She was standing on a beach.

Here hair whipped in the whistling wind, making her eyes water and causing goose bumps to appear on her thin forearms. She was in a dress, a beautiful royal purple gown with gems and crystals of all colors and types adorning the fitted bodice. She new she should be cold, what with the wind and bare arms, but she wasn't. She felt nothing. As if caught in a trance, her legs moved on their own accord, her gown trailing the sand behind her, but miraculously, the fabric was untouched by any element. No sand clung to it, no water had made a small, dark stain. It was peculiarly perfect. Too perfect.

The icy salt water now nipped at her toes, the white sea foam leaving a small blanket of foamy bubbles on her feet. To her left, she noticed, were giant, jagged rocks near the face of a cliff, with the constant pummel of sea spray. The surfaces of them were uneven, bumpy and imperfect through years of hard water eroding the rock away. Behind them, sunken deep into the cliff face, an inky cave sat precariously high, too high to climb and too low to scale down from the top of the cliff. It looked like a black hole, and it felt like one too; she could see nothing through the darkness that veiled the inside of the cave from onlookers, but she felt an eerie pull, like a hook had sunk into her stomach and was yanking her gently to get closer. She needed to get to the cave. She needed to get to the necklace.

A voice pierced behind her through the calm sound of the waves lapping idly on the shore. Normally, it would have startled her, but she was in a calming state of ecstasy. She knew this would happen. She expected it.

"You shouldn't be here."

No malice, no emotion whatsoever. She recognized the voice, and it would've normally seemed odd to her; it didn't right now. Diana turned slowly, her unblemished gown creating an arc in the sand as it swept around with her.

There, standing before her, was herself. An obsidian black gown, only accessorized with a single emerald on the high collar. The dress looked old and seemed to stick out like a sore thumb; an anachronism among the new age Diana grew up in, a relic of a time long unknown by anyone living. Most likely centuries old. She didn't know why she thought it could be so ancient, seeing as it was perfectly intact and looked as if it had never been worn before, but something deep in the crevices of her darkened mind told her that this dress holds the kind of memories only someone old and wise enough could know. The figure of herself staring at her now was barefoot, her feet scratched and bloodied, maybe from walking through a sharp wooded area or rocks. The most striking thing about this darkened, shadowy version of herself were the eyes. Her eyes were a crimson red, matching the color of the blood staining her feet. Through slitted pupils, a restless darkness lurked, like flames licking a wall, desperate to emerge and spread, to consume. It was contained, but the gowned Diana had a feeling it might not be for much longer.

One thing that caught her eye, though, was a small pendent that hung from a thin, silver chain from the figure's slender neck, stopping just above the gleaming emerald. A globe. The same one she wore religiously around her neck every day. The same one she has had for as long as she could remember.

"You shouldn't be here," she repeated, in the same voice and tone that she had before. It would've been strange for Diana to watch herself like this, to hear her voice slip through the rosy lips she often saw in the mirror; it wasn't. Diana didn't answer as she watched the clone of herself slip her fingers behind her back and pull out a thin, slender, knotted wand. It was ancient, passed through the hands of generation after generation, though barely withered or even a scratch blemished the wand as she held her arm up, the wand tip aiming straight for Diana's heart. She cast no spell, nor made any move to strike; she opened her mouth to speak again. "Tick tock, Diana. Isn't long now until the sky falls and you're left to bear the weight alone." It was a reminder. A threat. A warning.

The clone opened her mouth again, after a moment of silence, her voice taking on the sing-song lilt used only when reciting poems or fairy tales, reverberating against the rocky cliff face and echoing, surrounding her, in a blanket of serenity, marred only by the warning, the graveness, of the words.

"What can only progress, unmarked by tragedy

inside the universe of old?

A song still being sung,

A force only going forward,

taking the old and the reckless and the unfortunate with it,

only to leave behind the sharp pain of suffering

among those not taken.

Who is it,

befriended by Death?

The two, the eldest two, the only two to ever be.

Brothers, not by blood, but by purpose

Hands folded together above the scarlet rose.

They watch,

he and Death, the Destructors.

The Enders.

The Saviors.

What can destroy and save,

kill and nourish?

What can turn the world to ashes

a flower to a withered corpse, a flower to a fully bloomed rose?

What will be the end of Diana Riddle

When she was the one to save the world?"

A riddle, it seemed. It demanded an answer. The answer clung to the tip of her tongue, clawing at her lips to break free, to be known to the sea, the cave, and the rocks. The answer that she knew she must not say, for saying it could only mean it was real. An answer she could not accept, because it would mean the fate of the world was not in her hands, but woven into the fabric, a thin strand among the many brave enough to do great things, bad things, valiant things; A cloth, woven by hands that seemed to always be clamped around her neck, an unrelenting noose tied tightly around her neck, with the Destroyer behind her, a foot lifting to kick the chair out from under her...

"Time."

She awoke with a gasp, her breathing heavy and uneven as if she really had just been hung. Sweat clung to her body, cold and icy under the dampened covers. A sliver of moonlight illuminated her room, where she soon realized was not hers at the Hog's Head.

She remembered now. Arriving at the Weasley's, seeing an extremely miserable and broken Tonks quickly leave once they had arrived. Talking with Molly and Arthur for a moment before being ushered upstairs to a vacant room to sleep.

She slowly sat up, reaching down beside the bed to pick her bag off of the floor and unclasping it, looking for a dry and clean set of clothes that she could change into.

She stuck her hand deep into the bag, rifling through the contents haphazardly. She could feel vials of potions and herbs and potion-making supplies, her entire wardrobe (which, admittedly, wasn't much), clothing for Ron and Harry, and some extra girl's clothing that would be for Hermione. She had everything she owned organized in this bag, plus things she had saved up to buy in Hogsmeade and things that she had found that she thought could be helpful. An entire library of books. A trinket from Dumbledore's desk that senses veiled matter, such as someone who has an invisibility cloak or someone using a camouflage spell. She had taken anything and everything she might need if they were to run quickly, which she had no doubt in her mind might be inevitable.

She changed quickly and sat back in the bed, idly rifling through an old book that she had packed, not quite paying much attention to it. Her mind spun like a top, worries and possibilities and fears being brought to the front of her mind quickly. As soon as she zeroed in on one subject, another popped up to torment her.

Her dream unsettled her. The cave, the cliff, so oddly familiar, but the answer stayed just below the surface, scratching at a door she can't open, taunting her. She could almost feel it laughing at her, watching her grip empty air as she tried to catch it, to hold on to it, but every time the memory moves just out of reach.

She didn't know what it all meant. Herself, evil and dark and shadowed like a villain, veiled in something twisted and sick that could corrupt a mind easily. The red eyes, the same globe necklace, the riddle; it was like a puzzle that was missing too many of its pieces.

Was the red-eyed clone of herself supposed to represent her as her father? Perhaps if she had been more like her father as a child, she might've turned out like clone she saw in her dream. Maybe it was what she could've been.

Or maybe it's what she could become.

The orange-y glow of dawn shined through the parted curtains, revealing the odd greenery around the house below and the small pigpen with a handful of snorting and muddy pigs. The Weasley's plot of land extended all the way to a big field and then to a line of thick trees, blocking any view of neighbors or villages that might be near by. She saw the shed that Dumbledore had rushed her and Harry into last night before announcing their presence. He tried to explain Horace Slughorn's peculiar obsession with success, and how the prophecy's full contents are known to only three people--Dumbledore, Harry, and herself.

"Diana, you sneaky arse, I didn't know you were already here!"

Her door was slammed rather forcefully open, hitting the wall with enough force to leave a dent. Ginny Weasley, her hair as red as ever and eyes filled with near mania stood practically seething in the doorway. Hermione was behind her, much less emotionally manic than Ginny, and had a small smile that reassured Diana. Diana didn't quite know what Hermione was reassuring her about, but she had a feeling it was for a lot more than merely Ginny's outburst.

"You sneaky little witch, why didn't you come wake me up last night? Why was I only just now told by mum that you guys had arrived ages ago!" she said loudly, rushing to Diana's bed and heaving her off of it, nearly carrying her out of the door and up the stairs.

"Just go with it," Hermione whispered. "She's just excitedly overwhelmed."

Ginny threw her through a door, following her inside with Hermione close behind. Ron sat with Harry on the bed, and when Ron looked up, he gave Diana a half-hearted glare.

"You," said Ginny, pointing at Diana, "sit." Ginny pulled a chair up and pushed it behind Diana's legs, causing her knees to buckle and land ungracefully on the tattered wooden chair. Once she was seated, Ginny and Hermione took their seats as well. "So," she started eagerly, "what's been going on? You guys have been off with Dumbledore! Is there any news?"

Ron continued the forceful interrogation, purposely avoiding Diana's eyes. "What have you guys been doing? What is Dumbledore up to? Any plans yet?"

Harry shrugged and answered. "Just meeting with an old professor that used to teach at Hogwarts. After all, Umbridge did get run into the forest with centaurs. She's not quite fit to teach anymore, I reckon."

Soft footsteps echoed up the stairs, much too soft to be Mrs. Weasley. Ginny all but growled, her eyes narrowing in anger.

"It's her," she scoffed, rolling her eyes. "She's driving me mad. I can barely stand to be around her. It's the way she talks to me--you'd think I was about three!"

"I know," Hermione said in a whisper, "She's so full of herself!"

"Who are you talking about?" Harry asked. Hermione and Ginny scoffed simultaneously, while Ron's ears turned red.

"Oh, can't you two lay off her for five seconds?" Ron said, completely ignoring Harry's question.

"Oh, that's right, defend her," snapped Ginny. "We all know you can't get enough of her. And, Harry, to answer your question, we're talking about Phlegm."

"Who the hell is Phlegm? And why would someone ever name their child Phlegm?" Diana wondered aloud unconsciously. She didn't mean to ask it, but she got an answer.

"Her name isn't actually Phlegm," Hermione explained. "She's--"

The door flew open so suddenly that everyone in the room jumped. Hermione and Ginny held their breath, hoping they weren't just caught talking about this 'Phlegm' person.

A beautiful blonde young woman stood in the doorway. She was flawless and almost ethereal; her hair blew lightly in a nonexistent wind and she seemed to almost glow in a godly way.

"'Arry!" she said, "Eet has been too long!"

She swept across the threshold with a tray of breakfast and handed it to Harry, then giving him a kiss on both cheeks. A rather cross Mrs. Weasley stood in the door frame, holding another tray that she kindly handed to Diana.

"I 'ave been longing to see 'im," the woman said to the group at large. "You remember my seester, Gabrielle? She never stops talking about 'Arry Potter. She will be delighted to see you again."

Diana raised an eyebrow, catching eyes with Ginny who gave her a look that said, trust me, I know. Diana eyed the woman curiously, feeling slightly...territorial?

"Oh...is she here too?" Harry said awkwardly.

"No, no, silly boy," she replied with a tinkling laugh, completely oblivious to the obvious contempt toward her from the majority of the group. "I mean, next summer, when we--but did you not know?"

"I'm sorry, but who the hell are you?" Diana asked a little harshly, completely not sorry at all. The woman looked at her as if just noticing her, but any of the harshness in her voice seemed to go right over the woman's head.

"My name is Fleur Delacour!" she said kindly, and almost proudly. "And you are?"

Diana's eyes narrowed slightly, her head cocking to the right. She recognized the name--she had been in the Triwizard Tournament with Harry. Diana was examining her, and Fleur shuffled uncomfortably under the heavy stare. "Diana," she said shortly, and Fleur awkwardly turned away and changed the subject.

"Did you not know?" she asked the group, though she never looked at Diana. "Bill and I are getting married!"

Diana raised her eyebrows, studying the woman again. She didn't think Bill would be attracted to her vapidity.

"I was so pleased to 'ear you were coming, 'Arry! Zere isn't much to do 'ere, unless you like cooking or chickens! Well--enjoy your breakfast Harry!"

She turned gracefully and seemed to float out of the room, and a reluctant and angry Mrs. Weasley followed with a huff and shut the door behind her.

"Don't you get used to her if she's living in the same house?" Harry asked Ron, who was only now recovering from his daze.

"Well, you do," Ron said, "but if she jumps out at you unexpectedly, like then..."

"It's pathetic," said Hermione, eyeing Ron with disgust.

"I bet Mum will put a stop to it, though," Ginny said, turning everyone's attention to her.

"Why d'you say that?" said Diana.

"She keeps trying to have Tonks around for dinner. I think she's hoping Bill will fall for Tonks instead. I hope he does, I'd much rather have her in the family."

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny started bickering about Tonks and how down she had been lately. Whether the cause was the death of Sirius, who is, after all, her cousin, or something else, it had struck deeply in Tonks.

Mrs. Weasley popped her head into the room. "Ginny," she whispered, "come and help me in the kitchen!"

"I'm talking to this lot!" she protested, but with one withering look from her mother she stood reluctantly. "She only wants me there so she doesn't have to be alone with Phlegm!" With a sarcastic imitation of Fleur's hair flip and a ballerina dance across the room, obviously mocking the woman downstairs, she left the room with Mrs. Weasley not far behind her.

"You lot had better come down quickly too!" Mrs. Weasley added before the door clicked shut behind her.

Hermione pulled out a small gadget that looked like a telescope. Diana realized that this must be Fred and George's room, and that must be an invention of theirs.

"Dumbledore's giving me private lessons this year," Harry said , causing Ron to choke on a bit of toast.

"You kept that quiet!" said Ron.

"I only just remembered," Harry said honestly. "Diana's helping out, too."

"Blimey," said Ron, "private lessons with Dumbledore! I wonder why he's...?"

"He wants to prepare us. To prepare Harry. It has to do with the prophecy," Diana said, causing everyone's attention to turn to her.

"Nobody knows what it said, though," said Hermione hastily. "It got smashed."

"Although the Prophet says--"

"The Prophet is right. The prophecy in the Department of Mysteries was only a copy," Diana explained. Any contempt Ron had for her was momentarily forgotten as they talked about this. "Only three people know the entire contents of the prophecy."

"Who?" Ron asked eagerly.

"Harry, Dumbledore, and myself."

"Well?" Hermione pressed eagerly after Diana didn't say anything else. "What did it say?"

"Between myself, Harry, and Voldemort, only one out of the three of us can live."

There was a thick silence as Ron and Hermione processed this. Harry, trying to avoid the silence, shoveled his breakfast into his mouth quickly. Soon, an interruption startled them all, in the form of a loud bang followed by black smoke coming from the telescope Hermione was holding. The smoke cleared, and a brilliantly purple black eye was now being sported by Hermione, who was coughing violently from the thick smoke.

"What the hell?" said Diana loudly, waving the smoke that had drifted her way away from her face.

"I squeezed it, and it--it punched me!"

"Don't worry," said a red-faced Ron, obviously trying very hard to contain laughter, "Mum's really good at minor healing spells--"

"Never mind that now!" Hermione interrupted, scooting her chair forward so she was closer to both Diana and Harry. "We wondered," she started, "after we got back from the Ministry...obviously, we didn't want to say anything to you, but from what Lucius Malfoy said about the prophecy, how it was about you both and Voldemort, well, we thought it might be something like this..." after hesitating for a moment, she added quietly, "Does it scare you?"

"No," Diana said at once. "It doesn't. And it shouldn't scare you either, Harry," Diana said, a meaning hidden deeper than just what her words seemed to convey. As if willing him to understand that he will be the one to live, no matter what. That she will make sure of it.

"I guess I always knew I'd have to face him in the end..." he said quietly, and Diana understood him perfectly. She had always known her role in this fight, and she had always accepted that she might not live through it. And to her, it was okay.

"When we heard Dumbledore was collecting you in person, we thought he might be telling you something or showing you something to do with the prophecy," said Ron eagerly. "And we were kind of right, weren't we? He wouldn't be giving you lessons if he thought you were both goners! He must think you've got a chance!"

"That's true," Hermione said. "I wonder what he'll be teaching..."

After a few moments of contemplative silence, Diana spoke. "I think he wants Harry to understand Voldemort. To know his weaknesses, his childhood. I think he wants me to help us both understand him better. And, I think he thinks I'll have a sort of insight on Voldemort that he doesn't."

"Do you?" Ron asked bluntly after a short silence. He seemed to be much less angry, almost forgiving at this point, but he was obviously still on edge about the whole subject.

Diana took a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. "Look," she said, her voice showing an air of vulnerability that they had never heard before, "I am his daughter by blood. I know that. I know who he is, what he's done, and sometimes, I can even feel him sometimes. Like a lingering darkness in the back of my head that doesn't go away. Like an itch you just can't scratch." Her honesty was what really got their attention. Her moment of bareness. For the first time, she was opening up to the three of them, and even though they might be angry still, they listened with respect as they knew this was important. "I have never wanted this. The secrets, the darkness, the responsibility...I don't want it. I'd give anything to not be related to him...but I am. And I can't change that.

"I have spent my entire life knowing that I was going to be the one to help defeat him one day. Never had I ever had a moment where I doubted my loyalty to this cause, your cause, because I hate him more than anyone. He isn't my father; he's just someone I happen to share some genetic traits with."

There was a deafening silence in which she watched her hands, but she could feel the burning stares of everyone in the room. "It's only right that I be the one to finish him. I never wanted any of this, but I know what I have to do. I know that I have to destroy him," she added quietly, not daring to look up. It was still silent, and she could only hear the rapid thumping of her heart.

"I believe you."

She looked up. Ron was looking at her, any trace of anger gone. "I believe you," he repeated, almost as if making sure it's how he really felt, then he gave a resolute nod that confirmed it.

"So do I," said Hermione lightly, placing her hand on top of Diana's.

"I do too," Harry said quietly, and by just a fraction, the weight on Diana's shoulder's reduced ever so slightly, but it was enough.

She smiled and was about to thank them, but Mrs. Weasley's belting yell rang all the way through the Burrow.

"O.W.L.S!"

Hermione, without hesitation, leapt to her feet and was out of the room immediately. Ron, with Harry shortly behind him, rushed eagerly out of the room as well. "Come on Diana!" the ginger-haired boy yelled.

Even as she smiled at their excitement and their forgiveness, she couldn't help but wonder how someone could be so excited about such a trivial and mundane thing such as grades, when she has the entire fate of the world resting on her shoulders. As the three students downstairs read their letters, she was thinking about death--and how she really was not scared to die. Deep down, she hadn't really admitted it to herself, but she thought that maybe death isn't such a bad thing. Maybe, death will save her, not end her. And maybe, just maybe, she could be happy then.