Disclaimer: The characters, places and situations of the Harry Potter series belong to J.K Rowling. I own Lucy, Anni and a bunch of minor characters that aren't worth mentioning. All of the Founders' children and heirs are mine as well. Balthamos belongs to Phillip Pullman, but I borrowed him.

Author's Note: For those of you who are curious, Occitan is a dead language that was spoken in medieval France and England, among many others.

Thank You's:

Hibiscus: Yes. Damn that Draco! And I'm glad that you love Harry and Ginny's interactions. They are two that I really indulge in. I just love their dynamic (non-ship relationship, that is).

Soup: you know you rock.

Lady Branon: I'm glad you liked the chapter. It's one of my particular favorites. But these last chapters are like children, I couldn't pick one out of the bunch that I liked more than the others. I'm glad you've given the okay on tragic (as it's already written). Glad to see that I have a tough crowd reading my work. Keeps me on my toes.

Oliverwoodsgirl: Bill would never harm a child. I will give you one hint: Cora was with Gabriel when he was snatched. Gabriel was needed for something and she was just expendable. Sad, but efficient. Brother Marcus (the Abbot) was modeled after a shady character in Timeline by Michael Crichton and is meant to make a point about all corrupt clergymen of the time, but no one specifically.

Chapter Twenty

That World Never Came

"Someone told me

Love would all save us

But, how can that be?

Look what love gave us

A world full of killing

And blood spilling…

That world never came

And they say that

A hero could save us

I'm not going to stand her and wait

I'll hold on to the wings of the eagles

Watch as we all fly away…"

Chad Kroeger: 'Hero'

                "Ron, you just let her leave?" Bill said outraged.

                "I'm not Ginny's keeper," Ron argued. "I wasn't even one of the last ones with her. That would be you and Harry."

                "And the last time that you saw either of them was at the garden gate?" Bill clarified.

                "Yeah," said Ron. "They were both standing there when you brought the dead girl in."

                "You know what, Ron? Could you show at least one ounce of respect? She's dead and her parents are in shock. Someone killed her and they very well may have hurt the other one, or worse."

                Ron said nothing but glared at his brother mutinously.

                As the others came in from the cold, no lost little boy in tow, George asked, "Where's mum, Anni?"

                Bill rubbed his temples, seething from his conversation with Ron. "At the hospital. The Muggle one St. Something-I-Don't-Remember. There's a note."

                George found the note and read. "I'm going," he said.

                "Take Ron and Hermione with you," Bill said eyeing Ron coolly.

                Charlie looked between the two and immediately knew that something was even more wrong then when he'd left the kitchen two hours ago.

                Fred and George moved toward the door. George handed Ron his cloak.

                Taking it reluctantly, he stomped up the stairs to retrieve Hermione.

                Bill looked to Fred and George and said, "Don't let either of them out of your sight."

                Ron came back down the stairs alone. "She won't come. She says she's going home."

                "Fine. I'll take her on my way to the Ministry," Bill said flatly.

                "Is there something going on that we don't know about?" George asked.

                "Where's Ginny?" Charlie observed.

                "She's not here," Ron said. All eyes were on him.

                "What do you mean she's not here?" Fred asked in a warning tone.        

                "I mean she left with Harry. They're both gone," Ron elaborated.

                "Don't tell mum just yet," Bill said turning to Fred and George who nodded. "I don't think she could handle that on top of everything."

                "Where's his little girlfriend, then?" Charlie asked, puzzled.

                "She's not his girlfriend and she's gone too," Ron said. Again there were more astonished looks.

                "Shit," Charlie said in a voice almost akin to awe.

                "Charlie, come with me to tell dad?" Bill asked shrugging on his cloak over the tailored suit he'd worn to the wedding.

                The other tuxedo clad individuals headed for the door. "Ron," Fred said sternly, holding the door open for him. Ron stood there for a moment and stared at Bill.

                "I would have gone with him. We've always been able to handle whatever it was together."

                "Yeah, well one day you'll both grow up and realize that your not superheroes. I'm glad he left you behind. Harry is going to have some explaining to do as well as Ginny. You should be grateful that you aren't mixed up in whatever's going on," Bill said, focused entirely on Ron, drawn up to his full and intimidating height and as fierce as Ron had ever seen him.

                Ron turned and left without another word.

                "Are you going to tell me what's going on?" Charlie said when the others had left.

                "Yeah. I'll give you the abridged version. But let's negotiate Hermione out of Ginny's room first."

***

                "Who is that?" Faramir asked, craning over his horse, leaning forward in his saddle. Harry looked around and saw what he meant.

                There were riders some distance off. The glint of silver and armor was unmistakable.

                "Another raiding party," Isaiah answered. "They are getting close this time. It will begin soon. Morning cannot be more then two hours off." Harry caught the glance that Isaiah gave to Faramir's sword, the sword of Gryffindor. He grudgingly looked away and at the riders again.

                It seemed odd to Harry where one object existed twice in the same timeframe and place. It was the oddest sort of enigma. He wondered what Isaiah would do if he knew that he possessed its exact copy, the same sword but hundreds of years older. He would probably do as Ginny had said: kill him. He looked big enough and fierce enough. Harry drew his cloak tighter around the sword.

                The stand of trees that he and Ginny had just traversed was their object of attention at the moment. Three soldiers in the silver and green of Slytherin emerged from that very stand. The three of them watched in silence as one of the soldiers of Slytherin wheeled in the opposite direction as his other two companions.

                "Is that one headed for the castle across the mill bridge?" Faramir asked.

                "Yea, but it is in ruins now. He'll have to swim it. I hope he is a skilled rider with a fair beast," Isaiah answered, wheeling his horse to face Faramir.

                "My lord," Faramir said, indicating the other two. Instead of following the first rider to the river and across it, they charged at full speed away from all of the structures and into the open field toward the camp lights of the mounting Slytherin army just on the dark horizon.

                "Take the two. I will take the lone rider. Meet me at camp," Isaiah commanded as he dug his heels into his horse's flanks.

                "Get your sword at the ready, heir," Faramir said with a wicked smile to Harry, who wore a stunned expression.

                Harry, for his part, pulled his sword from its sheath, feeling at once confident of his skill with it. He knew that it wasn't a learned skill. It was like Parseltongue. It was innate. He guessed that it had something to do with the fibula. They worked together. His mount, however, was less than sure and he flopped after Faramir who charged after the two soldiers expertly.

                When he had come within range of the first one, Faramir leapt from his own horse and onto that of the enemy rider. Harry watched, stunned and distracted as he saw him pull the rider off of his mount and crash to the ground, clanging armor and swords.

                "The other one, heir. Go!" Faramir shouted as he wrestled with the dismounted soldier.

                Harry put on a burst of speed and gained on the remaining soldier. How he was catching up to him, Harry couldn't guess. It was definitely not by his superior skills as a horseman. Despite his flouncing, he managed to keep a grip on both the sword and the reins. The speed and success of the horse was by its own merit and despite its inept rider. Harry was alongside the enemy rider now.

                The soldier glared at Harry and threw a fist out. This was oddly like Quidditch with Malfoy on the field, Harry thought briefly. He hadn't realized how much he had missed the challenge or the game.

                Unlike in Quidditch, Harry hit back, landing a punch square in his opponent's jaw.

                The soldier was dazed, but nothing more than that.

                He was nearly knocked from his mount when the rider elbowed him in the ribs. He gasped and lost his breath, but gained a greater sense of clarity. In a voice that sounded a lot like his former Quidditch Captain and personal tormentor, Oliver Wood, an idea came to him, screaming, "This is no time to be a gentleman, Harry! Knock her off of her broom if you have to!" Of course, this was not Cho Chang and it was hardly a broom he was trying to unseat his opponent from. He switched hands and grasped the hilt of his sword in his left hand and brought it down hard against the back of the rider's skull. He had let go of the reins to shift grip on the sword and had no hold of the horse. He fell clear of the horse's hooves as the animal stopped downfield a few paces when it had become rider-less.

                Harry was on his feet at once. He grabbed up his sword and cautiously approached the Slytherin rider who lay motionless on the frozen ground ahead of him. He was unconscious.

                He kept watch on the scout.

                Presently Faramir rode up to him. "Dead?"

                "Knocked out," Harry said.

                "Well done, heir. A prisoner."

                "And yours?" Harry asked, "Is he dead?"

                "Of course, heir," Faramir said, bringing Harry's horse and that of the scout's around.

                Harry mounted his and let Faramir handle the unconscious soldier.

                "Of course," repeated Harry in a daze, his glasses oddly askew. 

                Faramir smiled and clapped him roughly on the shoulder. "Isaiah will be expecting us back at camp."

                They turned to leave. Faramir was in high spirits. Harry followed, shaking his head as if to wake himself from a dream—a horribly surreal dream.

***

                "And you fought a soldier of Slytherin who gave you these marks?" Mungo said examining Ginny's marked neck with great attention and care, healing each bruise as he heard her explanation.

                "Well, he was already dying. Harry just helped him along a bit," Ginny explained, trying to keep her wincing to a minimum. "I did nothing but cough and gasp."

                Mungo looked like he wanted to contradict her but did not. "Claire will see that you are dry and in warmer clothes. Then you must sleep. There will be a battle by dawn. I will need you awake and ready to help." He stood and replaced his wand in the folds of his dark monastic robes.

Opening the door timidly and peeking through was the girl Claire.

                Ginny had seen her once before and talked to her briefly. Now she was almost overcome with a sense of helplessness as the girl brought fresh to Ginny's mind the fate that she and her family were soon to meet.

                "I leave you to see to the rest of her needs," Mungo said to the girl.

                "Humbly, my lord," Claire replied with a small bow of her demurely covered head. Linen of the cleanest white framed her face, but the dark color of her hair cast a shadow about the linen. Ginny guessed that her hair must be at least as dark as Harry's. It was characteristic of the Potters.

                Mungo left them both with a bow and a smile, closing the door behind them.

                Ginny watched in silence as the girl bustled about the bedchamber that she had been placed in. She faintly wondered in which part of the familiar castle she'd been taken to as the girl silently poured a pitcher of steaming water into a basin and flung a white linen cloth, like the one wrapping her hair, over one shoulder, rolling up the sleeves of her modest dress.

                She looked at Ginny expectantly. "Undress. You must get clean."

                Ginny blinked and stared.

                "Is there something wrong?" Claire asked.

                "No. Nothing. I usually clean myself. Though I greatly appreciate your assistance, I am capable," Ginny said, flustered. She was unaccustomed to having anything done for her.

                "Very well, as you wish," the girl consented and stepped aside.

                Ginny watched as Claire busied herself laying out a clean set of clothes and turning down the bed, tending the fire.

                She dipped a cloth into the warm and clean water, sending pleasant shocks up through her fingertips and down through her frozen limbs. It felt wonderful to scrub the blood from her face and scratched hands. The basin was soon a murky brown color and she announced herself to be clean.

                The girl came over and stared. "You are not clean, lady."

                Ginny showed Claire her hands, all of the dirt gone from under her fingernails.

                Claire shook her head and grabbed the cloth from the basin. "Bend your neck," she commanded.

                Ginny obeyed.

                Brushing her now tangled hair to one side, Claire scrubbed at her neck and then at her exposed arms until she was satisfied. This struck Ginny as odd. Her misconception of medieval people had always been that they were dirty. Now, she was coming to the realization that they almost made a fetish of being clean.    

                Ginny gave up her modesty and let the girl take her wet cloak and torn dress. She had become grateful for Claire's help the instant she realized how involved a task it was to be dressed in clothing of the time. It wasn't like transfiguring a pair of jeans and a shirt into a status neutral woolen cassock. These clothes, fine cloth in deep emerald with gold piping, were intricate garments that she wouldn't have had a prayer of contriving herself into on her own. They must have come from Azria, she guessed, as she had rarely seen any of the other women dress this richly. Maren must, she conceded, at times dress like a girl. But to Ginny that didn't seem like a habit she got into regularly.

                Claire silently brushed the tangles out of her hair and braided it away from her face.

                Ginny felt like someone else entirely.

                "You are beautiful when you are not disguised as a peasant, lady," Claire observed, making Ginny blush.

                "I am a peasant," Ginny said with shame.

                Claire merely smiled peaceably. "Will you eat? Or will you sleep?"

                "Neither. I wish to see the Lady Azria," Ginny said eliciting a frown from the girl.

                "The Lady Azria is not yet back from the chapel."

                "The chapel?" Ginny asked, knowing that Claire referred to the one that stood at the outskirts of Hogsmeade in her own time. She was vaguely curious to see it in all of its 1352 splendor.

                "The lady has gone to pray for the souls of the men that will soon die in battle," Claire said sadly.

                Ginny put a hand to the girl's shoulder and felt it tremble. "Your brother will be safe. He is with the Lords Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. He will come to no harm," Ginny said reassuringly.

                "You are a seer, I know. So I will believe your assurances," Claire said. "But I cannot deny that I am frightened."

                Ginny bit her lip. Azria had explained to her that being a seer was not to be given the power to change fate. Fate will work its will regardless. But she wanted so very desperately in that moment to warn Claire about herself and the rest of her family. She felt like a murderer, looking into the scared brown eyes and the face like Harry's as she told her that she had no need to be frightened.

                Ginny opened her mouth to tell the girl everything when another servant, a girl in white like Claire but a bit older, came through the door.

                "Forgive me, lady," she said with a bow. "Claire is needed downstairs."

                Ginny released her and let her leave reluctantly.

                As if she knew that Ginny wanted to tell her, Claire glanced back quickly, but left the room without a word.

***

                It was a chance he knew he had to take.

                Draco was keenly aware of the fact that these scouts had been given the order not to let him out of their sights. They had already gambled much when they split up in the woods. Now he was kicking himself for having let Ginny Weasley deter him from his great escape. He knew no other chance would present itself if he didn't take this last one.

                He saw the two scouts return from the woods almost as soon as he had come out of them himself. He had been distracted, and he shouldn't be. But Ginny's assumptions had hurt and he could tell by her face when he had finally left her that his words had hurt her just as much. He might have been more cautious with regard to her heart had he believed that he would survive all of this. But he could live with a broken heart for a few more hours, until he died. He was unused to considering the hearts of others, though. And he hadn't considered hers.

                If he could get to Lucy, he could free her and go back to his father before the news of her escape would even reach him. He could give her a fighting chance. He couldn't see how they could both make it out, but that didn't matter.

                The two scouts, mounted and ready to leave, noted him, watched him.

                With quick resolve he planted his heels squarely into the flanks of his horse and charged to the mill bridge and to the castle of Hufflepuff where his sister was being held.

                The scouts reacted almost immediately, charging off in the opposite direction to warn his father. It would be down to whose horse was fastest. It would be Draco's. It had to be.

                He knew that the mill was history and that the bridge was out. He would swim it. He would have to or give up now. There was no giving up.

                He shook the flakes of snow that settled on his eyelashes and kept his heels down, he leaned forward and urged the horse on. Faster.

                He glanced behind to check the progress of the two scouts and found an obstacle he hadn't counted on had presented itself. There was a soldier chasing him. A soldier of Gryffindor was following him.

                "Fucking gung-ho bastard," Draco said under his breath as he turned his attention back to his riding. "You'll have to catch me first." His mind oddly turned to Qudditch. It was a lot like a game with Potter. Eating his Nimbus dust like always.

                He was at the river and crossing it slowed him tremendously. His horse splashed and faltered and finally found footing. He had inadvertently found a relatively shallow spot to cross.

                But his pursuer was on him in that same moment, splashing into the water next to him.

                Sword in hand and reigns in the other, Draco dealt the Gryffindor scout a dizzying blow just above his ear.

                He was surprised to see that the scout was not dazed in the least. Shit! These bastards are tough!

                Draco was unused to combat on horseback. He fenced for fun and rode for fun and never had he thought of mixing the two.

                He was wet through in an instant, ducking more blows than he was dealing. All the while his horse struggled to the shore.

                The Gryffindor was right behind him.

                Unexpectedly, Draco wheeled on his horse before the scout could gain a purchase on the shore and slashed with his sword in one decisive and powerful swing.

                The scout gripped at his shoulder and shouted some sort of taunt in a dead language. It might have been a stab at his mother; Draco's translation was a bit fuzzy.

                "Your mother too, you stupid son of a bitch!" Draco yelled, raising his sword in a violent arc that the Gryffindor had to duck, almost falling from his saddle.

                He righted himself and Draco had to wheel to get in another good swing.

                The scout took the opportunity as Draco's horse and his own were struggling up the icy shore to strike. His fist connected cleanly with Draco's throat, knocking the wind out of him and unseating him as well. His crashing fall to the hard ground was the last he would remember of the fight, other than the realization that this was nothing like Quidditch with Potter.

***

                She saw it in his eyes, he was sorry. She was sorry too. It was almost a crippling realization. The voice that lived in the back of her mind told her over and over again that it was gone, that part of her life. She didn't want it to be.

                Over her shoulder she glanced the doorway that Faramir and Lucy had just left through. They were safe.

                She turned to Isaiah. She could have done something for him if she'd had her wand. She was helpless without it, she realized. Every talent that she'd ever thought she'd had, every merit that was to her credit, she was useless to save this man and she was useless entirely.

                "Get out!" he said to her as ash and falling timbers made the air more and more un-breathable.

                She coughed and her eyes stung. "I can't leave him here," she pleaded.

                "Ginny, go. Get out of here," he said, covering his mouth with one arm and lifting Isaiah into a sitting position with the other. "This whole place will collapse. There is an armory next to it."

                She knew the weight of the consequences, but she would no more leave him than she would Isaiah.

                "And what will you do?" she asked, coughing in more smoke.

                He reached out grabbed her roughly by the back of the neck and flung her toward him as another tapestry fell from the rafters, where she was crouching. She righted herself and kicked the flaming fabric away from herself and Isaiah's prone form.

                "I'll be right behind you. I promise. Ginny, I won't leave you." She searched his eyes. He had made a lot of promises lately. His eyes told her that he would keep this one despite everything.

                She stood and stepped away, over the tapestry ablaze, dizzy with smoke and heat.

                She looked back to reassure herself that he was right behind. He was lifting Isaiah carefully.

                It was then that they were divided as a large beam came crashing down in flames. It split the room in a fiery line, demarcating who would leave and who would not.

                "Go!" he shouted, more ferociously this time. He set Isaiah back on the floor, careful of his head and his injury. "We'll find another way out."

                "No! I'm not leaving without you!"

                She saw him through flame. It was the worst and most haunting of her dreams. Through the fury of red and orange raging up around him and around her, he met her eyes and told her: "You have to."

                She opened her mouth to say more but was knocked to the floor by another flaming projectile from the fast incinerating roof of the complex. Lying there she thought to tell him something, but what, she couldn't guess. She was overcome with the need to say something, anything. Their last moments together couldn't have been filled with silence… they mustn't be.

                She struggled for words, but unconsciousness tugged at her and pulled her down and that was the end of all that she could remember.

                She sat up with a violent gasp. Her lungs fought for air as if there was still smoke to fight through for every breath. But the air was clean and fresh and she sat on a bed, safe—safe and alone.

                It took her a moment, but she struggled with herself. She gained control of her senses and her dizziness and decided that crying would get her nowhere.

                She stood and waited to overcome another bout of dizziness, faintly feeling warm. She blinked and let her eyes come into focus and then she set out to find Mungo and make herself useful.

***

                "Is it fixable?" Lucy asked, holding out her cracked Time-Turner to the girl.

                Claire took the charm and its delicate chain. Surveying it for some moments, she turned without saying a word and crouched at the fire.

                Lucy looked to Balthamos who was in silent conversation with Sir Guy. She waited until the latter had bowed and left to return to Galahad's camp and to his service.

                "Will we leave immediately?" Lucy asked.

                "As soon as you have need to, lady," Balthamos said with an officious bow.

                "I do not know how much longer it will take her to repair my charm, but I cannot leave without it," Lucy replied. She looked anxiously to the girl at the fire who was working slowly but carefully.

                "As you wish, lady. I will be at the hand of the Lord of Hufflepuff if you have need of me until then," he said with another bow.

                Lucy bowed as well. "I thank you scout Balthamos. I will call as soon as I am ready."

                He left.

                Lucy went to Claire at the fire and watched for a while without a word. Claire was set to the task of repeatedly firing and charming the glass back together. It was curious and Lucy had read about these rare and delicate crafts-women. She hadn't any idea that she would ever cross someone with such a talent, let alone one so young. She marveled at the girl for many reasons, her talent at the forge was only one of them. She resembled Harry in many ways. Their features and expressions were very much alike. Faramir and Harry could not have born a stronger resemblance.

                "You are the sister of Faramir, are you not?" Lucy asked, hoping that she didn't sound rude.

                "I am," Claire answered, never taking her eyes off of her work.

                Lucy had a sudden recollection of her face, but there was no life in it. She had remembered this girl's face, the way her hair was bound up in the same white cloth, the same smudge of soot on her cheek where she had just brushed her raven hair back from her face. This was Claire, sister to Faramir. She would die this same day, as would her parents and two younger brothers.   

                Lucy felt a rush of panic as she noted the exact way this girl, no older than she, looked now in life so much like she would in death—a death that Lucy had seen. Her throat would be slashed. She would be found, clinging to her small and frightened brother, also dead.

                Something overcame her senses, her caution, her decorum in that moment. Lucy flung herself to her knees and placed a hand on each of the girl's shoulders, jerking her roughly away from the fire and from her work.

                Claire for her part was shocked and frightened and feared that she had done something wrong. She began apologizing and her eyes darted quickly from the fire to the charm in her hand to Lucy's warning and urgent eyes.

                "Claire, listen to me!" she said. "You have to get out of here. Leave."

                Claire looked her in the eyes. "Are you quite well, lady?"

                "You have to get out of here!" Lucy said again, "There is no time. The battle is almost upon us and you will not survive it if you stay. I swear it!"

                Claire's eyes were wide with astonishment. "You swear against my life, lady?"

                "No," Lucy explained frantically. "I am telling you that you and your family will not make it out of here alive!"

                Claire shrugged her shoulders out of Lucy's grip and stood. "You swear against me, lady, and you are forgiven. Bringing curses about on my family is unforgivable."

                Lucy clasped her hands together in a prayer-like fashion. "Please believe me, I have seen it. It will come to pass as I say!" she pleaded. "Please, go to your family, get them out!"

                "I will not hear this!" Claire said with more hostility than the girl had ever felt in her life. "It is my duty to remain with the Lady Azria until she has no more need of me, and my father's duty to his family and his home. He will not desert them and neither shall I!" She stormed out with angry footsteps.

                Lucy thought of going after her. She picked the still very hot Time-Turner up out of the fire. It was mended. She stood to run after Claire but was halted by the entrance of Maren and Azria.

***

                Harry watched with Galahad and Faramir at the fire as Isaiah rode into camp. He had another horse in tow and a scout, the one he had chased down, flung over its saddle.

                He hurriedly jumped from the mount of his own animal and called Galahad to him.

                Harry watched them through the flames. They discussed the soldier unconscious on the horse. He studied their faces, tried to read their expressions. They were both stern and hid every kind of emotion with the skill of a spy. It was curious, Harry thought, the way Isaiah brought a knife from his left boot and tore at the tunic sleeve of the scout.

                Galahad watched this and leaned closer to examine something that they found or didn't find on the scout's arm. What did that mean, he wondered?

                Presently, Galahad glanced back at Harry. For his part, Harry averted his eyes to the fire, pretty sure that guys his size didn't put up with eavesdropping. When both soldiers turned back to the unconscious scout, Harry's eyes were on them again. They took him down from the saddle and tied him to the tree where the scout he had apprehended lay bound and gagged, awaiting interrogation.

                His hair was an unmistakable silver blond.

                Hell!

                Harry stood and Faramir followed.

                Galahad and Isaiah met them halfway to the tree.

                "Heir, do you know this scout?" Galahad asked him before they had reached the place where Draco lay, still unconscious.

                "Yes," Harry answered. "What did you do to him?"

                "I knew he was not from our time when he spoke that same filthy half-language that you and the other heirs go about using," Isaiah explained, pointing with his dagger. "And there is no mark of the Legion of Slytherin on him, which is the mark of every soldier of that house."

                "What does this mark look like?" Harry asked.

                "The skull of a dead man entwined with a serpent," Galahad elaborated.

                Just give him time, Harry wanted to say uncharitably. He wisely kept his mouth shut.

                "Is he to be trusted?" Isaiah said, giving Draco a sideways glance.

                "Yes," Harry said. Then turning to Galahad he added, "He is the brother of the Ravenclaw Heir."

                "This is the brother of Lucilla?"

                "The very one," Harry said.

                "Is he faithful to his father?" Galahad asked, now eyeing him in the same manner that Isaiah had.

                "No. He is faithful to his sister alone," Harry said with confidence.

                Isaiah and Galahad removed themselves to the fire at Galahad's tent to discuss further this new development.

                Harry sat down beside Draco who was motionless and Faramir stared between the two, leaning against an opposite tree.

                "The absence of the mark of the legion was probably what saved your friend's life," Faramir said finally.

                "He is no friend of mine," Harry countered.

                "Then why is it that I saw alarm like no other spread across your face when he was brought in?" Faramir said, as if he had caught Harry in a conundrum of his own devising.

                Harry set his jaw and resolved not to play this game. Faramir smiled and wouldn't give an inch.

                "His sister would be upset if anything happened to him. That is all," Harry said.

                "That is all, heir?" Faramir asked with his arms folded in front of him.

                "That is all," Harry said. It was a blessed relief that Draco began to stir.

                He sat up urgently and looked around.

                Faramir and Harry stared, waiting for him to speak.

                He saw Harry and his expression darkened. "What the hell, Potter?"

                "What the hell, Malfoy?" Harry echoed.

                "You've killed her. You and me and your idiot scout over there," Draco said, seething.

                "Lucy?" Harry asked. He was not goading, but being as peaceable as it was in him to be.

                "Yes, Lucy." He sat up. "Those scouts that were riding with me are probably back with my father now and telling him that I have betrayed him. I was on my way to her when—," Draco began.

                Harry interrupted him. "When Isaiah Gryffindor stopped you from riding into a nest of Slytherins where Lucy happened to escape from already?"

                "She escaped?" Draco said, stunned.

                "So Galahad has told us. She was here not long before you and I arrived."

                "Where is she? I want to see her," Draco demanded in a steely voice.

                Harry sighed. "She was taken by a guard of Galahad's to Maren. They will siege the monastery where Gabriel is being held."

                "Am I being held prisoner?" Draco asked.

                "I don't think so, why?" Harry said, blinking.

                Draco struggled against his bonds. "Because I seem to have been accidentally tied up."

                Faramir, who had been a silent observer in the proceedings, offered a knife to Harry who cut the bonds holding Draco to the tree.

                He stood and rubbed at his neck, wincing slightly.

                "Isaiah will want to speak to you. I've told him that you can be trusted. Don't make me into a liar, Malfoy," Harry warned.

                "You are what you are. I can't change that," Draco said coolly.

                Harry bit back a response. He took a deep breath and said, "Can't we drop this for just an hour or two and do what we have to do without the exchange of wit?" he said, holding out his hands in truce.

                Draco began to walk to the fire where Galahad and Isaiah sat, but turned. "That exchange is totally one sided, don't kid yourself. Besides, what is it that's so terribly important for you to do? Already saved the wizarding world of the present and so you thought you'd systematically work your way through the past?"

                Harry nodded and suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "Something like that."

                Draco snorted and walked away.

***

                Ginny found Mungo bent over a table of herbs and liquid mixtures. He was studying a caldron full of a bubbling concoction with undivided attention. Ginny wasn't sure that he'd heard her come in.

                "Has it started yet?" Ginny asked.

                He looked up, surprised that she had found him. "I thought you were resting?"

                "Resting does not exactly agree with me," Ginny said with a weak smile. "Is there something I can help you with?"

                "The raiding parties are getting fewer. The real fighting will start soon. I am preparing for a long day of healing. You may help if you like. You have had experience in potions and in healing, I gather?" Mungo said, preoccupied.

                "Yes, quite a bit of both," Ginny said.

                "Then, you can set yourself to work crushing these," he said, handing her dried roots. "As fine as you can get them."

                Ginny did precisely as she was told. She turned her attention to the task fully. Looking up at the distracted monk she debated whether to ask him about Claire, but didn't.

                "What does Eowyn plan to do with the child?" she asked instead.

                "What child?" Mungo asked taking stock of the already finished concoctions he had been preparing nonstop for several days now. He wanted to make sure he had enough, though if it came to it he would use much more drastic measures of healing. He was willing to make that sacrifice—a sacrifice that he had prepared his whole life for.

                "There was a child taken from our time, mine and Lucy's. That is why we have come back. Lucy's father, the man you met her with by the mill that day you accused her of spying for Eowyn, she followed him and spied for us. Eowyn is planning to use him for something very odd and probably very dark. A universe, or another time like this…I do not know exactly." She stopped grinding and looked at him.

                The color had drained from Mungo's already tired and worn face.

                "But I do know." He stared at her for a long time. "Keep grinding. We shall talk while we work."

                Ginny bent to the task readily, but listened voraciously.

                "It was her brother, Eomer, a monk like me and a thinker. He was a heretic and the most devout man I ever had the privilege of knowing. He created the otherworldly theory that you described, the universe. Eowyn and her father took his ideas and perverted them, developed them for their purposes. It was a black and evil day when they finally found the answer to the problem of how to open the universe now that they were positive of its existence. They used a child. Not one so young that it is still dependent upon its mother, but one young enough to have been untouched by sin. They have created things so vile and horrible I cannot describe them. Indeed, I have not the vocabulary to tell you of all that they have done.

                How she came to use a child of your time…I am not certain. My understanding is that the child must have a preliminary spell cast on him…or her." Mungo stirred his caldron again distractedly.

                "How far in advanced does the spell have to be cast?" Ginny asked, grinding tirelessly at the root.

                "A week or more. I am not certain. I only know what Eomer told me…and he is now dead." His expression darkened and Ginny wanted to know more but didn't ask. There was something in Mungo's always kind and selfless demeanor that brooked no further comment.

                She opened her mouth to change the subject when a man came to the door, dressed in the colors of Gryffindor. Mungo would have recognized him as a man of rank in the Gryffindor Army. As Ginny noted him, she only made out his stern features and the seal of Gryffindor displayed grandly on his chest.

                "The Ladies Azria and Maren seek a conference with both you and the Lady Virginia," the man announced.

                "Thank you, Balthamos," Mungo said, following him out, offering Ginny his arm. She took it, eager to speak with Azria and Maren.

***

                "I am going back to my father," Draco said, staring at both Galahad and Isaiah with firm resolution.

                Isaiah stood. Galahad said nothing. "You will fight against us? Against your ancestors?" Isaiah said warningly.

                "I have to. If I am not back soon, he will send a party out to find Lucy. He may have already done…I don't know. If she and the Lady Maren are to find the child and free him, my father must not know."

                Galahad rose and handed Draco the sword and sheath that Isaiah had taken from him. "Will you first come and speak with me? Your father's forces are no more than a morning's ride from here. The battle will be on by midday."

                Draco took his sword and followed Galahad to his tent, looking back to note the scowl on Isaiah's face.

                "The Gryffindor heir says that you are to be trusted and so I will trust you. As you have the interests of your sister foremost in your thoughts, I trust you even more. You have to understand that everyone who has come here this night has a part to play, will you play the traitor?" Galahad asked, turning stern and unwavering eyes on him.

                "Lucy has told me about this army my father has created." Draco busied himself with latching his sword back to his belt, not looking at Galahad. "There may be something I can do to help you."

                Galahad stared at him for a considerable time in silence. Draco, who seemed composed in every situation, felt like he would unravel under that penetrating stare.

                Galahad finally clapped him on the shoulder and smiled. "We will accept your offer of help. We can handle the army of Slytherin, but this new army Lucilla tells me of…we could not defeat them."

                "I will do what I can," Draco said, slipping his leather gloves back over his numb hands. He turned to leave.

                "Draco," Galahad said, coming out of the tent behind him. "Take care that you do not play the part of the martyr when this battle is underway. I would regret to lose a scout as brave as you."

                Draco looked up and blinked. He didn't know what to say and so said nothing. He bowed and called for his horse, which was brought immediately.

                 He rode away without a word to Harry who stood next to Faramir. He thought that the look of great frustration and the sting of Galahad's words looked comical on the little Gryffindor prat's face. But he continued down the path for some distance and away toward his father's camp before he allowed himself a small smile of triumph.

                "Why did you let him leave?" Harry said, astonished.

                "It is his part to play, as you have your part, heir." Galahad came to sit next to Isaiah at the fire and examined the sizeable gash that Draco had made along Isaiah's right shoulder.

                "My part?" Harry said. "What is my part then? What was his? To be strung up by the Slytherin mob, headed by his father, no doubt."

                "Draco knows the limits of what he can and cannot accomplish. Had he thought that it would be futile to return, he would not have," Galahad said with measured patience, tending to the wound carefully.

                "Heir," Isaiah said finally. "You are here for a reason. It is not to try our patience. We have enough cares at the moment. Be still. There will come a time when you too are useful."

                Harry did as he was told grudgingly, staring into the fire with an unpleasant scowl on his face.

                "Draco said that he might be able to work within the ranks. This army of his father's will be formidable. It is good that we have someone on the inside. Someone who knows the man who commands them," Galahad began.

                Despite Harry's impatience he listened carefully.

                "This contract between the man and Eowyn is half realized. This army was her wish. She wanted a force to outmatch that of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. She has it. He will soon have what he wished as well, unless someone can get that child out of her grasp. That child will be the key for this man, her conspirator, to create his own black kingdom. They are both to be stopped. This cannot be allowed to happen." Galahad had finished with Isaiah's wound and wrapped it securely, helping him back into his surcoat.

                Isaiah didn't flinch. He looked as if he barely noticed the injury. "Why is another universe, this heresy of Eomer's, our concern at all? We are concerned with the preservation of our lands, our people and our way of living. Eowyn and her army are our concern."

                Galahad seemed to expect to meet opposition in Isaiah. He nodded. Everything that Isaiah said was true. "Because it was the last wish of a dying man, brother," he said softly.

                Harry looked between the two as they exchanged some look of meaning that was beyond him.

                Galahad turned abruptly to Harry and said, "That is your part heir."

                "What is?" Harry asked, confused.

                "Your part is to stop the Lady Eowyn," Galahad said.

                Harry blinked. "Why?"

                Galahad stared at him intensely. "Because that is what fate has assigned to you. The child is close to you and so it falls to you to see that he is protected. Eowyn is not to be harmed. But I knew immediately upon seeing you that you would no more hurt her than you would the child, or Lucilla. Indeed, Azria told me it would be so. You will ride with Faramir to the castle and go with the Lady Maren and the Lady Lucilla."

                Harry took a deep breath. He couldn't explain why, but it was impressed upon him that he should leave the sword behind, his sword. He unlatched it.

                It was the first time Isaiah had set eyes on it. He recognized it at once.

                Harry kneeled before Isaiah and presented it to him. "I do not know why I give this over to you, but I feel that I must," Harry said.

                Isaiah was shocked. He looked to Faramir who was a mask of expressionless interest.

                "No, heir. That is yours. My father intended always for another to carry it. It was never mine, never my right." Isaiah looked to him.

                Harry laid it on the ground at Isaiah's feet. Slowly he reached up to unclasp the fibula, Godric Gryffindor's fibula and offered it to him as well.

                Isaiah, seeing this very humble gesture, pushed his hand away gently. "I will accept the sword. It is our only hope in facing this new and most villainous army. That trinket is yours. It is your right. Continue to wear it. Never take it off," he said urgently, pinning it to Harry's cloak again.

                "And take my sword in the place of yours. May God speed you in your journey. I will see you in the hereafter and shall be pleased to call you brother," Isaiah continued.

                Harry stood, taking the silver hilt of Isaiah's own sword. He was astonished, almost shell shocked to witness Isaiah, Lord of Gryffindor's next action.

                He slid to his knees, the sword of Gryffindor between them and took one of Harry's frozen hands in his, kissed it and placed it to his forehead. "Go with God, brother," he said.

                Faramir stood and took Harry by the shoulder, leading him to two fresh horses.

                They rode off in silence. Harry was too dazed to speak.

***

                Ginny entered the Great Hall, so different from the one in her own time. Her heart leapt as she saw Lucy standing just to Maren's right. She was dressed in the same fashion as her ancestor, like a man. She was wearing identical clothing to Maren's, even down to the surcoat of Ravenclaw with a bronze eagle on her chest. If it hadn't been for the black hair of Imogen, Lucy would look exactly like Maren, save younger.

                "Lucy!" she gasped, relieved to see her. She left Mungo's side and ran to the girl who was beaming at her.

                "How did I know that you would follow me?" Lucy smiled.

                "Because we're in this together. Are you all right?" Ginny asked.

                "Yes, fine. I broke my Time-Turner. Though now it is fixed." Lucy showed her the mended charm before tucking it into her blue surcoat.

                Ginny looked at it and then to her friend again. She embraced her and whispered, "I am so glad to see you."

                Lucy blinked. "What's wrong Ginny?"

                Ginny pulled back and released her. "Did you know that your brother is here?"

                Lucy's expression faltered. "Yes, he's here because of me. Did you see him? Did you speak to him?"

                "Yes," Ginny said. "It wasn't your fault. None of this was. It was mine. He so much as said so."

                Lucy looked up at her friend. "I'm sorry, Ginny."

                "What will you do?" Ginny asked, changing the subject.

                "Gabriel is at the monastery," she explained. "We go there as soon as we can, but first," Lucy stopped, gesturing to Azria and Maren.  

                Mungo had seated himself near the fire. Azria and Maren had also removed themselves to the warm blaze.

                Lucy stood at Maren's right and Ginny came to stand behind Mungo.

                "Lucilla," Mungo asked, "What of the monastery?"

                "That is where the Lady Eowyn has taken the child Gabriel. I wish to rescue him from there. They will use him for evil ends. I know. I have overheard my father and the lady discussing this very plot on two occasions."

                Mungo seemed to consider this. "And you are adamant that the order there is sheltering Eowyn's plans and implements?"

                Lucy thought on this for a moment and said, "I cannot be sure. I know that she was admitted willingly into the order. One of the monks let her and the guard and the child in. But she did not seem to trust all of them. When I challenged her, she told the guard not to let the child out of his sight. Are there still loyal brothers among your order?"

                "Very many. I can only guess that it is the doing of the new Abbot, Abbot Marcus. The rest of the order would not know about this matter," Mungo said pensively.

                "Galahad spoke of Abbot Marcus. Tell me, how long has he been in the service of your monastery?" Lucy asked.

                Ginny listened to it all very curiously.

                "He has been the Abbot here for only two summers," Mungo answered. "I can only say that he is working with Eowyn under the knowledge of a few of our order. The whole would not have consented, I would not have consented."

                "Then we have the help of the order in saving the child?" Maren asked.

                Mungo looked between her and her heir. "Yes, you do have that. I will go with you," he offered.

                Azria stood, "Brother, no. I will need you. There will be many to tend to as soon as the battle is on. Virginia and I will not be able to save them all. Not by half. You are needed here."

                Mungo looked to be in some internal struggle. He wanted to see, to know, to do inside of his monastery, for an order that he had devoted his life to, now being torn apart. But he could not abandon Azria, he never could.

                He meant to say something in that instant when the large doors at the end of the hall were opened.

                It was Faramir who entered and Ginny was overcome with the urge to warn him of his family as she had been when in the presence of Claire.

                Behind Faramir entered Harry. Both were worn and visibly tired.

                Mungo stood. "What news, Faramir?"

                "The camps have moved. They will be upon us soon. The armies of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor are at the ready. We expect them to be here before midday," he said, officially. Already the sun was above the Hebrides. The battle would begin in no time.

                "Isaiah has been given the power of his father's sword, and so I have the same. We will ride at the head of the ranks. But the sword of Gryffindor has been blessed for this work, for this particular threat, the sword of the past and the yet to come. My heir has given his up for this task."

                Ginny looked to Harry whose eyes were on her as well. Without a word, an indication of forgiveness and truce that she probably should have given, she turned back to Faramir.

He continued, "A scout of the Slytherin Legion is on our side. The brother of the heir of the good Lady Maren has come to us and warned us of the danger. We shall be ready for it. He has pledged his help to us from behind the enemy's lines. It is a difficult task, but it is his and will be performed well."

Ginny heard a deep intake of air from Lucy but did not turn to look at her.

Faramir continued, "The Heir of the Chosen of Gryffindor will ride with you, Lady Maren to the Monastery. He will aid in the rescue of the child."

"We accept his aid," Maren said with a bow.

Faramir bowed as well.

"Godspeed, brother," Mungo said, embracing Faramir. He turned to go, leaving Harry.

"The Lady Maren, the Lady Lucilla, and the heir of Gryffindor will, with the scout Balthamos, to the monastery." Mungo turned to his sister and her heir. "We will remain for the dead and the dying."

Both Azria and Ginny nodded.

The group bound for the monastery left in the next moment.

Ginny embraced Lucy and made her promise to take care.

Lucy noticed the frigid animosity between Harry and Ginny that wasn't there before this night had happened, but said nothing.

***

Ginny looked out over the expansive sloping plain that led to the walls of the castle that would be Hogwarts. Indeed, it must serve as a school now, but pending warfare would have effectively vacated the school of its students.

She wrapped her green cloak around her and studied the walls. These would not be here in the twentieth century. She vaguely wondered when they had become obsolete and torn down.

Past the walls, the armies of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor were assembling. The tense feeling of impending conflict was heavy on the air.

Ginny tried to suppress the feeling of uselessness. Everyone else had a job to do. Draco was a spy in his father's camp. Harry was off being grand and noble and saving the day and even Lucy had left to be helpful to Maren in rescuing Gabriel. She was here, just outside of the walls, safe, doing no one any good.

The monks, in modest and humble tunics and robes like Mungo's had already set to work dragging the bloody and battle-wounded from the fields where violent raids had taken place during the night.

Presently a monk laid another wounded soldier in front of her and silently left for the killing fields again. All around her the dead and the soon to be dead were mounting. The battle had yet to begin and already her hands were bloody.

Mungo and Azria worked silently on a scout a little way off.

She watched with a shudder as the Slytherin guard shook and shouted and gasped. Azria held him down gently as her brother worked indiscriminately to save him.

Ginny bent down over the boy in blue and bronze that was laid in front of her. He had a gentle face and serene eyes. He smiled at her and said, "I am dying, am I not, lady?"

Ginny said nothing. With a warm smile she took his hand in hers and let him squeeze it as she removed the arrow from his ribs. With her wand she silently placed a charm over the boy to slow his breathing and render him unconscious. He bled too fast for her to control it. No charms worked.

She squeezed his hand then let it drop from hers. "I'm sorry," she whispered. A tear fell from her cheek to his forehead.

It was the first casualty she had ever experienced in her limited career of medical magic. And it hurt acutely.

Reluctantly she left the boy's side and tended to the next in a growing line of people that needed her help. Some lived and some didn't. It still hurt fifteen lives lost later, but she was learning to harden herself to it.

She couldn't look up when the battle had finally started, announced by much trumpeting, hoof-beats and clattering of arms and armor. She knew it had started when the three healers became swamped in bleeding and disfigured men, all calling out to be saved.

She found herself in a swirling torrent of chaos; of arms and voices all reaching out to her pleading for her attention next.

She looked to Mungo and then to Azria a way off and saw that she was not the only one being overwhelmed with the pleas of life ending and so set herself to help whomever she could while she could, placing the thought that Draco could be the next to be brought in firmly in the back of her mind.