirius glared at his friend in a way that let him know the minute they were out of the Headmaster's sight, he would regret his comment.
"I'm sure you did," Dumbledore eyed a flushing Peter. "But the fact of the matter is, I've not brought you here to talk about what you have done, but rather, what you will do."
"Sir?" James raised a brow.
"When Hagrid dropped you off last week, Miss Potter, he kindly consented to join me for tea. He also happened to mention that you had all been given a prophecy by the centaur, Calchas. A prophecy which you have yet to relay to me," he peered at them over his half-moon spectacles.
They all shifted in their seats. James glanced at his friends. He seemed to have been tacitly nominated as their spokesman. "We're sorry, sir. We should have come straight to you. I – I don't think any of us can remember it now."
"I thought as much. Luckily for you," Dumbledore continued, "Hagrid offered to show me his memory of the event. I viewed it in my Pensieve and took the liberty of writing it down. Would you like to read it?"
Without waiting for them to respond, he lifted his wand and a scroll of parchment unrolled itself, revealing the words that had been spoken to the children:
A darkness has risen out of which only the young will find their way. In the crescent of the moon, love will die and love will live. The least among you will become the best of them, the best of you will become the least, and the last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.
James spoke again. "Please sir, are we supposed to know what it means?"
Dumbledore chuckled. "As helpful as that would be, it is rare, if not impossible, to fully understand the meaning of a prophecy until after it has come to pass."
"Sir, does this prophecy include me?" Branwen spoke in a small voice. "I wasn't there when it was made."
"But," James leaned forward, "when the centaurs found us, they kept asking where our 'fifth' was. They wanted to make sure we found you, Bran."
Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, I believe you are right, Mr. Potter. This prophecy refers to your sister as well. Now, though it may difficult to divine its true meaning, I would be very interested in hearing your interpretations. After all, you," he indicated them all, "are its subjects."
Sirius licked his chapped lips; his dark eyes kept darting to one of the portraits on the wall. Phineas Nigellus Black was sneering down at his great-great-grandson. Seeing the boy's eyes widen in fright, Dumbledore turned around. "Phineas. Don't you have business to attend to elsewhere?"
The former Headmaster grinned wickedly. "As it would happen, my calendar is free this afternoon. And lucky thing too, seeing that my dear grandson is here."
"Phineas, if you choose to remain, I will have to bind you under the strictest of confidences."
Black seemed to consider this, then, with a flourish of his cloak, strode out of the frame. He was no doubt heading for his second canvas in Grimmauld Place, confident that he already had enough intelligence on his traitorous descendant to pass on to Walburga.
Dumbledore nodded to Sirius. "Please. I believe you had something to share with us?"
"Well, I....I mean....this summer, there were meetings at my house. Voldemort was holding them. I think....I think that might be part of the darkness in the prophecy."
"Hmm. Yes. That is very likely."
Encouraged by the Headmaster's acceptance of his theory, Sirius forged on. "I can give you names, if you want."
"I will want them, later. For now –"
Remus, who had not spoken since they entered the office, seemed to positively burst with his question. "Why does it say 'the crescent of the moon,' sir? Why....why not the full moon?"
Dumbledore smiled. "Ah, that is easily explained. You see, neither evil nor love are dictated by the phases of the moon. Only by our actions."
"B-but it says, 'love will die'...."
"And that 'love will live'!" Branwen almost jumped from her seat, daring Remus to counter her. He hung his head.
Peter groaned and tugged on his own hair. "This is all so confusing!"
"What about the part about death?" James ignored Peter, who was still moaning. "I mean, death can't be destroyed....can it?"
"Under usual circumstances, the answer is of course, no." Dumbledore tented his fingers and studied his desk. "But there are means of dark magic...." he sighed and hung his head. "Why is it always the young, Everard?"
The portrait of a sympathetic, dark-haired man shook his head sadly. "I only wish we knew, Albus."
"It is because they are always so much stronger than we think," a kindly witch wearing the crossed bone and wand of St. Mungo's looked over the students with melancholy admiration.
Dumbledore sighed once more, then raised his head. "You must forgive the musings of these old cynics," he smiled. "You see, it is the part of the prophecy that refers to 'the young' which concerns me the most. I fear a war is coming, and wars should never be fought by children."
"A war with Voldemort, sir?" James asked.
Dumbledore nodded. "Indeed. In fact, if I am not mistaken, it is already under way."
He seemed to forget the children and, for a few minutes, the room was filled only with small wheezes and puffs from the odd silver instruments, and the gentle snores coming from the portraits of the eldest Headmasters.
"Sir....?" James finally leaned forward.
Dumbledore started. "Hm? Oh, yes....you may go now, but try to keep this," he pointed at the scroll, "in mind. You may soon be called upon to do things above and beyond what is expected for ones so young. And be careful." He gave a pointed look at each of them. "Be careful."