Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. All rights go to respective owners.

Chapter Summary: The year is 750 C.E. The location is the Fairy Glen in Scotland. Morgana is worried whether or not she is 'good' enough for Neville, and if magic will except her Solstice sacrifice.

A/N — Warning: This fic touches on mental health and illness.

Midwinter

Breathe, Morgana. Just … breathe.

She repeated the words, again and again, in a conscious effort to remind herself to be calm. There was nothing to worry about, and everything was going to be fine. But as it always was with this type of thing, the more she thought about it, the more she felt herself spiraling deeper into anxiety and fear. Her hands shook, almost uncontrollably, and she forced herself to take a shuddering breath.

One… Two… Three.

Morgana exhaled and opened her eyes.

The late afternoon air was frosty and clear. She could clearly see her breath; it hung, suspended in midair. Powdery snow thinly blanketed the ground — although, there were much deeper drifts in the surrounding hills and mountains. The landscape was stunningly beautiful, but also wild and lonely. It stretched endlessly in all directions, perfect and untouched.

Morgana felt something that had long been repressed and burdened inside her begin to stir — or at least attempt to come back alive. She felt a twinge of disappointment and regret. In the past, she had once felt intimately connected with nature and the world.

At one point in her life, she had known where she belonged and had reveled in it.

That, however, was before. Those times had been happier; they had been before she had compromised her morals, little by little accepting darkness into her life. Those first steps had sent her falling down a path she had never thought she would travel. After awhile, she had no longer believed that she belonged in the light.

Then one day, she had met Neville. He was brave and kind, and someone who had magic, just like her. Although, he was out of place in many ways; being a time traveling accident of a poor runic array the most obvious of them. But he was someone who, for reasons that were beyond her, trusted her.

He had seen something in her, when no one else had or cared to try.

And you do not deserve him, a voice unrelentingly whispered into her mind. He is good and kind — and you can never go back to the way you were.

It is hopeless, added another. Your sacrifice will not be accepted.

What makes you think that you can be good again? Ha! What a joke.

You think you are powerful, but you are not.

You cannot even send the man you love back to his own time.

You can never be redeemed.

You are worthless.

The vicious and unrelenting whispers echoed in her mind, and more seeds of doubt took root. Morgana felt her stomach twist. There was no denying the truth to some of those words, but she fought against them all the same. She could not stop now; she had to keep moving forward. But the feeling of hopelessness rose in her chest anyway, eating away at her like festering rot, and she could not stop the cold tears that began to sting her eyes.

The crunch of gentle footsteps in the snow had her furiously wiping her eyes.

"Are we here?" Neville asked. He looked into her eyes and frowned. "Hey, are you okay?" The sweet worry was plainly evident in his voice, which only caused Morgana's heart to ache more.

"I am fine," she quickly responded, wiping her eyes one last time. "It is just the cold."

"You should have said something," Neville said. A flick of his wrist brought his wand falling out of his holster. It should have been a smooth, effortless motion, but he fumbled the catch and his wand tumbled lightly into the snow. Blushing, he picked it up and refreshed their fading warming charms. He quickly stowed the wand back into its holster.

Despite the weight on her heart, Morgana felt her lips quirk into a small smile. Circe, he was sometimes so helpless.

"You really need to practice that more," she said fondly.

"I know," he replied with a sheepish grin. "Anyway, you didn't answer my question. Are we here?"

He shifted the pack on his back and took in the landscape before them. The vista was beautiful, breathtaking even, but she knew it did not look like much — especially not after hiking all day to arrive at this specific location. What they could not physically see, however, she could still feel, despite her disconnect from the natural magic of the world.

The rolling hills and towering mountains, the glens and icy lochans, were all alive. While she could not see the glow of magic, she could feel it thrum beneath her feet and in the crystal clear air.

It was the heartbeat of the world.

"Yes, Neville," she whispered. "We are here."

Shrugging off the pack he carried, he dropped it to the ground. Rubbing his hands together, he flicked his wrist again. Once more, his wand snapped out of the holster and fell into his palm — this time with only a slight fumble. He looked up at her with a large grin, which she could not help but match. An almost imperceptible movement saw her own wand flash into her waiting hand.

"Show off," he muttered.

Her chest tightened slightly. Was he angry with her? She had not felt guilt like this in a long time. All she had done was summoned her wand. Was that wrong?

Unworthy, the voices whispered in her mind. Failure. Prideful. Liar.

Stop it! she thought back harshly.

Morgana looked up and met Neville's gaze. A smile and twinkling eyes told her that he was just teasing her. She felt herself relax.

"Always," she replied, trying to match the light-hearted nature of the banter he had begun.

Circe, he was an idiot. But then again, so was she for falling in love with him.

"Come on," she said, rolling her eyes. "There is not much daylight left. We have to get moving."

.oOo.

The unpacking process was cut down to a matter of minutes with magic. It was the set up, however, that took up the most of their time.

As logs of wood and other packages had flown out of the pack Neville had carried, he had joked that it would have been a challenge to carry all of it without the feather-light and expansion charms — but he still would have tried for her. At least, she thought he had been joking. Who would try that without the charms? That would have been impossible. But when she had caught his gaze, his eyes had twinkled with mirth and something else … admiration? Respect? Loyalty? Love?

Love, though unlikely, was what she now longed for above all else; his love, specifically.

She did not know when it had happened exactly, but one day it was if she had woken up and realized that somewhere along the way, she had fallen in love with this brave, compassionate — albeit slightly forgetful and clumsy — man. It was frustrating, in more ways than one, because he had never made any feelings other than friendship known to her.

Neville trusted her, that much was obvious. He believed in her ability to be good and to always do better. He had never mentioned love, but she had gone and fallen in love with an accidental time traveler anyway.

She had also promised that she would help him get home.

Which was the whole reason why they were currently standing in a cold and lonely glen, far from any resemblance of human activity. She had hit a bit of an obstacle in their quest.

It had taken months for her to trust him. Looking back now, she realized that she had wasted so much time. It had not been fair to Neville because it had taken even more months after that to figure out the correct potions, runes, and enchantments to send him back — let alone the time it actually took to obtain those items.

The last piece of the puzzle was a Gloine nan Druidh — a Druids' Glass — that had been enchanted and blessed in the light of the stars. Morgana was the only one capable of wielding the magic to enchant the stone, but the blessing required an act of true love — an act of pure Light magic.

That was beyond her abilities.

In the past it had not always been that way, but now her ledger dripped in red. In order to enchant the Gloine nan Druidh, she had to balance the scales.

Hence, the trip into the wilds of the Highlands.

Lost in her tumultuous thoughts, the hours slipped by in companionable silence, and they continued to unpack and set up their camp. A tent was erected and a large fire pit was set up a little way from the main site. As the sun dipped down toward the horizon, Morgana set fire to the pile of wood that was the foundation of their bonfire.

"What now?" Neville asked, brushing the dirt off his pants. The fire, urged on by dry kindling and magic, crackled and flared to life.

"Now we draw the runes. Want to help?" she asked innocently.

"Uh, I m-mean— Do w-we have to?" he stuttered, as Morgana started to laugh. Even that was different around him. The sound of her laughter, echoing across the frigid lochans and streams, was light and carefree; even to her ears, it no longer sounded cold and harsh.

Neville froze in shock before slowly realizing that she was simply teasing him. He grinned, although it seemed a little shaky.

"No, Neville," she said with a smile. "There are no runes involved. I promise. Honestly, have you not ever celebrated the Solstice before?"

"No," he replied, shaking of his head. "I haven't. I've heard plenty of stories, but surprisingly Gran wasn't too keen on the Old ways and traditions."

"Well, this will be special then," she said softly. She took a step closer toward the now roaring fire, only to feel a hand on her shoulder stop her in her tracks.

"Whatever you are going to do," Neville said firmly, "just please stay safe. I- Just don't do anything reckless."

She glanced between the flickering flames and his concerned face. Slowly, her mind made the connections. Honestly, what had he thought she was going to do? Sacrifice herself?

"Neville," she asked, "just what do you think celebrating the Solstice involves?"

"Uh, well … I know there are sacrifices involved," he replied hesitantly. "And I know you've been saying that it's your fault that the last piece of the time traveling spell won't work."

She must have looked devastated — because that was how she certainly felt — and he rushed to reassure her.

"No. I don't blame you!" he stated. He held her hands and pulled her close, and she felt her heart stop. "I promise. But sometimes, I think you blame yourself and you shouldn't. It's not your fault."

She smiled sadly and took a step back. Her hands slipped out of his, and she suddenly felt the distance between them.

"But it is my fault, Neville."

Turning, she faced the towering fire. She closed her eyes. Blocking out the sounds of the world and her worrying heart, she fell inside herself, finding the radiant power that was her magic. Her normally dull and contained center was flashing and sparking with barely restrained energy. Instead of attempting to bring the magic under her control, however, she instead allowed it to consume her.

It felt like she had tumbled into a frozen loch; it took her a moment to remember how to breathe.

Her eyes were once again open — in more ways than one. She could now see the flickering filaments of magic in the air, connecting and weaving everything into a perfect living tapestry. Glancing behind her, she could see Neville's aura; it blazed with gold and earthy greens. She looked down at her own hands and saw the grim aura around them.

The once joyful colors of sea green and aquamarine were streaked with black and sickly red lines. She fought back against the quickly rising fear and doubt.

It is too late, a voice whispered.

How can you fix this? It is irreparable.

You are broken.

Ha! What a wasted trip.

I bet Neville hates you. He pities you.

He should.

Yes, he should pity you.

There is nothing left.

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing. Just give up.

Yes. Yes! Just give up!

Give up.

She felt herself falling into a black hole — the voices taunting and mocking her — when a hand on her waist pulled her back to reality. Morgana felt Neville stand behind her and gently pull her close in a protective embrace. He leaned down and whispered into her ear.

"I can't see what you can," he said softly. She distantly thought it was sweet, that he thought what she was seeing bothered her. The magic she could handle; her thoughts were another tale. "But whatever it is, you can handle it. I believe in you."

Focusing on the fire and each steady breath Neville took, Morgana found her courage and began to speak.

"As the light of day fades into the longest night of the year, we gather in celebration," she intoned. "For we know that winter is not a time of death — at least, not permanently. Even though we cannot see it, we know that life is growing just beneath the surface, waiting for the light of spring. Tonight we celebrate the blessings the gods and goddesses have provided, and humbly ask that they will continue to do so."

Morgana reached into her left pocket and pulled out the Gloine nan Druidh. The stone was small and smooth; there was a perfect hole in its center. She clutched it in the palm of her hand.

"The wheel turns," she continued formally. "Things never happen the same way twice, and we can never truly go back to what we once were."

At those words, she felt Neville tighten his hold on her. Grasping his hand, Morgana laced her fingers through his. She gave his hand a small, comforting squeeze.

"I have failed," she whispered, feeling incredibly vulnerable. "For all the death and destruction I have caused, I am truly sorry. But as the wheel turns and continues on, so does life. I cannot go back."

Failure.

She let go of Neville and flicked her wrist. Her wand dropped into her waiting hand, and she held it horizontal over some of the smaller flames.

"I ask the blessing of the gods and goddesses—"

Weak.

"—for power is rooted in humility, not control."

Her wand seemed to fight against her, almost as if it were alive and sensed her intentions. She gritted her teeth and held firm.

"There is no going back, but I refuse to remain as I am," she said, her heart pounding against her chest. "I offer up my powers and magic, in exchange for the blessing and enchantments needed to send Neville home."

As Neville began to protest, she expected to feel regret or anxiety — something that would give her pause. Instead, there was only peace.

"I love you, Neville," she confessed.

Before he could say anything more, she tossed her wand into the flames. As soon as it hit the embers, magic blasted through her body — coursing through her veins like molten fire — and she fell to her knees, screaming.

She saw her life flash before her eyes and instinctively knew that the gods and goddesses were judging her intentions. Morgana saw the good and bad of her life, but was ashamed to see it was mostly terrible things. Not that it was a surprise, but it still was painful to see. Before she could dwell on the matter too long, the magic left her body.

It was all over and done with in less than a second.

"Morgana!" Neville shouted. Her vision slowly returned to normal and she weakly looked to her side. Neville was on his knees next to her, his arm still around her waist. "Morgana, are you okay?"

Wearily lifting her right hand, she said the only thing that she could think of to answer his question.

"Lumos."

Light flared in her palm and danced onto her fingertips. Morgana felt herself shatter into a million pieces. Neville pulled her close, as she began to sob.

"It's okay, Morgana," he said, rubbing small circles on her back. "It's okay. We'll figure out something else. I promise."

There was nothing else, though. They both knew that. She had been his only hope, and she had let him down. Perhaps worse was the feeling that she knew she would never be good enough for him. He was Light, and she was the exact opposite.

The rejection of her sacrifice proved that without a doubt.

Word count (not including title and author's notes): 2795