Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters of J.K. Rowling's stories. Neither do I own the names Balthamos, Eomer, Eowyn, Faramir, or Sir Guy. I own a few original characters and they are very evident so I shall not name them. Like Sir Guy, Brother Daniel was modified from Sir Daniel of Timeline, along with Oliver, who is the character Sir Oliver in that same book.

Author's Note: There are a few combat strategies that I stole from William Wallace. Big Braveheart fan am I. As a reminder, the language spoken in this period (among many including default Latin) is a language called Occitan. I apologize ahead of time if I offend any medieval scholars (like any would read my stories). I did research to get things right, but it is not possible to free myself from every twentieth-century faux pas out there. But I try.

Thank you's:

Oliverwoodsgirl: I am so glad you liked last week's chapter. I have a feeling that if you like action you'll enjoy this one more. Like last chapter, more plot complications are resolved. Most of the pieces come together.

Lady Brannon: Thank you so much for your review.

*Warning: graphic violence.

Chapter Twenty-One

Too Far Away

 "There's another world inside of me

That you may never see

There are secrets in this life that I can't hide

Somewhere in the darkness there's a life

That I can't find

Maybe it's too far away

Or maybe I'm just blind, maybe I'm just blind

So hold me when I'm here

Right me when I'm wrong

Hold me when I'm scared

And love me when I'm gone

Everything I am and everything in me

Wants to be the one you wanted me to be

I'll never let you down

Even if I could

I'd give up everything if only for your good

So hold me when I'm here

Right me when I'm gone

You can hold me when I'm sacred

But you won't always be there

So love me when I'm gone…"

Three Doors Down: 'When I'm Gone'

Sirius' heart had been racing since the moment he'd heard Jill screaming for Gabriel.

There had been a search. The search turned up nothing.

They had gone to Dumbledore who assured them that there didn't seem to be an obvious link to the mass kidnappings that had been terrorizing the wizarding communities of Europe for months now and the disappearance of Jill's child.

"Corbin!" Sirius called through the vacant offices urgently.

Corbin was not there. But of course he would be with his family on Christmas day.

Sirius looked at his watch…day after Christmas, then.

"Calm down, Sirius," Dumbledore said, leaning gently on his cane.

Sirius took a breath. "He's not here."

"Did you expect him to be? It's Christmas."

"Well…I just…Corbin's always here," Sirius explained, looking to Dumbledore like a confused and helpless child.

Dumbledore nodded, striding over to Corbin's desk, and taking parchment and quill in hand, began to write.

"What are you doing?" Sirius asked distractedly, shuffling through things in piles on his desk. Not as if he were looking for anything in particular, he was just moving things for the sake of moving them. He would have never become this unraveled with Jill present. But it was sadly apparent to Dumbledore that Sirius was just as distraught over the missing child as his mother was.

"Writing to Mr. Corbin and asking him if he could take time out of his holidays to meet us at the Ministry for an unexpected emergency." Dumbledore folded the page and calmly attached it to Arabella's owl, Damien.

"Ministry, right," Sirius said, running his hands through his hair.

The bird flew off as Dumbledore, in his awkward gait, walked Sirius to the door and Apparated to the Ministry.

Jill was there. Her head in her hands, she sat in the reception area outside of her office. Dimly lit and empty of most of its workers, the light of the ministry's fourth floor cast shadows over her worn face streaked with tears.

Sirius folded her into his arms desperately striving to be the strong one here.

He wasn't, but Dumbledore was. He was strong for both of them.

"You two take a moment. I'll pop on down the hall to speak to Arthur." Dumbledore hobbled away, leaving Sirius and Jill to each other, and their tears, and their grief.

***

Draco was unprepared for what greeted his eyes as he rode into camp. It was the most perverse and evil thing he had seen, in a span of eighteen years that had offered him the opportunity to view a great many disturbing and base things. He strove to remain unaffected.

Swarms of children, no more than the age of seven, carried weapons of war and destruction. All were neatly rowed and stared blankly forward as if they were waiting for the command to breathe. They were more imp or demon than anything human. Just at the surface of this horde lay the lust for blood that would drive them forward into the destruction of many—many, including themselves. This is what Lucy had described to him.

He had remained in a suspended reality, knowing in the back of his mind that his father was capable of many things...but not this. It was a hard reality to grasp that creatures of this nature could be manufactured. God help us all if there was no way to stop them, Draco thought.

He had been unaffected, standing in front of what everyone claimed to be the most evil presence in half a decade, unaffected when his father had murdered in front of him at the age of nine, strove to remain unaffected when he heard of his mother's death and nearly went mad at the sight of Lucy, dead and bleeding, alone in an impersonal cell. It was not possible to have a shred of unaffectedness cover his astonishment here. It bled through and through as he rode past rank after rank of these sad, pain-ridden, anger driven creatures.

And something else overwhelmed him in that instant: fear. He feared that he would not be able to aid Galahad and Isaiah in the way that they were counting on him to. How could he stop this? He wasn't even aware that something this evil could exist on earth. There didn't seem to be a chance in hell that this could end with him.

"There is a perfectly good reason as to why you've returned on your own and you are going explain it right now," his father said from off to his left.

Draco spotted him moving through the ranks of his fabricated army. "I know I promised that I would not question the existence or non-existence of your sanity, father, but what is this?" he asked with an expansive sweep of his hand.

Lucius smiled. "One of my most colorful plans, you have to admit."

Draco nodded. "That I do."

"Yet, they surprise you?" Lucius said, holding the reigns of Draco's horse while he dismounted.

"They're children. Ravenclaw and Gryffindor have armies of men," Draco began, knowing fully well what these children-not-children were capable of. "Are you sure that there is a way to control them, or will you just unleash them indiscriminately?"

Lucius smiled. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Draco said nothing. He allowed a scout in Slytherin colors to take his horse.

"Where are the other two?" Lucius asked in a warning tone.

It began to snow in that instant. Draco looked up at the flakes and noted them as somewhat surreal. How could it snow when the fires of fury and conflict hundreds of years old were blazing, roaring up around him. "They're dead," he answered.

"I trust that it was not by your hands that they met their end, or you would not have come back?" Lucius said.

Draco followed him to a tent where they continued. "I would not have, no."

"This is starting very soon. And it will end just as quickly, Draco. They cannot possibly match this," he said, indicating the ranks he commanded. On top of his very unusual and cruel army, the Slytherin Legion was in full production, taking stock of trebuchets and other implements of destruction to be employed once range of the castle was close enough.

Draco guessed that his father was banking on using the child army to push the ranks of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw back, hemming them in along the castle wall and the cliff that surrounded the other three sides. The walls would no doubt be heavily defended. The siege engines and the Slytherin Legion would be all that was needed to bring the castle to its knees by then, allowing for his father and Eowyn to march right in and slaughter the inhabitants.

When Draco was younger, and then on into his school years, he was taught never to question his father. But he had always wondered in secret what his father's extensive studies in military tactics of Rome, Byzantium, and the Middle Ages and of present day would ever bring him. The answer was clear now: it would bring him an empire.

He was deep in thought.

"Once Eowyn's victory is secured, we may set to the task of opening my universe," Lucius said as a squire no older than Draco busied himself strapping armor to him. Lucius stood, arms raised, oblivious to the task, as if it was a natural occurrence in daily life. "Draco? Are you listening to me?"

Draco blinked and came back to the conversation. "What does she gain from this bargain?"

Lucius stared at his son. "She wants to see the houses of Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw fall. She wants to be personally responsible for their fall."

"And then what? You trust her to come through on her end? That doesn't sound much like you, father."

"She will leave this world with you and me," Lucius said. "She has no more interest in these lands once her enemies have perished from them."

Draco smirked. "An exchange of one whore for another."

"Women have their uses, Draco. There is no point in being chivalrous. You do not wear it well. Someday you will learn. But I will have to discipline you severely if you ever call her a whore again. The Lady Eowyn is an exception to the rule," Lucius said warningly.

Draco said nothing, watching as his father was strapped and plated. As the breastplate was lowered over his head, Draco noticed something briefly that he had never seen before, a silver chain from the end of which dangled a silver amulet in the shape of the Dark Mark, the mark of the Legion of Slytherin. It was no more than the size of a Knut. He only saw it briefly and wanted to shoot a scathing comment about the gaudiness of such a gift, no doubt from Ewoyn, but didn't have the chance. It was covered by the breastplate that the squire was now tying into place. He wasn't even sure that his father had seen him studying it.

"Do you wish to go into battle in nothing but that?" Lucius asked him as the squire finished and moved away presently. "They have archers, you know."

"Yes, I can't move in armor. And besides, you look as poncy as all hell in it yourself." He eyed his father with an arched brow.

The squire returned presently with Lucius' horse and two more helped to place his foot in the stirrup. Draco marveled at his father. He knew that it wasn't easy to move around fully armored, even for an experienced knight. He vaguely wondered how much time his father had spent back in 1352 to gain such an ease with the cumbersome equipment.

"Mount and follow me to the rear, son. You can watch efficiency at its greatest height," Lucius offered wistfully.

Draco said nothing but mounted his horse and headed to the rear.

At the sound of his father's voice, Draco watched as the child army moved down into the valley and up to the slope to meet the armies of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, the Slytherin Legion immediately behind them.

It would start now. There was no way to foresee an ending. For Draco's part, he wasn't sure if it should be quick or slow. He was still unsure as to how he could stop it.

There was a fleeting moment of panic in him as he realized that he could not stop what would happen.

***

"Harry?" Lucy said.

"Hmm?" Harry answered, riding beside her.

Lucy gave him a tentative look which he didn't return. She didn't know whether he was angry at her, or at Ginny, or if he just had a lot on his mind. She pulled the small silk bag from her robes. It had been attached to her Time-Turner but she had taken it off and stored it in her cloak when the charm had been fixed.

She squeezed it finally, as if to glean the strength to be honest.

"You take this," she said, handing him the small parcel.

He furrowed his brow and blinked. "What is it?"

"The last of Imogen," Lucy said, swallowing hard. "There's one left."

He took it reluctantly and tucked it inside of his cloak. She knew he had caught the significance. "Why do you want me to keep them?"

"Because. I told you that there were no more…I don't know. I thought that you were angry at me for tricking you for so long. I wanted to show you that I wouldn't pretend to be someone else anymore. But…I couldn't give them up…give her up…There was always the thought in the back of my mind that I would need them, need to have the use of my legs." Lucy looked ahead of them where Maren and Balthamos rode.

They crossed the river.

"Like now, for instance," Harry said, striving to keep the scathing tones from escaping. He wanted to feel betrayed, lied to, but he also wanted to forgive immediately. He knew the reasons she had. If it came down to absolute truth, he would probably have done the same thing.

Lucy nodded guiltily.

"What if you need the last one and I'm not there?" Harry said. "This is probably not the kind of place that's easy to get around in for…"

"For people like me…for paralytics…cripples?" Lucy asked, almost a whisper.

"Well, yes, actually," Harry said.

She stared at him. He was being so patronizing. "Look, I know that something happened between you and Ginny. I don't want to know details. Nor do I want to be brought into it. But I don't want you to take it out on me either. I know what I did was wrong. I'm sorry. I didn't want to lie to you. So, forgive me and get over it."

He didn't look at her, but he could feel her glare. "Have you ever not gotten your way? How is it that the fact that you're a spoiled little girl who thinks everything should be handed to her just because she asks for it escaped my notice?"

"That is the most illogical thought I have ever heard in my life, Harry," she said reasonably.

"Oh, so now I'm dumb?" he barked.

Maren glanced back briefly and then sat up a little straighter and engaged Balthamos in a tactical strategies discussion.

"I'm not arguing against the case," she said, correcting his grip on his horse's reigns.

Harry jerked his hands away from her, irritated by the inferior treatment he was receiving.

"And you say I'm the brat," she yelled.

"Well…if the fabulously expensive shoe fits," he countered, narrowing his eyes.

She stared at him in wide open astonishment. "You're being ridiculous. I'm not talking to you until you learn some manners and respect."

"Oh, please." Harry leaned forward in his saddle. "That's what I need: more lessons from the politeness police." He glared. "Don't call me names, Harry. That's rude, you know," he mocked in an affected tone, meant to be Lucy's voice.

She narrowed her eyes, reminding Harry a lot of her brother. "Grow up, Harry!" She spurred her horse forward to join Maren and Balthamos.

Maren endeavored to hide a snigger. Lucy glared at her as well.

"Is it likely that the way to the monastery will be watched?" Maren asked Balthamos to lighten the atmosphere.

"We shall see. We are walking in there with little knowledge; assured that there are those of the order that will help us. How many are there against us within those holy walls? We cannot be sure. Even the Lord Mungo did not have an answer to satisfy that end," Balthamos said ominously.

Lucy listened intently beside him, trying to ignore Harry who brought up the rear, alone and sulking.

When they passed the castle of Hufflepuff, once in the hands of the Slytherin Legions, now seemingly abandoned, Maren turned to Lucy and then to Harry. "It is important that your insignificant feud is laid aside for the time. We are facing unknown opposition. This will be a task that decides the outcome of much. I need your full attention and cooperation."

She waited for both of them to nod their consent, which they both did reluctantly.

Lucy held her breath as they passed the outer walls, vaguely expecting to hear a cry from within—a cry that would announce the futility of her efforts with Claire. But who would cry for them once they were gone? Who would know? Who would be there to discover them first? Faramir?

Lucy closed her eyes for a moment, suppressing the hot tears that she felt welling up behind her eyelids as she thought of it. Imagining it was like watching the scene at Ravenclaw's castle in Ireland over again. She saw vividly the pain that she'd caused her brother when he found her body there, lifeless. He had wept for her, for the loss of her. She knew Faramir would weep for his family. He would mourn them as Draco had mourned her…but they would not come back. And she could do nothing to stop it…she, who had had precious knowledge of the disaster. But Claire would not listen to her.

"Wait here," Balthamos urged, bringing Lucy back to the present with a start. They were at the monastery now.

She blinked and shook her head, clearing her mind, readying herself for her task.

Harry's horse came to stand next to hers, but he said nothing.

Maren and Balthamos dismounted and with hands to hilt of sword, they approached the front entrance of the modest building.

Lucy craned her neck in an effort to watch the proceedings.

A monk in dark cassock and hood opened the door, expressionless.

Maren spoke with a bow which was returned perfunctorily.

The hands came from the hilts: no danger as of yet. They were invited in.

Lucy dropped lightly from her stirrups to the ground, followed less agilely by Harry. Lucy smiled to herself. He was trying to hide the fact that he was becoming weary of riding.

Presently, Balthamos returned to them and said, "All is well. Brother Daniel will help us," indicating the fidgeting and nervous looking monk at the door.

Harry dropped the reins of his horse and walked off behind Balthamos.

Lucy said nothing, but hurriedly tied both horses securely up and followed as well.

***

Out across the snowy expanse, becoming even more of a perfect day if it weren't for the horrendous battle going on just across the plain, Ginny watched the proceedings.

As she held an artery closed on a bleeding Gryffindor Infantryman, Mungo working as fast as his skilled hands could allow him to work, she listened to the clanging and crashing and taunting and screaming: the sounds lost by all accounts of history: the sounds of medieval warfare.

There were one or two waves of Slytherin infantrymen that had matched with the Ravenclaw archers. Most of the wounded being pulled from the battlefields had injuries from arrows. The real battle had not yet begun.

She turned her attention to aiding Mungo. She tried not to look into the pleading eyes of the soldier that was fast slipping from consciousness.

Mungo was absorbed in his work, she marveled at the humanity of the man. She knew that this much pain and death must hurt him as much as it was hurting her. Yet, he was composed, diligent, silent unless to dispatch instructions to her or Azria. She briefly thought that one day, if she was very lucky, she might resemble this incredible person in even the slightest of ways.

She caught the anguished look of the dying man. "Angel," he said, coughing blood.

She continued to squeeze the artery together, her grip slipping in all of the blood. "Don't speak," she said gently.

"I have a daughter, her name is," he coughed more. Mungo looked to her and shook his head heavily. He wouldn't make it. "Her name is Angelica. She looks like you."

His hand fell from her shoulder and his eyes grew dim. And he died in that moment.

Ginny had striven to remain professional. He had not been the first to have touched her in his last moments, many had. He was a father who would never see his child, Angelica, again.

She backed away slowly. Her expression, despite her war with her composure, broke and crumbled and dissolved into the torrents of pain-filled sobs that escaped her. Wiping his blood from her hands to the front of her dress, she turned and slowly walked past the monks that continued to bring more and more wounded to them.

She couldn't handle one more death. It seemed as though the moment she touched them their life, fragile and clinging by the barest thread, ebbed away altogether.

She fell to her knees to the sound of a priest nearby delivering the last rights to yet another soul on its way to eternity.

Then all was quiet.

The battle cries had stopped. There was a void where all noise had been before.

She looked up urgently and saw an eerie and heart-sickening sight.

On the ridge, moving in on the Gryffindor Infantry, the Ravenclaw Infantry, the Ravenclaw archers behind them and finally the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor cavalry, a fathomless sea of the most ghastly-looking creatures Ginny had ever laid eyes on. But they were children—or at least they once had been, the children that had been kidnapped for several months throughout Europe in her own time. Lucius Malfoy had created a killing machine of innocents.

And the effect on the infantry and those that built up the ranks behind them was ingenious: they gaped in fear and disbelief as Ginny herself was doing. Yet, for them, they could not afford one moment of hesitation. Ginny saw the double value in such a force, though she had not Lucius Malfoy's military education. The troops of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw were built on the principles of chivalry. They would no sooner attack these children than they would turn and attack her. They stood struck, in awe, and prone to be mowed down in a neat procession of blood and violence that would not be as kind as to bestow the same discrimination that had been bestowed upon them. These children were programmed to destroy. They would kill even if it came to their own destruction. Lucy had told her that they had undergone a removal of their souls by Dementors. They were hollow and lifeless, mechanical. They wanted blood and Lucius Malfoy would give it to them. The thought sent a wracking shudder down her entire body as she knelt there.

But where despair sets a foot in the door, the twin promise of hope and faith in humanity will also enter.

She knelt in the snow, the blood that was covering her front making a stain on the blanket of white. She hardly took a breath, afraid she would miss his words.

Galahad Ravenclaw was charging to the middle of the field. The silence on both sides could be cut with the edge of a knife so palpable it was.

"Knights and warriors of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw!" he said, wheeling his horse, and turning to ride down the lines of his troops and that of Isaiah's. She saw Isaiah and Faramir at the head of them. "I have been warned of this force. It is the basest and cruelest of deeds. They were children," he rode between his own army and the advancing hordes of the destructive creatures. "They are no more. It is a ruse of the highest order. The Lady of Slytherin and her House are capable of this and more. Do not be fooled. They will not stop until we are no more. We must fight. And some of us will die. But die with me brothers if it must come to that. Is our freedom worth at least this much? Is it worth the fight and death to have a free and honest world, a world in which we can live without fear of the predations of the dark and the evil upon our lives, upon the lives of our children?" He wheeled wildly again, all the while the advancing of the enemy bore down on him. "Evil ends here, today, with you and with me." He stabbed his sword in the direction of the feared advancement. "Are you with me, brothers, men of the House of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw?"

There arose a great cry that stirred Ginny's heart. She became dizzy for lack of breath, so captivating was the speech that Galahad had made. His men had rallied to the cause that would be fought again and again and yet has not been won. Many would give there lives to end the oppression of dark, evil and ambitious people everywhere. Ginny warmed in the snow and wind swirling around her to think that she might witness a significant victory for that cause today, and she had known the man that had stirred the hearts of many into making the ultimate sacrifice for that cause.

Galahad Ravenclaw would forevermore remain synonymous with the cause of righteous freedom for Ginny.

As the armies were nearly on top of one another, she heard Isaiah Gryffindor's command and a great cry from the men on the battle field, "Irruo!"

She knew just enough Latin for her heart to leap at the sound of it shouted over hundreds of armed men: Charge!

***

            Draco sat at a distance from the conflict, but not too far off that he didn't catch the words of a truly noble soul, coming from the mouth of a warrior poet. Galahad's speech moved him to do something more. He was on the wrong side, but for once he was for the cause of right. There was a stirring in his heart at this realization that he had never felt before and it was intoxicating and crippling all at once.

                His father, on the black steed at his left, made a barb something like, "Idealistic martyr."

                Draco would have called him a "noble inspirer," but he wouldn't waste the energy in arguing his father's misjudgment in the Lord of Ravenclaw. His words had incensed the people of the land to fight for it, for what was right. That was power that his father wasn't used to dealing with.

                He ignored his father's pompous postulations and poniards. He was busy making calculations in his head. Of Gryffindor, there consisted about five hundred infantry and about three hundred heavy-horse. Ravenclaw had about two hundred and fifty infantry at most, one hundred archers, four hundred heavy-horse. There was no doubt about it, the strength and saving grace of that force would lie in its cavalry.

                He turned to his father and observed him with mounting hatred. He sat loftily upon his mount in his glittering display of armor and arrogance and gleamed satisfaction in his smile, in his air, in the very presence of him.

                Draco wanted to knock him from his horse and beat the smug smile from his lips. He restrained his emotions.

                The force of children was deployed first, confusing and faltering the chivalrous Ravenclaw and Gryffindor armies. Lucius had counted on this. He had not counted on someone to pull them back together after being so disconcerted. Galahad had done this and much more.

                As the arrows flew through the air, striking many of the children down as they charged the battle ground, many more took their places and clashed with the Gryffindor infantry out front.

                Draco was working rapidly through scenarios in which he could get away from his father without arousing his suspicion. He needed to reach either Isaiah, Galahad, Faramir or Sir Guy, leader of cavalry.

                Impatient for a quick victory, Lucius called for the first group of the Slytherin Legion to assemble. It was a detachment of about one hundred, a small challenge to a force as large as the one they opposed. But highly effective as every one of the infantry were occupied with this new and deadly onslaught of ravenous child-like demon-warriors. It was an opportunity of which Draco could not have hoped to fashion on his own.

                "I will lead them, father," Draco said, spurring his horse forward, praying his father would see it as a token of his victory-affirmed loyalty. And he had.

                Lucius smiled. "I am gratified to find you so eager to take an active part in my grand scheme, Draco. But perhaps—."

                "No, father, I want to lead them into battle." Draco was adamant, hoping that his eyes and face expressed an urgent appeasement and eagerness to prove his worth to his father.

                Lucius considered this for a moment. "You have no armor. But…you have been trained," he agreed.

                "I have been trained by the best," Draco flattered.

                "Very well, the task falls to you," Lucius conceded, highly gratified, looking more proud of Draco than Draco had ever deserved in his life.

                He nodded and charged to the head of the line. Once the detachment was formed, they made quick work of the bloody field, trampling the fallen in battle along the way. It couldn't be helped though Draco was sorry for it.

                He broke from his detachment and blended, finding Galahad in raged conflict with three small children with the strength and determination to kill of several caged and hungry tigers. Draco rushed directly into the fray.

                Fighting these odd creatures of his father's creation was very unsettling. Blood red eyes and a mouth salivating for a kill, these children were the embodiment of hell, for hell could not have produced creatures more fearsome or powerful.

                "Divide the force," Draco yelled to Galahad, moving in a tight circle on his horse, swinging down hard on a small boy that drooled and sneered and swiped at him with a scimitar that ought to have been far too big for him to wield.

                "Divide?" Galahad yelled in return, parrying two small hungry creatures.

                "Yes. Have the cavalry ride," Draco shouted.

                "We mustn't divide. Our strength is in our numbers."

                Draco ducked. The scimitar in the hand of the child, buried itself deep in the neck of his horse, causing him to topple to the ground. He rolled clear of the dead animal, only to be pinned to the ground by a blond child with an eerie grin and a mace. Kicking off from the child as it swung back to bludgeon him, Draco rolled clear and to his feet. Before he'd had a chance to assess his situation, Faramir cleanly severed the attacking child's head from its body. Draco nodded his thanks and turned to Galahad.

                "Do it and let my father see you do it," Draco said, heaving gasping breaths of air. Despite the cold, his silver-blond hair was plastered to his forehead. "He will send his Slytherin Legion after them. His forces divided will be weaker than yours. We could win here if the cavalry took the Legion out of the way."

                Galahad thought this over. Swinging and ducking and fighting, he thought through the consequences and saw it as Draco did. A feinted retreat would fool the commander of the Slytherin forces into false security of a victory. Without the Legion, they could not win against the numbers of the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor infantry. He scanned the torrent of battle, looking for Sir Guy above them all. He was just there, with the cavalry, awaiting the signal to charge. Instead, Galahad gave him the signal for retreat, with a gesture to make it clear that it was a feint.

                Sir Guy nodded his understanding. Immediately the cavalry retreated from the field.

                Draco turned to see his father's reaction. It was as he had guessed. He divided the Legion from the child army. They took off after the cavalry. A retreat was insult. He was after annihilation. Draco knew his father far too well.

                He turned immediately to disarm another scimitar-wielding child, severing its arm from its body. It switched hands and hacked away at a wounded Slytherin soldier that was bleeding the snow red under foot.

***

                "I know not of the atrocities and heresies you speak," Brother Daniel said, arms folded into the sleeves of his cassock.

                He was leading them into the deepest annals of the monastic complex. Lucy was sure that this was where they had taken Gabriel.

                There was a fevered scream from a chamber down the hall of a dripping underground passage.

                Lucy looked to Maren who looked to Balthamos. There was a zing as all swords were drawn. The door to the room was barred but the screams, pleading, anguished cries never subsided or abated or grew fainter from the solid oak of the door.

                This was apparently a secret operation, of which very few people knew.

                Lucy guessed that behind that door would be Gabriel and Eowyn, accompanied by the one guard that had borne Gabriel from the now vacant and prone castle of Hufflepuff. Who knows what other resistance they would meet within?

                The monk that had led them here had been one of only two besides the Abbot that had been left to attend the monastery. All others were on the battlefield caring for the wounded. Brother Daniel had seemed timid when Lucy had first laid eyes on him. Now he seemed to quail in an almost manic state. 

                "Thank you, Brother," Maren said, veiling the apprehension that lit her face. "We no longer wish to detain you from your duties, you have been exceedingly helpful."

                Brother Daniel bowed and backed away from the door.

                "Balthamos," Maren commanded, "the door, knock it down."

                This command would have been impossible for any Muggle that did not immediately have the disposal of a battering ram. Balthamos bowed and removed his wand, nonplussed by the request.

                In a firm and commanding voice he performed the incantation that made quick work of the solid oak.

                Inside were hardly more individuals than Lucy had expected. That was not what caused her to grasp the hilt of her own sword with such ferocity that it turned her knuckles white.

                Ignoring the putrid smell of blood, burning flesh and tangible pain that hung in the air, Maren and Balthamos moved deftly into the room, not allowing the lone Slytherin guard the time to draw his own weapon.

                As Lucy followed Harry into the room, she felt the sickeningly familiar plunge of freezing water over her heart. There was only one thing that produced cold that so penetrated to the bone that effectively.

                A dementor.

                There was only one. It was small, for the man that had brought it into being was still alive, no longer conscious, but alive.

                Lucy thought she might be sick, grabbing Harry's arm to steady herself. He reached out and grasped her elbow to right her.

                So, this was the birth of the dementors, she thought? She imagined that it might involve something as gruesome as what she now saw in front of her.

                The man, a boy really, in a torn monk's cowl, bloodied into an unrecognizable smear of reddish brown, lay on a low table separating Eowyn from the intruders.

                Balthamos had the guard disarmed with the tip of his sword on the man's neck, begging him to make one move. The guard looked like he hadn't moved in sometime. As big as an ox and probably twice as strong, the man was frozen to the spot, dazed by what must have been a brutal torture session, the likes of which a man even his size and constitution could not bear.

                A man in a corner, cowering from the screams of one of his "brothers," in grander robes than the man on the table, demarcated him clearly as the turn-coat Abbot Marcus. He had apparently no clue what he had gotten himself into when he had agreed to serve as the front to Eowyn's evil empire.

                And lying on the floor, huddled peacefully in a chemical sleep of some form or another was Gabriel.

                There was a moment of limbo, in which the newcomers took in every nightmarish detail, in which one small sob escaped Lucy for the poor monk that lay tortured, mutilated and bleeding, in which everyone regained their self-composure from the weak dementor, in which all was explained.

                Eomer had ceased his universal shift theories when it became evident that the only means of achieving such a universe would be through dark magic of the blackest sort. His father had caught onto the concept, despite the sabotage that his son had perpetrated to stop him.

                Salazar Slytherin had created dementors for the purpose of opening the lock to his new dominion, free of Muggles and do-good wizarding taint—the same ambition that Lucius Malfoy sought.

                He had used one sacrifice, mercilessly tortured, their pain giving birth to pain incarnate: dementors. As the sacrifice slipped from life in a torment-filled spiral that most people are blessed never to have to experience physically, the dementor would gain strength, becoming immortal, for pain is immortal.

                The dementor is necessary because it is the means in which the soul of a child is severed, a chosen child with particular characteristics: coming from the time of the opening of the universal door, sinless, breeding pain in its purest form, rents a tear in the fabric of time and space that cries out for the injustice of a blameless soul that takes on the pain, sin and shame of the full-of-blame.

                The universe opened is a green field: a tabula rasa: a slate clean and full of promise. It is full of promise for corruption and wrong, the type of wrong bred in those that could achieve its opening to begin with. So much pain and wrong had gone into the creating of this new and expansive world ready for blackening, that it could be inhabitable only by those that could walk into it free of the guilt of so much pain for selfish ends.

                The Bible had a name for a place like this: hell. The Greeks called it Hades—the underworld, a dark kingdom of corruption, sin, perversions of all types of wrong.

                Maren, Balthamos, Lucy and Harry were all that stood in the way of a door that would soon be opened wide to hell. Salvation from such a place rested with these four.

                Eowyn, raising the bloody knife that she had used to flay the man while he was still conscious plunged it into the faintly beating heart.  He was bound and prone and helpless and, in an instant, dead.

                Lucy's knees buckled.

                She had thought for a moment that her Polyjuice Potion pills were giving out. But there was none of the back pain that usually accompanies the change.

                Harry knew what it was, he felt it too. The dementor had been granted full strength with the last beat of the dying man's heart.

                He heard the screaming, his mother's pleading voice. The cold broke over him like an immense and forceful wave.

                Lucy lurched forward, playing over and over the moment when her brother had tried to end his own life three and a half years ago. It took all of her resolve, determination and strength to overcome the sinking, plunging feeling and rise to her feet. She did it with minimal help from Harry.

                The cold and despair seemed to grip Maren and Balthamos as well. Both struggled to remain standing.

                They only needed that one second of opportunity to present itself. Eowyn lunged over the table and the dead man at Maren.

                The guard regained himself and overtook Balthamos, pushing him backward, drawing his own sword in challenge.

                The dementor found the despair of the younger two, Lucy and Harry, irresistible and advanced on them first, giving the others a chance to defend themselves.

                Harry removed his wand. He hadn't had to use this particular incantation in so long now…since fifth year. He remembered it well.

                The dementor advanced. He shoved Lucy behind him.

                "Expecto Patronum!" he said.

                And the dementor advanced.

                Harry pushed panic down. He had to get a hold over his memories. Fifth year held no fond memories for him, dwelling on the horrors of that time only fueled the dementor's need for them.

                Lucy took his hand. It was icy in his. But it was a reminder that she was right behind him. She was always behind him. And that was his fondest memory, the happiest he had ever been, learning that she had survived the events of Ravenclaw's castle last summer. She was here, with him, alive.

                "Expecto Patronum!" he shouted again.

                Maren was ducking and dodging and kicking, striking Ewoyn with mastered blows. She was a good three inches shorter and definitely in possession of a gentler spirit that Eowyn, but Maren could fight.

                Eowyn knew this. She knew she couldn't win with Maren. She was trained to handle a sword by Galahad, himself a legend on the battlefield.

                Blocking Maren's assault weakly with her right hand, Eowyn produced her wand with the left, shouting to Maren a promise: "You have not seen the last of the line of Slytherin."

                Eowyn disappeared as Maren reigned down a swing that would have proved deadly.

                Blathamos was holding his own with the guard. They parried and moved around the table, putting the dead monk between himself and the guard.

                Maren rushed to the Abbot who cowered, inching along the wall for Eowyn's discarded sword.

                He stood, confidently grasping the sword in his hands, shattering his vow as a monk never to bear arms against any human.

                Maren was more than equal to the task of an untrained and frightened monk. As he was, she would not waste any penance in spilling his blood. She drove him back hard, quickly stepping, tiring the monk.

                The incantation was weak. There was only the faintest of a Patronus. Harry pushed Lucy back, retreating. They were backing precariously against a wall.

                 Maren drove the Abbot back into the dementor in the same moment. The dementor lurched forward and stumbled, nearly falling on Harry. It righted itself and turned, seizing the man who sniveled and sobbed, frightened as he had the right to be. The dementor slowly lowered his hood with one scabby hand.

                Balthamos drove the guard back until he stumbled into the large grate of the fire, setting him aflame.

                Brother Daniel, who had lingered in the hallway, picked Gabriel up and removed him from the threat of the room and the combat that ensued within.

                "We must to the chapel," Maren said, rushing out of the room behind the others. The four of them plus Brother Daniel with Gabriel ran full out for the entrance of the monastery and the escape from the dementor that would not be satisfied with the vacant soul of the Abbot.

***

                "I must to the chapel in great haste," Azria said, throwing a letter that she had just received in the mouth of a gray owl to the ground, gabbing her cloak up from its spot, discarded.

                She grabbed a horse that strayed from the battlefield and mounted, turning to Mungo. "They have succeeded. They have the child, but he is in some sort of sleep that they cannot wake him from. I must help them."

                Mungo stepped away from the scout he had cared for. "The ride is too dangerous. Let me go instead, Azria."

                "I will go, brother. Stay with Virginia and help the wounded. Do not worry for me," Azria said with an appeasing but sad smile.

                Mungo nodded. "Then go with speed and may God protect you and bring you back safe to me."

                "May God protect you too, brother," Azria said, leaning to kiss his forehead and then she was off, riding full out for the stand of trees and the chapel about a kilometer from that.

                He watched her with worry until she disappeared over a rise and was gone. Then Mungo turned his eyes on the battle. He was no military man, but he knew that the cavalry dividing and running from the fray would spell doom. He said a hurried prayer for his friends and then watched as even the monks, pulling the dead free from the battle were attacked by the impish killers that darted everywhere along the expanse of red snow.

                "Stay to tend to the rest of the wounded here," he said, moving toward the conflict. "I must help my brothers in the field."

                Ginny shook her head and turned to the monk that had healed alongside of her. "Tend the rest, I go with Mungo."

                Mungo looked as though he wanted to say something, to make her return to the relative safety of the medic area. There was no time. He had to get to the dying. He removed his wand and Ginny did the same beside him.

                They split up, covering large areas of bloodied, wounded and dead soldiers of every side. Ginny ducked a child that swung at her, eyes wide with the power of the swing. She had no weapon to defend herself. The man at her feet was dying, but she was being kept from him by this demon with glowing eyes.

                Faramir rushed to her aid and stood guard by her, fighting off attacks while she moved from one person to the next, doing what she could for them. Coming across any of the Legion of Slytherin, she charmed them into unconsciousness, not allowing for them to gain the strength to fight against her friends again. They would be alive but out of action.

                She heard the monstrous and angry beats of hoofs but hadn't the time to look up.

                Lucius Malfoy had seen her among the wounded and had charged the field to end her.

                Faramir, occupied by the onslaught of several wild little killers, could do nothing about this new threat without giving the others an opportunity to attack her. She had to take her chances with Lucius on her own.

                She stood and brandished her wand in bloody hand, trembling.

                Lucius dismounted his horse slowly, giving her time to catch her breath. The metallic zing as he unsheathed his sword shook the frigid air.

                Ginny couldn't slow her breathing.

                His smile was terrifying, the dangerous glint in his eyes crippling.

                In a flash he brought his sword down on her forcing her to leap clear, landing on a dead Gryffindor scout, eviscerated, his bowels hanging gruesomely out.

                Between blows, Faramir blocked Lucius as well, allowing Ginny to get unsteadily to her feet.

                She had grabbed the dead man's sword, but it was heavy and unwieldy and Lucius wore armor that would prove any blow she was able to deal him ineffectual.

                Faramir returned to his own conflict leaving Ginny to parry Lucius' blows clumsily, driving her backward stumbling with every swing.

                Ginny swung in a wide, unsteady arc. One swing from Lucius' sword had knocked her to the ground again. Slowly, smiling, he forced the edge of his sword into the frozen ground next to her after cutting the straps of his leg plates free so the he could kneel.

                He bent over her, trapping her legs underneath his, slowly wrapping his graceful hands around her neck.

                She thrashed about and tried to kick and scratched at his face violently. Faramir was well off, a horde of children bearing down on him.

                Her vision began to swim as she tried to gain a hold on anything. She pulled at the collar of his breast plate and scratched at his neck. She was dizzying, blinking back tears, gasping.

                "I spared you before because you had been helpful and I had hoped that my son could persuade you to join my cause. You are valuable to me. But I am resigned now to merely killing you. You have interfered in my schemes far too much, Miss Weasley, Virginia," he explained, kissing her forehead, moving a hand from her neck to her cheek, faintly admiring the graceful curves of her soft face contorted in terror.

                She scratched and tried to kick and tore at his neck, grasping something inside of his breastplate as he bent to kiss her. As he jerked his neck out of her grasp at last, that something broke. It was the link of a chain he wore inside of his armor. She was pleased that it might have cut his neck.

                At least she would have the satisfaction of causing him the smallest amount of pain before she died, for all the pain he had caused her, Draco, Lucy, Harry.

                But the wind picked up in a supernatural way when the link in the chain had given. There was a great shuddering cry as the wind swept the battlefield, and Lucius still kept his grasp on her neck, squeezing.

                The children that had been detaining Faramir dropped in mid swing. They lay lifeless on the ground with the other dead. They had been freed of their bondage, they had died. The chain must have been what kept them linked to him, their souls housed in it, to command them. They were free now, Ginny thought fuzzily as Lucius jerked her head forward and banged it against the frozen solid ground.

                There was a great cry of anger from somewhere that Ginny could not see. Lucius had lurched forward as he raised a hand to strike her on the face, tearing her lip open.

                He cried out in pain and released his grip on her. She gasped and rolled clear of him.

                He had reached for his wand but stumbled and dropped it.

                Ginny looked up gasping to see who had attacked him, she saw a gaping tear in the metal of the back of his breastplate. He must have had broken ribs from the blow, Ginny thought. Draco reigned down powerful and furious swings on him not allowing him to get to his feet, knocking his wand from his grasp and stepping on it, snapping it in two.

                Lying bloodied and in surrender on the ground, Lucius looked up angrily at his son. "What are you waiting for, you sad disappointment? Kill me."

                It was all the invitation that Draco needed.

                He raised his sword—

                "Draco, no," Ginny gasped, pulling herself up into a sitting position.

                He stopped mid swing. He would have killed his father had she not spoken. He would not have done it in front of her, begging him not to.

                He threw the sword to the ground, barely audible he said, "Father, I am finished with you."

                Lucius nodded and smiled and passed out of consciousness.

                He turned to Ginny but could think of nothing to say save to apologize. That was wildly inappropriate considering the situation. She didn't want to hear it anyway.

                Ginny turned to the dead child next to her. A shuddering sob wracked her as she looked into the hollow eyes of a little girl in sandy blond ringlets, an expression of the deepest relief on her face in death.

                She bent over the child, cradling her in her arms, weeping for so many. How would the parents of these children ever understand this? She couldn't fathom it herself.

                "Ginny," Draco said, taking a tentative step forward.

                Ginny didn't look up but said, "Leave me, Draco."

                He left her in the snow and blood and let her mourn the child in peace. As he turned to his father, terror caused his heart to leap. He was gone, his sword removed from its spot stuck in the ground. He surveyed the landscape, knowing Apparating was not possible without his wand. The land sloped down and into the forest beyond. It was the only way he could have gone. 

                Draco pulled on the reigns of a discarded horse, mounting it, wheeling and heading off after Lucius.

***

                "Virginia?" she heard Faramir call her.

                She looked up. Her cheeks were tear-stained and her ears were ringing. She felt as if she had spent the entire day in mourning, weeping nonstop for all of the despair and sadness that hung around her. But it was not yet noon.

                She blinked. Faramir extended a hand to help her to her feet. She took it unsteadily and stood, leaving the sad little girl in the snow and mud. He led her to a place at the edge of the battlefield where she was met with the most difficult sight that she had yet to experience this day.

                Galahad lie with his sword in one hand, in the other the hand of Mungo, who bent over him, trying to keep him still, a tear in his tunic, along the side indicated his wound. It was a large wound, probably made by one of the scimitars that some of the children had wielded.

                Sir Guy had just bowed and retreated after informing him of the surrender of the Slytherin Legion to the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw cavalry. Isaiah stood by, clutching his sword in bloody hands, looking on helplessly.

                Galahad raised his hand from the sword at his side and reached out to Ginny. She kneeled at his side and took his hand in both of hers, kissing it lightly.

                "Faramir tells me that the downfall of Syltherin's child army is due solely to you." He stopped and clenched his teeth. He must have been in great pain.

                "Hush," Ginny said placing a hand on his forehead. "Do not trouble yourself, Galahad. You fought bravely. Rest now."

                Galahad closed his eyes momentarily. "I have you to thank for our victory. Look out over that field, lady."

                A tear fell from her cheek and onto his hand. She turned and surveyed the devastation. She could not have dreamt of such a place: pin-cushioned with arrows, dead soldiers as far as she could see, a monk here and there administering last rites.

                "It has ended with you." He dropped her hand and raised his to touch her cheek. "You have saved us all. And I honor you, Virginia." With the last vestiges of his strength he lifted his sword and presented it to her. He clenched his teeth again in pain.

                "Be still, brother," Mungo said. "I cannot save you, but I can spare you pain." Ginny met his eyes and knew what he would do. She wanted to stop him, but it would be an insult to his dedication to his friend. Such healing was rare. Mungo had the gift to heal with his hands. A wand was never needed, but at a great cost. His energy was leaving him and he would die soon too. But he would rather die with Galahad.

                Ginny clutched Gahalad's sword to her and watched Mungo place a hand on his dying friend's chest, just where his heart was, beating ever weaker. He took one last breath and died with Galahad, taking the last of his suffering upon himself. Ginny watched as they both died.

                She shuddered and sobbed and Faramir bent down to hold her as her grief was more than she could bear alone. Isaiah stood watching the scene with detached anger and grief. He wanted blood for the loss of the best friends he had ever known.

                "It is over," Faramir said to her. "Be still child. All is done."

                It was another moment before Ginny could speak. She looked up and Isaiah was gone. "We must not let him go off in anger. He will not avenge them by dying today," Ginny gasped.

                She stood and lifted Galahad's sword. Faramir stood too. They ran in the direction that they saw Isaiah speeding away on horse back with a fury.  

***

                Maren wrote to Azria immediately. They had left the monastery and were heading east toward the chapel in the woods that would one day give way to the village of Hogsmeade.

                Balthamos held Gabriel in front of him, carefully guiding his horse through the narrowing pathways.

                Lucy bit her lip, wondering, after all of that, whether Claire had been able to warn her family. Then she thought she would never know. They had saved Gabriel and were on their way to the chapel where Azria would make Gabriel well enough to go home… and then they would leave 1352 for good.

                She looked to Balthamos and to Maren. She had made a friend out of both and she would be sorry to leave them. She knew, looking over at Harry who was absorbed in thoughts as well, felt the same. He had been silent ever since she had told him of Claire and the fate of the rest of Faramir's family. No doubt he felt the pain Faramir would soon feel acutely. He had lost his family too. He knew Faramir would be devastated. But it seemed as if nothing could be done. 

                The chapel was far grander as she saw it now than the shell of a holy place that it had become in the modern-day village that had forgotten it. It was almost romantic in structure and situation. It seemed easy to be pious when surrounded by the peaceful wood and the lofty arching windows.

                They tied the horses outside and went in, out of the thickening snow. Now they would wait for Azria to come and see to Gabriel.

                Balthamos laid the child on the ground where Maren sat and walked slowly to the crucifix that hung in the arch of one grand piece of stained glass. He knelt and prayed. Lucy couldn't begin to know of what the warrior would pray. Thanksgiving that they were able to perform their duty, a prayer for the poor tortured soul of that monk that lay alone in the monastery, or for the lives of the many that were battling evil in its basest form on the battlefield at the moment.

                Harry knelt beside him and bowed his head as well.

                With a great sigh that signified the end of her task, Lucy sat down next to Maren and silently hoped that Claire had gotten out despite all. There was an unsettling in her soul that told her that she had not.

                It was then that she saw it, down the hall, dark and neglected. The passage that her father had used to slip between the twentieth century and the fourteenth, the door was wide open.

                She got to her feet again and looked back: Maren was busy, bent over the child, wiping his fevered forehead dry, Balthamos and Harry had their back turned from her, heads bowed.

                Lucy turned from the room and made silently for the passage.

                It was dark and seldom traveled save for her father's tracks and maybe Eowyn's. She followed them, plunging her ever into further darkness.

                She couldn't have guessed how far she had walked in total blindness, groping along the walls to find her way. She came out where she had expected to, the outer bailey of the Hufflepuff castle. She blinked in the reflected white of the snow. There was smoke all around.  The market that was usually so lively was deserted and nothing more than a ruin of huts and low stone building.

                There was a huge gap where a siege engine, perhaps a trebuchet, had rent through the wall. It lay in heaps around the still in tact base. She held her breath and moved into the castle proper, now half alight in flame.

                He was there, standing in front of her smiling an evil smile, hand on the hilt of his sword.

                "Father," she said hollowly.

                "Lucilla," he answered.

                She drew her sword and squeezed the grip with rage.

                His first swing was surprisingly weak, telling Lucy that he was injured. But even his weakest blows were hard for Lucy to block. She was agile and leapt away from his swings. His breathing was rasping, she noticed as she backed away and backed away, causing him to tire in the heavy armor he wore. It seemed as though his hard breathing was due to an internal injury, perhaps to his lungs.

                She continued to block and move away and away, never striking, only blocking.

                Presently, Isaiah came into the room, shouting a curse at Lucius in Occitain. He must have caught the meaning, but Lucy hadn't.

                He was enraged. Lucy could see it in his eyes. He meant to kill her father. 

                Isaiah pushed past her and delivered a series of blows that drove Lucius back against the large fireplace of the Great Hall.

                Isaiah's fury was deadly and his accuracy in swings, attacking with both down and back swings, was precise and effective.

                Lucius ducked, causing Isaiah's sword, the sword of Gryffindor, to send sparks off of the stone wall.

                A tapestry fell in flames.

                Lucy looked up to see a fire raging and spreading from timber to supporting timber. This place would collapse.

                She dropped her sword and removed her wand.

                "Father!" she shouted, taking careful aim at him.

                Isaiah was also caught off guard by her shouts, turning to look over at her.

                Lucius saw his opportunity and took it. He sent an elbow into Isaiah's chin, knocking him backward and off of his feet. His head hit the hearth of the fire hard with an audible crack.

                Lucy gasped as she watched in horror. She had caused it, it was her mistake.

                Lucius smiled. "Thank you for the distraction, Lucilla."

                "Father, leave," she said in a shaky but warning voice.

                Lucius did not move.

                "I swear to God you'll go straight to hell and I will be the one who sends you there if you do not leave right now!" she shouted furiously.

                Lucius blinked, disconcerted by the metallic edge to her voice.

                She took aim. "Avada Kadavra!" she spoke clearly and forcefully.

                She did not mean the threat she had just voiced. Taking aim just behind him, she missed intentionally. But he did not realize this, ducking quickly to the ground, surprised at her forcefulness. He got unsteadily to his feet and turned, walking slowly away.

                Lucy didn't replace her wand until she was sure that he had gone.          

                She ran to Isaiah, praying that she had not been the one to kill him. He was unconscious and bleeding. She felt helpless and frightened. The room would give out any moment, coming down around them. But she couldn't leave him and she knew not how to help him.

                She cried out. A shuddering gasp ripped through her, sending fiery fingers of white hot pain up her spine. "Oh, God!" she whispered. She had left her pills with Harry and the last one she had taken was now wearing off.

                There was no longer any feeling in her legs.

                She threw herself over Isaiah's body to keep the ash from falling on him.

                There was too much smoke. She couldn't even see the way out anymore. Neither of them would get out.

                "Lucy!" she heard Ginny call, coughing.

                Lucy looked up and blinked. "Ginny!"

                It was Ginny with Faramir. She dropped to the side of the two and took Isaiah's head in her hands. She felt his neck for a pulse, finding only the weakest one.

                "I did it…my father…I distracted Isaiah and he hit him. I don't know how to help him," she sobbed.

                "Faramir," Ginny called. He dropped to her side, a hand covering his mouth from the smoke. "Take Lucy out of here. She can't walk."

                Faramir looked to the unfamiliar little girl in silver-blond ringlets. She resembled Maren now more than ever.

                He lifted her and she winced and cried out.

                "What will you do?" he asked Ginny, reluctant to leave her here.

                "I can help him. We'll be right out. Just behind you, now go." She bent over Isaiah and only looked back briefly to see that Faramir did as she said. He was gone with Lucy.

                She was alone with Isaiah and unable to help him. She had lost her wand in the skirmish with Lucius. She closed her eyes and held his hand. Another tapestry fell. She bent lower over the brave man's prone form, shielding him from the falling debris.

                A hand reached down to touch her shoulder. She looked up and was met with the urgent gaze of Draco.

                There was a sick realization. She knew her visions were coming to pass. But like a horrible dream, she wanted to cry out, to make things different. It was all the same no matter how desperately she tried to do something, anything differently.

                She met his eyes and they seemed to say he was sorry. And she was sorry too. A sob rose in her throat. It was all playing out like her nightmare, but she couldn't stop it, try as she might.

                 "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.

***

                Faramir made for the entrance of the castle as fast as he could. His heir was waiting outside.

                "Harry!" Lucy yelled immediately upon seeing him. "Do you have it?"

                "Yes," he said, riding up to them. He threw her the silk bag that held the last of her pills. She caught it and took it immediately.

                When her hair was no longer a silver-blond but raven in color, when she had the use of her legs again, she ran to Harry's horse.

                The smoke darkened the sky.

                He reached a hand down and swung her onto the saddle behind him.

                "Harry," she said, breathless, "we have to get to the market. I've figured it out. It's Gabriel."

                "Gabriel?" Harry said.

                "Yes. Faramir's family will be slaughtered," she explained, watching Faramir rush back into the burning castle. "Gabriel is his brother, Jill's son."

                "What?" Harry asked. It sounded like nonsense.

                "Gabriel was adopted. I think they are the same child. Galahad said that Eowyn could only use a child from the same time as the universe opening. Gabriel is from 1352."

                "But, if he is killed when he is younger, how can he continue to live in the future?" Harry asked, skeptical.

                "That's why we have to get there. Our task isn't finished," she said urgently. "We have to save Gabriel—both of them."

                Harry turned around in his saddle to look at her. It wasn't crazy talk. Lucy was actually making some sense in a very illogical way.

                His face paled. He hoped they were not too late.

                Digging his heels into the flanks of the horse, he took off in the direction Lucy indicated.

                The small hut was half aflame.

                Lucy jumped before the horse had fully halted and ran into the flimsy structure. Harry was seconds behind her.

                He had seen Gryffindor soldiers exiting the house. It was astonishing, he thought. Why would Gryffindor soldiers attack Faramir's family?

                He entered behind Lucy. Already she was huddled over the forms of two lifeless bodies that Harry had never seen before. But it was eerie to see how much like him both children looked.

                The girl, who must have been Claire, was lying in a small bed of hay, her white cloth slipping down over her black hair. Her throat was slashed.

                She was clinging to a smaller boy, bleeding from his side.

                "I don't get it," Lucy sobbed.

                Harry surveyed the room and saw Claire's parents, Faramir's parents. He felt a sad bond. He had parents once who had given up this much for him. He could imagine the scene as it had played out.

                The soldiers had come crashing in as Claire came to warn her family.

                The father had taken out one of the scouts with a fire poker. There was a soldier lying in the doorway with a poker lodged in his throat. His tunic was torn at the arm. There was a mark there: The mark of the Legion of Slytherin. One last stab at the honor of Gryffindor from the witch of Slytherin.  

                The father was killed.

                Between the father at the door and the children lay the mother. Her face was contorted into an expression of pleading. She had begged for the lives of her children. She was ignored, as his own mother had been.

                Harry stared at the scene, knelt by the mother, hot tears streaming down his face, to the background noise of Lucy's sobs.

                "I thought we were supposed to save them," she said, cradling the small boy, placing a kiss on Claire's ghostly white cheek.

                Harry looked up from the mother. "Where is Gabriel?" He scanned the small structure, half of which was threatening to collapse.

                There was a small cooing from behind Lucy. They looked at each other. Lucy's eyes went wide. She laid the dead boy down gently and began to dig through the hay next to Claire. Gabriel was here. Claire had hidden him—spared him.

                She hugged the infant to her. It was the same baby she had seen in the arms of Claire in the Pensieve.

***

                Faramir rushed back into the castle when Virginia and Isaiah did not come out. The smoke was thicker impairing his vision drastically.

                He saw Ginny on the floor, unconscious, knocked out by a fallen beam.

                Other giant rafters had fallen down. Isaiah would have been on the other side of the large cross beams that were aflame, dividing the room. He could not see past the flame. But he knew he was there.

                He knew that Isaiah would have wanted him to save Ginny first, come back for him only after she was safe.

                He took her small and prone form into his arms and left Isaiah there, praying for God to make him quick so that he could save both.

                He laid Ginny at a distance from the flaming keep and turned to rush back into the Great Hall for his lord and friend. But the fire had caught to the armory. The explosion was loud and fierce.

                He was driven to his knees. Shocked, he stared for some minutes at the collapsed keep, too grief stricken to move. Isaiah was gone. Faramir was not fast enough, strong enough to save them both.

                He turned to the girl. Ginny lay in the snow, soot streaking her face with tears.

                He kissed her cheek and then removed the Time-Turner from the front of her dress and turned it.

                Once she was safe back in her own time, he set about looking for the other two heirs. They had taken off. He had business to tend to: getting the others back to their time safe. He could not think on the loss of Isaiah right now.

                But he saw the smoke rising from the market and knew exactly from which house it was issuing from.

                He ran with the speed of the desperate. He knew somehow what he would find there.

                In the doorway he sank to his knees.  It was his family, his entire world destroyed in front of him.

                He looked to his father and then to his mother where Harry sat, then to his brother and sister, dead—his youngest brother, wailing in Lucy's arms.

                He moved slowly to his sister's side and took her hand. "Claire," he whispered. Looking to his little brother, he placed a hand on his tiny forehead. "Oliver, I am sorry I was not here to protect you both."

                He removed the shoes from his sister's feet and laid her out flat, folding her arms over her chest, kissing her. He laid his brother out too, though he was already barefooted. He kissed little Oliver's forehead.

                Turning to Lucy beside him, he said, "My brother Gabriel, is he hurt?"

                Lucy shook her head. "No, Claire had hidden him away." She handed him gently to Faramir who wept over him for a long time.

                Lucy looked to Harry and he nodded.

"Faramir?" she asked tentatively.

                He looked up, with tear-washed brown eyes.

                "The boy Gabriel that we came here to rescue is safe. He is your brother, three years older. He was raised by loving parents who dote on him. He has a mother who is frantic to have him back."

                Faramir listened but the grief was all too plain on his face that hid nothing, like Harry's.

                "We should take him with us if you will allow it. He already has a good home. He will grow into the Gabriel that we know and fought to save. He will be loved."

                "I cannot raise him," Faramir said with a broken heart.

                Lucy looked to Harry again.

                "If it is what I must do," Faramir said finally. He laid his brother, the last of his family in the arms of Lucy and stood at the door of his family's destroyed home, watching as they carried Gabriel away from him.

* The speech that Galahad delivered to his troops and that of Gryffindor is dedicated to Sara who told me as she was reading over it that it reminded her of Henry V. I have never been so flattered in my life.