Disclaimer: I have a Star Wars Trivial Pursuit board game and a mean memory. Everything else belongs to Rowling and associated companies.
Author's Note: This chapter I dedicate to Michael Crichton whose Timeline was an inspiration for this chapter and to Sara whose editing skills make this story as clean as possible. Check out her awesome story about a Death Eater spy whose reparations for past actions bind her to the fate of a boy whose father she's killed and ultimate sacrifice to a cause that had never accepted her into its folds to begin with. Read Soupofthedaysara's The Book of Jude. I promise that it's better than anything you'll read in my portfolio.
Chapter Seven:
Through The Mill
"You think I only think about you when we're both in the same room
I'm only here to witness the remains of loving you
You think we're here to play a game of who loves more than who
You think it's only fair to do what's best for you and you alone
You think it's only fair to do the same for me when you're not home
I think it's time to make this something that's more than only fair
I'm warning you, don't ever do those crazy messed up things that you do
If you ever do I promise you
I'll be the first to crucify you
It's time to prove that you came back here to rebuild…"
Barenaked Ladies: 'Call and Answer'
Detention was served out the week leading up to Halloween. It was dark and deserted in the Great Hall, the ceiling above mimicking a swirling indigo with pinhole stars.
This would be a very romantic setting, Ginny mused, if she wasn't bent over on her hands and knees scrubbing the entire stone floor with a tiny scrub brush while Draco looked on, scowling.
They had been condemned to scrub the entire floor without the aid of magic. So far Ginny had been at it for half an hour and Draco hadn't so much as lifted a finger.
"Are you going to go back to medical school someday?" Draco asked, shattering the lasting silence. They hadn't spoken since they got here.
"I don't know." Ginny stopped scrubbing and brushed a strand of hair out of her face. She smiled to herself and then started to giggle. "Do you know who was the first person to encourage me to think about medical training?"
"No. Who?" Draco asked, sitting down on the cold stone floor next to her.
"Percy," she looked up and smiled. "He said I had a knack for it. I would fix him up after Fred and George had got to him. They did some pretty evil things now that I remember it. One time I remember it was so serious that he almost lost a finger."
Draco raised his eyebrows, "Really?"
"Yeah, but he was always a good sport about it though. He never got too upset."
Draco paused for a while. Staring at Ginny as she bent to work again, he considered asking her more. He longed to hear her voice, to have things like they were before all of this shit started.
She looked up briefly and glanced at him, saw that he was staring at her oddly and smiled self-consciously.
"Do you miss him?" Draco asked tentatively.
"Yes, all the time," she admitted in a quivering voice.
She busied herself with a particularly tough stain on the grout and Draco was afraid he'd made her cry. She stopped suddenly and looked at him, discarding her scrub brush in the bucket of soapy water. She pulled her knees into her chest and she sat there, thinking.
"Don't you miss Lucy?" she asked finally.
"Terribly," Draco said.
"I remember the last thing that my brother said to me was that he was worried about me and that I wasn't eating or sleeping enough. He was always on to me about something," she said examining her hands nervously.
"And that bothered you?" Draco asked, "Sounds to me like he was just being a big brother."
"No, I always loved his annoying attentions. He was always the first one to know when something was going on with me."
"It sounds like he adored you," Draco offered.
"Like Lucy adored you," Ginny said.
"Hmmm. I'm not so sure. I think she was mad at me toward the end," he admitted, his attitude growing visibly more rigid.
"When?" Ginny asked, furrowing her brow. "What happened?"
"She wanted to know why we were leaving Paris in such a hurry. I was worried that she might become involved in whatever was going on. I didn't want to scare her and so I said nothing about you. She got angry and so did I," he paused and swallowed hard.
Ginny had to fight the urge to touch him. He would probably spurn her affections if she offered them.
"The last time we spoke was when I yelled at her. I would give anything to take that back now," he was staring off at the floor but almost past it as well. His eyes were focused on nothing in particular.
"I am so sorry, Draco," she said in a nearly inaudible tone.
He didn't seem to hear her.
Then, without warning he spoke again. "I know you are."
Ginny felt tears trickle down her cheek and wiped them away quickly. She didn't want him to see that she was crying, didn't want to appear weak—though weak was what she was—too weak to stand up to them. She'd taken Lucy away from him and she would never forgive herself for that.
"I would have gladly taken her place," he whispered, closing his eyes and exhaling. He looked up at the ceiling alight with autumn stars.
"Sometimes I think I could have stood up to more," Ginny thought aloud. She hadn't known that he'd heard her until his gaze snapped quickly back to her with surprise. His eyes were wide open and questioning.
"What do you mean? I thought they threatened you. Did they do more than threaten? What happened, Ginny?" he asked urgently. "Tell me," he pleaded.
Ginny had gotten to her feet. She couldn't speak. She hadn't meant to mention that. She didn't want him to know.
"I can't."
"I want to know. Ginny, all this time I thought you had given her up to save yourself," Draco's voice faltered. He wasn't quick enough to get to his feet.
Ginny pulled out her wand and performed the charm that rendered the floor of the Great Hall spotless (though they had been forbidden to use magic) and raced out.
"I can't tell you, I'm sorry Draco," she apologized before disappearing.
Draco cursed and kicked the bucket with little grace. Soapy water splashed onto his shoe and he cursed again.
***
"Were you ever going to say anything about this? Or were you planning to keep it from me forever?" Imogen's voice was cold and accusing as she heard the key slide into the lock and Arabella appeared in the doorway shortly after that.
"What are you going on about?" Arabella asked, breathless, setting her armloads of shopping on the kitchen table. "I'm cooking tonight," she added brightly, dismissing Imogen's question, "Italian."
Imogen got up from her spot on the sofa and threw the copy of the Daily Prophet she'd been examining on the table in front of Arabella.
The older woman stopped and stared. The front page bore a rather pathetic looking picture of Peter Pettigrew behind bars. She looked visibly stricken by the image on the page but quickly recovered.
"Is that today's issue? I haven't had a chance to read it."
"Were you going to tell me? It says his trial is next month. Does he have a chance?" Imogen began to cry. Arabella moved around the counter in the kitchen to put an arm around her. Imogen spurned the contact, her eyes brightening with anger.
"It's my fault. He won't get off…and…it's because of me."
As if anticipating Imogen's thoughts, Arabella said firmly, "You are not to visit him."
Imogen looked up, wildly enraged by this.
"You're in my custody, don't forget. And I forbid your seeing him." Arabella's tone was firm and unwavering.
"I have to. I have to say something to him. I have to explain," Imogen raged at her guardian.
"No. You can do no more for him. It's better this way. If I hear word from the prison guards that you've been to visit him…just remember that you're in nearly as bad a position as he's in, Imogen. I'm the only thing keeping you out of that place."
Imogen bit her lip and snatched the paper from Arabella's hands. "I'll be in my room. I'm not hungry." She slammed the door across from Arabella's room with an audible bang.
The older woman just looked after her and shook her head. "Teenagers," she sighed, pouring herself a well-earned glass of wine.
Imogen employed herself wisely in the privacy of her room. She had nearly completed the adjustments on the Time-Turner.
If Arabella knew what she'd been planning to do behind her back…a smile of complete defiance spread across her lips. Sometimes it was hard to stay humble when you knew you could run circles around all of these people.
The Dark Arts text that she took from Lucy's laboratory sat opened on her bed. She checked it against the mixture that she'd made. Everything looked to be in order. She bit her lip as the danger of what she'd been doing came suddenly back to her. She could land herself and Ginny in a whole load of trouble if they were found out.
Time-Turners were supposed to be strictly regulated. Hers happened to be issued her by Arabella so that she could both attend Hogwarts and work at the Ministry as well. It was not traceable by Ministry standards. However, she knew clearly the sort of repercussions that would follow if anyone found out about their time-traveling stint. She was already walking a fine line between freedom and Azkaban and she had no illusions about where she would end up if this all went the wrong way.
She snapped the text shut and shoved it to the bottom of her trunk, along with Lucy's potion notes and her own.
It was complete.
She placed the Time-Turner around her neck and under her collar.
Tomorrow was Saturday. She and Ginny could get started then. And she could find out just what Lucius Malfoy's business with the Founders was.
***
Ron was already in a bad mood. He was the newly appointed Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, something he'd always wanted to be. And yet, it was going to be very different without Harry there. He was the oldest member of the team. He'd been there since his first year, whereas this was only Ron's second season on the team. This should have been Harry's position, Harry's team. The fun of it all was sucked right out.
He dragged his broom sulkily behind him as he made his way down to the Quidditch pitch. Today was the try-outs for their new Seeker. The team was already assembled and ready to begin. He was late and they were waiting on him. Out into the sun, he had to squint slightly before his eyes could adjust to the change.
He saw the lines of hopefuls forming and he thought grudgingly that they would have to settle for one or another of these losers. He wished he'd been able to persuade Harry back onto the team.
"Weasley, can I have a minute?" he heard from behind him and cringed.
Malfoy. He didn't have the time or the patience to deal with him today.
"What do you want? Can't you see I'm busy?"
"Yeah, you've got to pick some retard to take Potter's place. That shouldn't be too difficult," Draco said with indifference.
"I suppose you think you're better?" Ron turned to engage him, forgetting for a moment that he had someplace else he needed to be.
"Hell yes I do. I haven't played for the team in two years. But there are probably several players out there that can handle Slytherin's newest, O'Connor. He's an idiot."
"You're holding me up so that you can talk Quidditch with me?" said Ron, shaking his head disbelievingly.
"No. But don't worry. Potter is replaceable." Draco smirked and shoved his hands into his pockets as he watched Ron seethe.
"Right. I'm leaving now," Ron said and turned to walk away.
"I need to ask you something about Ginny," Draco said a moment later, causing Ron to start and then redden with rage. He waved for Dean Thomas to start the try-outs without him and turned back to face Malfoy.
"Stay away from her." Ron had a white knuckled grip on his broom handle.
Draco decided to get to the point before he caused another scene and wound up in detention again. "Did she ever tell you what had happened to her?" he faltered slightly.
Ron's raged ebbed as he looked around the entryway of the castle. "Yeah. I figured she'd never say anything to you. Come on," Ron said, walking down the hall and into an empty classroom.
Draco waited a moment until Ron had closed the door and lit the room with his wand. "But you know, don't you?"
"Yes, I do." His façade was still immovably rigid. "But she won't tell you, will she?"
Draco looked down at the floor. He was growing angry with Ron and his evasive conversation, but egging him into a fist fight wouldn't get him the information he wanted to know—or would it?
"She's weak. At the first threat of danger, of harm to herself, she gave up an innocent person. Lucy didn't deserve to die. And she wouldn't have if it hadn't been for her!" He spat the last part with fabricated contempt.
Ron was reddening and breathing heavily. He was angry—and rightly so.
"You fucking bastard," Ron said, restraining himself from hurtling across the room and wrapping his hands around Draco's throat. "She held out as long as she could. She almost died. Her veins were pumped full of Veritas Serum. Do you know what that stuff does to the human immune system?"
Draco shook his head slowly. It was horrifying. He knew exactly what Veritas Serum could do. But he didn't let on that he did. "So they drugged her a little. I would have thought that being a Gryffindor and all it would have taken more than that." He was cold and indifferent, but it was an act. His heart was sinking with the realization that he'd been holding Ginny responsible for a death that was not her fault in the slightest. He was surprised, knowing now what she'd gone through, that she hadn't died herself. She was possibly the strongest person he'd ever met. He knew he couldn't stand up to that much.
"That's not the half of it," Ron continued, his eyes boring into Draco. "She had marks of several curses. Would you care to guess which ones?" Ron was being slow and methodical. He knew Draco's real reasons for wanting to know about Ginny. He was not stupid. He felt that his sister was way out of Draco's league, and maybe he could still talk some sense into her. But he couldn't have Draco thinking that she didn't give a good fight for Lucy. He knew how much Ginny had grown to love that little girl. She tortured herself enough for what had happened to her without Draco jumping to the wrong conclusions.
Draco sank down into a nearby seat as Ron watched in a mask of stony hatred. He was getting the idea now just how much she had endured to save his sister. And he had been angry with her, furious at her for having caved.
Ginny spent the week leading up to school in a hospital bed, next door to Dumbledore. Ron hardly ever left her side and held her as she cried. She hated herself because she hadn't been able to give a better fight. She'd said she'd lost Draco's trust forever. He hated her.
Ron had the greatest urge to inflict harm on the slightly smaller boy sitting in front of him. He wanted vengeance for all of those tears that Ginny had cried for him. He didn't want to give him the chance to hurt her again.
"She's been tortured enough. Leave her alone. You'll never be good enough to deserve her," Ron said finally, flinging the door of the classroom open and leaving Draco there alone, to think on his words. And Ron knew that he was right. Draco knew it too.
***
"A few very important ground rules," Imogen said, tugging Ginny behind her, past the Quidditch pitch where tryouts were underway. Past Hagrid's lonely hut and to the edge of the forest Imogen pulled Ginny with speed and purpose.
"Like what?" Ginny said, clamoring to keep up with her friend.
"Firstly, no magic that hasn't been invented yet."
"How will we know what has and—," Ginny began confusedly.
"If you are unsure, then don't use it. I know for sure that Aparating is out of the question, particular healing charms, etc. We don't want to introduce new magic into history. I'm not sure that time paradoxes exist, but it's better to be safe, you know." Imogen released Ginny's hand momentarily to climb over a large root protruding from the ground. It was getting darker the further into the forest they plunged.
"Time paradoxes?" Ginny asked, grabbing Imogen's hand again.
"You know, I want to kill my grandfather so I go back in time and AK his ass. But if I had killed him then my father couldn't have been conceived and neither can I. So I can't go back in time to kill the bastard. Time paradox."
"Does that really work?" Ginny asked.
"I'm not sure. But I would have loved to try." Imogen smirked silently to herself.
"You hate your grandfather?" Ginny said.
"No. I would have liked to kill him though."
Ginny chanced a sideways glance at her companion. "You're sort of scary sometimes. Were you aware of that?"
Imogen only laughed.
They trudged on a bit further until they came to a clearing in the dense wood. The trees here were smaller. They had a noticeably smaller circumference at their base. Skinny stalks shot up from the confinements of a ruined castle wall. One large guard tower still stood, ivy climbed along the stone masonry.
"Oh wow. What is this place?" Ginny asked.
"Don't you recognize it?" Imogen said as she surveyed the place with a smile. It was enchanting.
"Should I?" Ginny asked confused.
"We were just here last week. It's the Hufflepuff castle. The smaller one that opposes Hogwarts across the river."
"River?" Ginny asked, occupied in surveying the remaining stone structure.
"Yes," Imogen informed her. "Where the lake is now. There used to be a mill across it, at its most powerful point. But it's gone now. I don't know what has happened to it. And this," she made a sweeping gesture toward the ruins, "is all that's left of Hufflepuff's first castle."
"First? You mean this one is older than Hogwarts?" Ginny asked.
"Yep." Imogen was removing some folds of what looked to be linen and felt from her bag slung over her shoulder. "Put this on." She threw some of the garments to Ginny who took them and surveyed the uncertainly.
"What are these for?"
"You have to blend in. These will be status neutral. You won't look too rich or too poor. Hopefully we will be able to observe the place without anyone becoming suspicious of us."
"Wow. You really have done your research for this little outing," Ginny marveled at the strange clothing.
"Well, it will be easy for the ministry to catch us if two girls in modern clothing suddenly show up in historical documents, don't you think? That's why it's important to use as little magic as possible. Unless you know it exists this early on, leave it." Imogen began to don her costume. "It's my Time-Turner and my ass on the line if anything happens. Try to talk to people as little as possible. You may be able to understand them on your own but this will help." She placed a charm on Ginny, touching her wand to her head. "A translating charm. It works for dead languages as well. But it can't help you if you need to speak. Do you speak Old English? Norse? Celtic languages?"
Ginny shook her head fervently. She was becoming visibly worried.
Imogen smiled. "Neither do I. This should be fun."
"Why are we doing this all in the forest?" Ginny asked as Imogen adjusted her dress for her.
"Because, this castle houses the market place. Hogwarts is mainly a defense and treasury right now. It would look better if were appeared at the market place. More people—less of a chance that we will be noticed. We have three hours. I've set the Turner. We need to be back before dark."
"Why?" Ginny asked.
"Do you want to be in this forest at night? I don't"
"Okay," Ginny said, exhaling loudly, "let's do this, let's fuck up history irrevocably."
Imogen smiled and took her Time-Turner on its fine gold chain and placed it around both of their necks. She turned it once and they forest seemed to blur and then vanish.
***
Ginny felt a little disoriented when the world came back into view. Only the world that came into view was nothing like the one she'd just left. This one was noisier, bustling. She was in the midst of a market instead of deep inside of a tranquil forest.
"Come on, Gin." Imogen was removing the thin gold chain from around her neck and placing it securely inside of her robes.
They stepped out from behind a tanning vat and Imogen warned, "Careful. That's lye. It'll burn like hell if it gets on you."
"It's already burning like hell," Ginny said rubbing her eyes with her fists.
Imogen held her nose but didn't say anything. The sooner they were away from that smell the better. She couldn't fathom the tolerance that these people built up from years of working around this stuff. It was horrid.
They skirted a few sinister looking knights in green and silver and ducked down a back alley. They came to a lean to bearing the wares of a potter.
Three children were playing around out front. One of the boys wasn't even big enough to walk. He was constantly under the attention of a watchful older sister. The other boy ran forcefully into Ginny's knees, causing her to double over, catching herself by throwing her hands out. The boy was dark haired and mischievous looking. He smiled and blinked innocently, clinging onto the stunned Ginny.
Imogen was more interested in the other boy—the baby and his sister. She was unremarkable, about Imogen's age or perhaps a bit younger. She was dirty with ragged clothes and un-brushed hair, pulled back from her face in a knot. She looked suspiciously between Imogen and Ginny before standing and pulling the older of her two siblings from Ginny's leg. They both had raven black hair and hazel colored eyes.
The baby seemed eerie to Imogen. Like she'd seen him before, or someone like him. He had lighter hair than his brother and sister and dark brown eyes. But she knew he must have been related to the two of them. She heard the girl referring to him as "brother".
She shook her head to bring herself back to her original purpose. She motioned to Ginny and they both turned up the side street and away from the hut.
"Did you see that?" Imogen asked in a whisper.
"Yes. They were too adorable. But I don't think their sister liked us much."
"Don't you recognize them? The girl? And the boy that ran into you?" Imogen was becoming slightly agitated by her recognition of them.
"No."
"The last scene from the Pensieve. The two older children, they were the murdered children in that hut."
"Oh, no!" Ginny said, looking back over her shoulder. "Can't we…" she trailed off knowing full well that they couldn't save those children. Their future had already been foretold. There was no saving them.
"Ginny. We aren't supposed to be here. We can't just change history like that. It would change the course of the future." Imogen seemed distracted by something else.
"How?"
"If they are living when they weren't supposed to have lived, their children, children's children, etc. could have a drastic effect on the outcome of future events." Imogen talked slowly, looking back at the hut every so often as if she expected to see someone else.
"Yes, I know. But those poor children, their poor parents…" Ginny looked miserable.
"But what about that little one?" Imogen asked as they turned down another street and passed a cooper at work.
"That little boy with the lighter hair?" Ginny was thinking. "I don't think he was there when the others were killed. At least, I didn't see him there."
"Then where do you suppose he was?" Imogen said in a conspiring tone. "Do you think someone took him?"
Ginny shrugged.
Imogen stopped and held out a hand for Ginny to stop as well. From a side door in the inner bailey, stepped a monk with his head bowed following obediently behind an enchantingly beautiful woman of no more than eighteen or twenty years old. Her hair was the color of corn silk and her robes were of rich green velvet. She had a dangerous air about her. A lethal beauty that seduced the unsuspecting and devoured them.
The man concealed under the monk's cowl wasn't easily seen, but the telltale platinum blond hair was just visible under the hood. It was Lucius Malfoy.
"That's Eowyn Slytherin, Salazar's daughter," Ginny whispered.
"Recognize the monk?" Imogen asked.
"I can't see him. He's hidden under that hood."
"Let's follow them," Imogen suggested. She and Ginny fell in step behind the two, inconspicuous among the throng of people in the market, keeping a distance of about a hundred and fifty feet.
As they pursued them outside the castle walls, both Ginny and Imogen stopped in awe. Imogen could hear Ginny's sharp intake of breath.
Eowyn and the monk walked down to the river's edge, a wide and snaking river that disappeared into the mountains at the very edge of their sight. Some parts of the river were wild and churning with rapids. At the greatest and most powerful of these rapids stood a massive stone bridge with two separate buildings perched on top of it. Four water wheels churned underneath of the formidable structure producing the power for the mills' operations. One of the buildings was made of stone, two or three stories tall.
"What goes on in there?" Ginny asked pointing to the stone building that both Eowyn and the monk had just disappeared into.
"I dunno. It could be for iron working or anything. That one there is a flour mill," Imogen said pointing to the second of the buildings, a low wooden one at the far end of the bridge. Hogwarts dominated the landscape on the opposite side of the river.
"Let's go," Ginny said, heading for the stone building on the bridge. She was apparently as interested in seeing what these two were up to as well as Imogen was.
Inside the stone structure of the mill bridge the sound was near deafening. On the first floor, hammers pounded on anvils in an ear-splitting clang. It was, in fact, an iron working mill. The hydraulic power of the water wheels was the force behind the bellows and powered the hammers. Imogen was in awe. As an amateur historian, everything she saw fascinated and delighted her.
"Which way?" Ginny yelled, covering her ears and squinting against the racket.
Imogen pointed to wooden stairs in the corner.
They went up to the second floor. Nothing.
As the ascended the stairs to the third floor, the deafening noise subsided greatly.
They hung back in the stairway as they heard low voices in the room just ahead of them. Imogen held her finger to her lips. Quiet. Ginny nodded in agreement.
"And how is my army coming along, Lucius?" Eowyn's silky voice floated through the steamy air of the mill.
Imogen furrowed her brow. Army?
"I have control of the mill. They will be well armed. I am anxious to wage my battle. I want them dead." Eowyn seemed excited. What was she demanding of him? And what was he asking in return? Imogen knew this man. He did no favors.
She peeked around the corner slightly. She could see both of them. Eowyn seemed effortless in her manners and charms. Imogen almost snorted. That was one man that couldn't be seduced. He was too inhuman for that.
"All of your weapons will be meaningless if there is no army to use them. You get no army from me until I get what I want," Lucius replied in an even tone, matching her grace note for note.
Eowyn appeared frustrated by this but covered it with a smile. "Lucius, my father died six months ago and took all of his secrets to his grave with him." She was visibly angered by what she had to admit. "He told me nothing."
"Find out. I want that child. Wherever he is. He is the key," Lucius bellowed.
Imogen realized that she was not waiting for the translation spell to come through She was actually listening to their words. They were conversing in an archaic form of French. She understood it well enough without the translation.
She suddenly jumped as she heard a scream from behind her. Ginny.
She whirled around and reached for her wand in time to see a rat scurry away under the floorboards. Ginny had a hand clasped over her mouth, her eyes wide with terror and the realization that she had accidentally given them away.
"Who was that?" Imogen heard Lucius ask in the most agitated of tones.
"Spies. That wretched Gryffindor, he's sent someone to watch us," Eowyn surmised.
Not quite true—but very bad all the same.
"Maurice," Eowyn commanded.
Apparently they had stationed a guard at the door for that very reason.
Imogen heard the heavy footfalls of a large man as he neared their hiding place.
"Run!" Imogen mouthed, pushing herself away from the wall and following Ginny down the stairs with all the speed that she could muster.
As they rounded the corner to the stairs and onto the first floor landing, Imogen chanced a look back and found that their beefy pursuer was closing the distance between them.
Ginny crashed through the door, the sound muted by the infernal beating of the iron hammers. Out into the sun, Imogen squinted against the glare of the water a hundred feet below them…or more. Just ahead she saw the flourmill and a daring idea popped into her head.
"Ginny, head for the flourmill."
Ahead of her Ginny nodded and kicked the door in. Imogen glanced over her shoulder and saw their pursuer coming through the stone building and out onto the bridge after them.
Imogen still had her wand out—at the ready. She was sure that this spell had been around ages before now. It was one of the oldest and simplest of spells—first year magic.
The ground floor of the wooden building was soaked through with rotted planking from years of water splashing up from the water wheels just below. Two giant wheels rose and fell with the power of the river's currents. The entire room smelled of mildew. There was a fine yellow powder in the air that never seemed to land. The grinding of grain took place in the upper levels and was sent down a shoot to the ground floor where it was sacked for sale. There were no open flames in this building as the dust from grinding was highly flammable. Thus the mill was only in operation during daylight hours. That was also why it was a wholly separate structure from the other mill for iron working—which needed blast furnaces to heat the metals.
"Ginny, grab onto one of the water wheels."
Ginny looked terrified by the suggestion.
"Trust me. It's not that far down."
Ginny looked down into the opening where one of the massive wheels churned the water below the mill. She tried to time her breathing with the rise and fall of each of the wheel's paddles. She grabbed out and missed the first one. The second paddle came around and she reached out and closed her eyes. The current powered wheel turned and she held on, feeling it take her out of the mill and into the icy water. She let go when she made contact with the water, as not to be dragged under and up again with the wheel. The current whisked her out from under the bridge and out into the sunlight.
Imogen saw Ginny successfully catch onto one of the wheels. She was out of the mill. Imogen stood beside the other wheel as her predator inched slowly closer, leery of her wand. He didn't appear to have a wand. Was he a Muggle? Of course, it was typical in these times to have a mixed society. The confines of the wizarding world were not as rigid as they have become in the future. Despite what popular opinion said, Imogen knew that the societies of the Middle Ages were much more cosmopolitan.
"Inflamarre mill," Imogen shouted. She aimed her wand at the sacks of grain behind the hulking man that was moving closer to her. He was wearing a smirk on his face that left Imogen with no illusions as to what would happen to her if she allowed herself to be caught.
The flour ignited easily, distracting the guard for a moment. It was just long enough a distraction for Imogen to grab onto the rising paddle of the water wheel and to be carried out of the mill and into the river below.
Moments later she felt the white hot heat as the mill above her exploded. The dust in the air was ignited by the spark she'd enchanted. Splinters of wood and projectile debris pelted themselves at her in the water. She saw men running frantically toward the fire in an effort to put it out before it spread.
Imogen felt her scalp burning and blinked madly as hot fluid dripped into her eyes. She felt as if she couldn't move her neck. She lay there, being carried downstream by the forceful current, afraid to move. Had she been paralyzed? No, she could make small circles with her neck though it afforded her nothing but pain.
"Imogen!" She heard Ginny calling after her. She didn't chance the movement of turning to see where the voice had come from. She heard splashing and thought Ginny might be swimming out to get her. It was the whinnying of a horse that changed her mind.
Backlit by the sun, she couldn't decipher the figure that had rode out into the water, separating her from arrows that began to splash down into the water around her.
She felt herself being hauled lightly onto the saddle in front of her rescuer and then all went black. The last thing she remembered thinking before the blackness crept in was, "We've totally fucked this one up."
