Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
– T.S. Eliot, "The Hollow Men"

"This misfortune you find is of your own manufacture.
Keep hold of what you have, it will harm no other,
For hatred comes home to the hand that chose it."
– Simon Armitage, "The Death of King Arthur: A New Verse Translation"

Prologue
14 April 1945

A cold, Cairngorm breeze drifted across the mountainous green landscape, sweeping up onto the castle balcony and causing Armando Dippet, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, to shiver uncomfortably; though if truth be told, when the evening skies were clear, he did not mind the cold draughts of early spring. To him they were a reminder that even wizards were still mortal, a truth that his kind lamentably forgot at times, and when the magical world was swept up into its complacency, terrible things tended to creep up upon them. Such as had occurred across the Channel, where the fires and choler of war raged. For British wizardry, the war had thankfully touched few outside the natural European boundaries, though the British Muggles had not been so fortunate. But, in some ways, it still left its mark upon their magical counterpart.

He sighed in frustration, having only moments ago received an earful from his irate substitute Transfiguration teacher, who readily agreed to teach the Hogwarts students in the increasingly frequent absences of their regular professor. But when a part-time substitution unofficially extended into a full-time professorship he didn't normally have time for, Professor Tressider's earlier enthusiasm quickly soured into strong resentment. The notice of a possible suspension from his other job, following his lengthiest substitution yet, had been the final straw.

"Working full-time because your Transfiguration professor keeps running off for months at a time wasn't in my job description," he had ranted. "I have to spend at least some of my life at my actual job and with my family. Couldn't you at least find out when he'll return?"

"I am very sorry your substitution has turned out this way," Dippet had told him in a placating, though chagrined voice. "But I cannot determine the length of Professor Dumbledore's absences. Not when he's fighting a war God knows where."

Tressider threw his hands up angrily.

"Two days," he spat. "That's all I'm giving you. If Dumbledore's not back in two days, you'll have to find yourself another substitute."

And with that he stormed out, leaving Dippet in the difficult position of locating another substitute of equal competency to either Dumbledore or Tressider, while yet contemplating how much longer the war on the Continent could go on, and that Dumbledore treated the matter so personally.

He turned his gaze to the Hogwarts grounds, where he could see a few students wandering about, in spite of the cold. He could also till hear the dulcet sounds of celebration from Ravenclaw Tower, after a decisive victory in the Quidditch Final, even from his balcony. Professor Dippet loved the school, and he couldn't imagine the Highland spring without the stress, and then relief, of the students' exams, the excitement over the late Quidditch season, the settling of older students' futures and relationships. Hogwarts was the only steady thing in Armando Dippet's life, and heaven forbid there would ever come a time and a world without it.

As he observed the grounds, he caught sight of a larger figure moving alongside something silvery: Rubeus Hagrid herding unicorns from Professor Shepard's paddock. Regret welled within his heart as he watched the gamekeeper's apprentice, who appeared to be settling well into his position, although Hagrid's apprenticeship, and later career, would always be tainted with the shame of expulsion. Dippet had wondered since then if he'd been too intemperate, or if he'd actually investigated the matter properly. He trusted Professor Dumbledore's judgment, and Dumbledore alone defended Hagrid, protesting his expulsion and subsequently behaving coldly towards the prefect who had accused Hagrid; but in spite of his respect for Dumbledore's judgment, Dippet couldn't see what choice he'd had.

As he watched Hagrid work, he then saw another figure shift in the golden-orange light of dusk, though he could not quite make out who or what it was. Hagrid paused and moved toward the newcomer, and Dippet squinted, trying to get a better view. But at that moment there was a sudden flash of light beside him, and he jumped backward with a yelp. A little scroll fell to the floor before him, but his eyes were drawn to the scarlet and gold feather that floated lazily toward the floor of the balcony. Dippet reached out and caught the feather, staring at it for a moment, before he quickly picked up the scroll and unrolled it.

G. is dead. Al's recovering.

-Abe

Dippet stared at the note, hardly daring to believe what he'd read. Then realizing what it meant, he laughed. Relief filled his mind and heart, and he retreated into his office, leaving the scroll on his desk, his mind racing. Professor Tressider no longer had cause for complaint. All it now would take was to convince the disgruntled substitute professor and his superiors at the Ministry to hold on for a couple of weeks. Dumbledore was coming back, hopefully permanently.

In short order, Dippet left his office and made his way for Tressider's, determined to resolve the problem once and for all. But when arrived there, he'd hardly raised his fist to knock on the door before he heard footsteps and wheezing. Pausing, Dippet turned as a burly man abruptly came around the corner, and upon seeing him, stopped abruptly.

"Good evening, Mr Ogg," Dippet greeted, smiling brightly.

"Headmaster…" The gamekeeper paused for a moment to catch his breath. He'd obviously run the entire way. Dippet waited patiently, and presently Ogg was able to manage, "The centaur leader's — outside the forest. He wants — to talk to you."

Professor Dippet was a little taken aback at the exact moment of this conference, but then again, he reflected, centaurs tended to have immaculate timing. There probably was only one reason the sage would want to see him now. He therefore gave Mr Ogg his thanks and changed direction, heading for the front doors instead. Tressider's complaints could wait. He passed numerous students on the way, some of whom nodded to him in a respectful greeting. One boy looked like a deer caught in wand-light, something that normally would raise a few teachers' eyebrows, but on this night he was not concerned with potential rule-breakers.

When he stepped outside it felt even colder than it had only moments ago; the sunset had now become a deep red colour, and the stars began to distinctly glimmer in the darkening sky above. Professor Dippet didn't stop until he approached the edge of the Forbidden Forest, but once he did, he sighed and shakily lowered himself onto a tree stump by the side of the lake. A drowsing bowtruckle, settled on the trunk of a nearby tree, blinked at him curiously, assessing him, but after some time it seemed to lose interest and buried itself in the bark of its home. Then the sound of hooves on grass met his ears, and Professor Dippet looked up to see an aged, grey centaur standing nearby, his torso protected from the intense cold with a deer-skin wrap.

They both stared at each other without expression, until Dippet asked quietly, "You sent for me, Tiresias?"

The old centaur bowed his head. "You just learned of today's happenings in Germany."

"Then you already know?"

"The brothers were victorious," Tiresias affirmed. "The Triskelions have fallen."

Dippet nodded. "You always have a way of knowing things before news could possibly reach you, oracle. But yes. Grindelwald is dead, and I imagine the Muggle dictator will soon follow." He exhaled shakily. "It is over."

But Tiresias, declining to share in Dippet's relief, bowed his head solemnly. "A battle has been won, but it is far from over."

Dippet's smile faltered. "You think the Triskelions will remain a threat?"

The sage shook his head again. "No, they were just an ulcer that started bleeding. It may seem sturdy now, but the Wizarding World was built on a splintering column. If corruption and depravity seep like water into the cracks again, the column will erode and wizardry will topple."

The wizard blinked. "What does that mean?"

"I refer to the unsteady nature of the separation between the magical and non-magical worlds," Tiresias clarified, his voice stoic but firm. "It is a shaky foundation. Perhaps the worlds were not meant to be separate. Even the centaurs cannot always foresee outcomes, but this we do know, that this foundation will not last. The barrier between worlds is crumbling."

"If you say so," mumbled Dippet, feeling a little nettled.

Tiresias surveyed him dispassionately, and Dippet knew that the centaur hadn't missed his disbelief. After a moment, he observed, "You betray the complacency common to all wizard-kind, Professor Dippet, though you yourself frequently condemn that weakness. But you do not know where to look for the source of your people's hubris, and therefore you do not recognize it, not even in yourself." He scrutinized Dippet sadly, making the other fidget uncomfortably. "The fall of wizardry as you know it cannot be prevented, and you cannot help. You can only warn, which is why I ask you to pass my message to the Dumbledore brothers."

"What message?"

"Understand this: The Paladins did not vanquish evil," Tiresias told him quietly. "As they cast down Chernobog, Moloch stirred in the shadows, taking advantage of their distraction, rearing like a hidden serpent ready to strike. This portentous exchange of devils, depravity for malevolence, will bring havoc to your world, the likes of which have not been seen for many eons. Even as Rudolf Grindelwald lies dead, something is stirring within this world, an evil greater and more formidable than Tenebrous, Emeric, or even Herpo the Foul. Even now, Armando Dippet, at this very moment." He paused for a moment, and turned his gaze to the twilight sky. "This morning Mars shone brighter than ever. We initially thought it was because of the bloodshed in Germany, but the stars are always fraught with double-meanings. The planet's alignment with the other stars and planets, and the methods by which we read these signs, suggests something more.

"And this is my message and prophecy: It will begin at Godric's Hollow, when a child is marked for battle. A pivotal discovery with great and terrible implications will be made, far to the west, in the shadow of the once-mountain called Anzem. The Sign of the Penumbra, the most fearsome omen known to the mortal world, will appear. Then begins the Great War of the Two Half-Bloods, when the sevenfold sorcerer battles the Arbitrator. Dual powers will collide, an ancient war will reignite, and a man's soul will be forcibly rent in two. Then watch for the virescent eyes of the War Mage, the man with no heart, a revenant of untold power who will either rebuild wizardry or destroy it."

Dippet's bewilderment was absolute, but even so, he visibly shivered. "Great war?" he stammered.

"Yes," Tiresias responded with cold intensity, "the inevitable cataclysm that will be the end of the magical world as you know it. Even now, a great evil is stirring. The War of the Two Half-Bloods will begin at Godric's Hollow. Tell Dumbledore."

Then, without another word, the oracle of the centaurs of Britain turned tail and returned to the forest, leaving Professor Dippet in unsettled confusion.