Salvete Omnes/Dear All: As promised, here is my bit for NaNoWriMo 2007, which follows 7 wizards and witches born in the 1880s.

Disclaimer: I write to praise, not to profit.

Praises be to JK Rowling, none of whose characters I own, to the Goo Goo Dolls, Josh Groban and the cast of "Wicked" for serenading me during the month of November, and to Jarrah Coffees for helping me pull two all-nighters to get my last 20-odd thousand out in two days!

WARNING:

This fanfiction contains SPOILERS for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows and all pre-existing canon, including and especially chocolate frog cards. Many chapters also have SLASH, and all chapters have some degree of nerdiness.

Prologue, by Harry

Harry Potter had decided to spend the eve of his eighteenth birthday in a very odd way indeed. Clutching a large, silver picture frame, he stood on a spiral staircase, made of stone, which was slowly revolving, spiralling its way to the top under the influence of some medieval magic. At that moment, Harry Potter was on his way to one of the towers of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

At the top of the stairs was a door of oak with a single griffon-shaped door-knocker as its ornament. But there was no need to use it; Harry was sure there would be no one present. Not only was it the summer holidays, it was also the dead of night. He pushed open the door unhesitatingly.

Harry guided the picture into the very familiar circular room with a gentle motion of his wand hand. With a firm flick he directed the sleeping portrait of Severus Snape, the previous Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, up onto the wall. Snape hardly stirred, which was a pleasant surprise, since portraits in the magical world could talk and move.

He wandered around the room for a few minutes, looking – not touching – the delicate instruments, which Snape had evidently taken pains to protect from the pillaging hands of the last Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour.

Harry paused, catching sight of a trunk underneath Snape's desk, labelled "Property of Albus Dumbledore", and respectfully padlocked shut. The slightest shiver scuttled down his spine as he brushed a year's worth of dust away. Upon a closer inspection, the wood had not only been engraved with the name of its owner – the trunk was adorned with countless shallower scratches. The sign of the Deathly Hallows, for starters. The letters, "AD4GG" – "Albus Dumbledore for the Greater Good," Harry supposed it meant. But what brought both bewilderment and moisture to his eyes was the same line from Kendra and Ariana's headstone:

Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.

He couldn't believe it had been just over a year since Dumbledore, Hogwarts Headmaster during Harry's first six years of school, had passed away. Having wiped his hand across his eyes, Harry continued to examine the trunk. However, it gave a definite little shudder, and the lock simply melted away. Harry recalled the last time he had wandered into one of Dumbledore's unlocked possessions – the Pensieve cabinet.

Curiosity is not a sin, Harry…

With an upward glance at Dumbledore's portrait, snoozing peacefully in his radiant frame, Harry grasped the lid of the trunk with two hands, and gently eased it open, wondering how many more secrets it could possibly contain, and mindful of Professor Binns' words in second year.

Just because a wizard doesn't use Dark Magic doesn't mean he can't, Miss Pennyfeather…I repeat, if the likes of Dumbledore…

In downright dissimilarity to his own school trunk, Dumbledore's was the epitome of neatness. On the right-hand side was a small stack of clothes, the most visible of which were some knitted socks, a Gryffindor scarf, something made of purple velvet and a sheet of shiny silk, which reflected the photograph on the inside of the lid of a number of young witches and wizards in Hogwarts robes, with gold lettering reading "Office Bearers, 1899". In the middle of the first row was Dumbledore, his nose still long and unbroken, tall and thin, though not quite as thin as the little black-haired girl in Ravenclaw robes standing on his right.

On his other side was a girl with brown hair, shorter than Dumbledore's, and the arm of a Hufflepuff boy around her shoulders. At that end of the row was a Hufflepuff girl. Harry smiled to himself as he noticed that the Slytherins had placed themselves on the opposite end of the photo, with three Ravenclaws between them and the Gryffindors. The other Ravenclaw girl – for there were two of them altogether, both raven-haired – blew a kiss at him – but this one had a majestic beauty about her, from her amber-coloured eyes to her little white hands. The names under the picture all seemed intriguingly familiar.

Front Row (Seventh-years): Hazel Rookwood, Phineas Black, Libatius Borage, Hesper Starky, Catherine Carlton, Albus Dumbledore, Delta Hitchens, Harvey Ridgebit, Phyllida Spore…

As far as Harry could see, the remainder of the trunk space was filled by books. Several had been tied together with a large satin, sky-blue ribbon. He loosened the bow and pulled out the topmost volume. It clearly bore the marks of being loved; bound with what might once have been metallic. Some of the pages were thicker than others, being weighted down by photographs which had been Spellotaped in. Harry recognised Rita and Bathilda's picture, as well as several others featuring that fateful pair – Dumbledore and Grindelwald, the two teenagers with the grand dreams. On the back inside cover of the book, a poem had been written:

As once more great evils in the world arise
Three children shall meet under darkening skies
Of which two are wizards, and one a witch
One of modest means, two very rich
An orphan, an outcast and a muggle-born
Those whom greatness seems odd to adorn
One lanky, long-nosed, with a deep red mane
Another whose wild locks hide a brilliant brain
The last is dark-haired, and as thin as a shadow
Worthy of wielding all three Deathly Hallows
With wands fashioned from willow, holly and vine wood
The three work in harmony for a greater good
Uniting unicorn, dragon and phoenix all together
With hair of tail, string of heart, and one tail feather
Two are prefects, one is rebellious
A trio lion-hearted, loyal and zealous
Bound by hope, love, faith and absolution
A new age of magic rests on their resolution

"That's us, Harry realised instantly. It's Ron, Hermione and me. But his eyes flickered to the adjacent page. But why is there an arrow pointing over there?

Harry's attention had not been captured at first because this picture did not move. The entire page had been filled by a coloured-pencil sketch of three people: Grindelwald, Dumbledore, and the black-haired girl who had been standing next to Dumbledore in the prefects' photograph, and reminded Harry of someone he had seen at a distance when he was very young.

The little girl's hands were resting on Grindelwald's shoulders, and his arms were linked under her knees, giving her a piggyback. Dumbledore was on the ground, pretending to be supporting the blonde boy, with his arms around Grindelwald's thighs.

As if it couldn't get any more surreal, in the corner was the caption, "31st of July, 1899 – Dory's Eighteenth". It was unbelievable, but somehow, exactly ninety-nine years to this day, Dumbledore must have been exactly the same age as him.

And now, Harry, let us step out into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure.

He shut his eyes and tried to imagine the three young people running off into the sunset, or sunrise, just as he, Ron and Hermione had what felt like a million years ago.

A/N: At the end of every chapter I will be singing-for-my-reviews-supper via parody:

The Sound of Music: Reviews Are My Favourite Things
Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens,
Inboxes full of reviews that've been written
Knowing the joy that my chapters can bring
These are a few of my favourite things!