Enchantress of the Day and Night

Kneazle

D/C: All characters belong to JK Rowling, Warner Bros., Scholastics, etc. K.A. Applegate's EverWorld, Fern Gully: the Last Rainforest and Enchantress of the Stars by Sylvia Louise Engdahl and mostly my odd dreams take some ideas, also from "Disney's Atlantis", Sweep by Cate Tiernan, and Circle of Magic by Tamora Pierce. Most information that is for the covens is based on Wicca, Sweep, The Dragon's Tapestry, The Prism Moon and The Taker's Key by Martine Bates, Circle of Three by Isobel Bird, and most clan information is from Sweep, Young Wizards Series by Diane Duane, and Daughters of the Moon by Lynne Ewing.

A/N: please note that this story is an AU and therefore, some characters MAY act out of character. They act according to their surroundings, or to the role they play, or to their history. ^_^. This story is also mostly MIXED COUPLES, but I promise that it will end up H/Hr, for sure.

Summary: AU – In a world where witches and warlocks battle over slavery rights, where no sex is seen as an equal, a precious few gather to change the races' views before the war between the two escalate into something that could be the beginning – or end – of an era. Previously titled "Of Witches and Warlocks".

Genres: fantasy, romance, action/adventure, and drama

**-**

Chapter Two

            Sunlight filtered through the impenetrable leaves high above, creating a dark and bizarre network of ever-changing leaves. The forest was quiet and warm, with dew still on the large, pale green leaves of plants and mossy ground. A bird twittered and a squirrel hurriedly scurried up the trunk of a tree, probably to invest in some nut it had spotted.

            There was a squawk, and off to the side a flock of birds erupted from the canopy above. A group of riders, no more than four in total, appeared from round a fallen tree, all contently in a slow walk. The leader paused, still urging his horse forward, but his back was tense and straight, like he heard something.

            He crocked his head in one direction, listening. The Talamancaian Woods were large and dense, with unknown areas that were yet to be discovered. Wild creatures, rogue witches and warlocks, they were all in this wood.

            The young rider halted his horse, and his group behind him also paused.

            "Hear something, Harry?" asked one. The young man named Harry turned slightly, his features obscured by the forest green cloak he wore over his black pants and thin white shirt. His staff was attached to the side of his mare, with easy access to grab if needed.

            "No. I thought I did, but whatever it was… it's gone now." He replied, turning back to face the front.

            "Well, don't forget to tell us if you hear anything," said another, this one tall. He had covered his clothing with a royal blue cloak, one that simmered in the light.

            "I won't, Ron," answered Harry, flashing a grin back at his friend. The group continued forward again, unaware of what was high above them that minute, flying above the canopy of leaves and vines.

**-**

            The golden color of the griffin's fur made Hermione sigh, remembering the color of the fire back where she had spent her years studying magick, back when Minerva, her teacher, was still alive.

            Now, it had been a day and a half of constant flying. To what? Hermione surely didn't know, even thought she was supposed to lead the coven to a safe spot. Personally, Hermione had always found the Talamancaian Woods quite comforting, but that was her personal taste. She was quite sure that no one wanted to land in warlock country.

            "Hermione," said Ginny, as her griffin fell into beat beside Hermione's. Hermione glanced over at her redheaded friend, acknowledging her with a nod.

            "Ginny, is something wrong?" she asked.

            "Well, no," she sighed. Her stomach rumbled. The two girls laughed, before Ginny said, "besides that fact that I'm starving, not really. The griffins will be getting tired soon. We should land. We really should, Hermione."

            "Are you sure you want to land in warlock territory?" asked Hermione, carefully. Ginny turned her head away.

            "I really wouldn't mind," she said in an odd voice.

            "You mean to say, you want to find your brothers," translated Hermione, smiling softly at the younger girl. Ginny's cheeks flushed.

            "No…" She glanced at Hermione. "Yes… Oh! I don't know. Yes, I do… but the others… and the Days! Goddess above, if we settle down here and there are any warlocks around… they're doomed! What if they be my brothers?"

            "Pray that they aren't in this area, then," said Hermione with a grim face. "I may be coven leader, but even I cannot control the Days without other strong magick."

            Sighing, Ginny nodded and flew slightly away, a contemplative look on her face as she acquiesced to her thoughts.

            Hermione then urged her griffin to the front of the herd, before turning him around. "May I have your attention please? I've been informed that the griffins are becoming tired… I think it'll be best if we rest tonight in the Talamancaian Woods tonight. Are there any objections?"

            "Aye," cried one witch out, "what be there if there be warlocks?"

            Hermione sighed. "We have the Days. They can take care of any warlocks if they come too close to our night settlement. But," continued Hermione, her voice raised, "As coven leader, I declare that no warlock be harmed if caught. Do I make myself clear?"

            The Days grumbled, as they clustered tightly together, but they nodded, assuring they would follow her orders.

            With that set, Hermione then lead the witches down into the vast crown of the Talamancaian Woods, going steep and straight down. She knew these woods like her reflection; after all, this was where…

            She shook her head, clearing the past memories out of her head. She had much more important things on her mind now.

            Ginny's griffin leveled off with Hermione. The two of them grinned; the race was on. Together, they tore through the awning, leaves whipping their cheeks and cutting them. The two girls took no notice, as they could heal the wounds easily with their magick.

            They erupted through those thick leaves to the world underneath the canopy. Everything around them glowed in an unearthly aura, making the sunlight that came through gaps above dance around like faeries. Hermione and Ginny paused, catching their breath for a second before giggling. They dismounted their griffins, Hermione petting its eagle head. It purred like the half-lion it was, before going down on its knees, bowing, and then collapsing on the ground for a quick snooze. Ginny's griffin copied Hermione's, and together the two girls waited for the other witches to come.

            Minutes later, they had all arrived in the ethereal forest, all in awe, for they had never been to the woods.

            Hermione then said that the griffins should form a semi-circle around them for protection, and that the Days should scope the area out for any warlocks that might be on their way towards their night settlement. The Days left and Hermione breathed in relief. She had always feared the Days while she could talk to the Nights. Though the Nights were more aggressive and killed if there was a struggle, the Days had always tortured; despite what Minerva had what seemed long ago said that witches game them a choice. A choice to what, Hermione often wondered. Death or bonding? Which was worse? In truth, Hermione didn't know. She was only a young, powerful witch that knew that one day she would become the Enchantress… but then, was it her? Minerva had long ago told her of the prophecy, the one that she made Hermione learn off by heart. Certainly, Oliver thought she was the Enchantress. He had always called her that or by her witch name, Hermione.

            Oliver, Hermione thought. Her first, true warlock friend. He was a Priest's Knight, meaning he fought only for the Priest, who was the ruler, or Father, of all warlocks in the land. Hermione's coven had the Mother or Goddess, who ruled over all nature, magick and anything pure.

            Thought the Goddess was a spirit, a deity to the witches, the Priest was real. He was holy man, one who knew the balance. He didn't choose sides, saying that warlocks should rule. He was unbiased, but he was also in the body of a mortal. Minerva had always hinted that the Priest was Albus Dumbledore, the Talamanca clan leader. Hermione had often wondered who it was, but knew it was ill luck to ask aloud who it was unless it was taught.

            Hermione sighed, walking away from the large group of witches who were now using their magick to create a fire. She walked to the very edge of their community, settling herself down on a grassy mound.

            She took out the clear Remembrance Stone that Oliver had given her and clutched it in her hand. She closed her eyes and thought of Oliver, of Minerva and her mother. She placed Helen Granger's image in last, as it took the most time to remember what her mother looked like. She hardly realized that she had begun to leak tears until she opened her eyes and felt that salty wetness curve into her slightly parted lips.

            She shuddered and dry sob, tilting her head back. Above her, an opening was blessed, as she could see right up into the sky. It was dark now, a beautiful shade of dark cyan, with the stars glowing brightly from their spots in the vast sky.

            "Hermione?" whispered a voice. Hermione lowered her head to look at the voice; Ginny stood before her. The redheaded friend was framed by the firelight, and Hermione could safely say in her mind she envied Ginny's grace. Her petite frame and lithe hands made her look like a fire nymph, something that Hermione was sure she'd never be able to look like.

            "Yes, Gin?" asked Hermione, patting the soft ground beside her. Ginny complied, seating herself beside her friend. Together, they were silent, in Hermione's case looking up at the stars and in Ginny's, staring into the fire.

            Ginny turned to say something, but her gaze instead landed on the Remembrance Stone. "I say, what's that?"

            Hermione tore her eyes from the sky to the stone, which she clutched tightly and possessively. "It's a stone."

            "I can see that. Did you pick it up here, Hermione?" asked Ginny, with some envy in her voice. "It's very beautiful."

            "I know. I didn't get it here. It was a gift."

            "A gift! From who? Minerva? My mother?" Ginny turned, crossing her legs beneath her body. "Who, dear friend?"

            Hermione turned her head away, but said, "Oliver Wood, a warlock that was captured by the Days."

            At Ginny's gasp, Hermione turned back to her friend. "Have you thought that it could be a bonding? You could belong to him now!"

            Hermione's laugh echoed through the trees, stirring some birds that chirped indignantly. She shook her mane of brown hair and chuckled. "No, no, Ginny. It's just a stone. It's called a Remembrance Stone. You think of the faces of people and you can place them in the stone, like a memory. Look…" she trailed off, taking Ginny's hand and placing it on top of her own. Hermione then closed her eyes, thinking up the image of her mother. Ginny's gasped told her that she could see the face too.

            "Who… is that?" she trailed off, before murmuring, "your mother?"

            Hermione nodded. "Aye… Helen Granger…"

            "She was very beautiful," Ginny said, letting her eyes wander over the features of Helen's face. Thick, wavy brown hair with bangs dropping out on to a small forehead, elegantly arched eyebrows, tiny ears, almond shaped hazel eyes, a gently sloped nose, full lips and an oblong face completed the picture. "You look like her," commented Ginny.

            Hermione snorted. "I never will. I look like my father… not my mother."

            "I think you do," whispered Ginny, but Hermione took no heed. Instead, she stood and walked towards her griffin, curling up beside the belly, ready to welcome another dreamless sleep.

**-**

            The pale young man, with straight blond hair that was so pale it was nearly white, followed the taller version of himself through the underbrush, unaware of where they were going. All the while, his father would glance over his shoulder, check if his son was still there, and kept going.

            He would constantly talk; talk about the witches, the havoc they cause, how they should be destroyed and how warlocks should rule. How there was one man who believed in the same idea.

            "Now, Draco, when we arrive, which is very soon," began his father, barely taking a breath. Draco rolled his eyes, the color of the sea when a storm is at hand, barely listening to his father. "You shall not speak, unless spoken to. The Dark Lord is a very busy mage, and we are to be blessed that he will take us under his Death Eaters."

            Wonderful, thought Draco. I was forced to leave Talamanca for this? A bunch of bloodthirsty warlocks and witches that want to destroy the world? Oooh, joy.

              He watched his father stop at the small river. Across on the other side of the bank, there were thicker trees, the forest was more impenetrable, and there was a light fog on the ground. On their side, trees were bright; there was more sunlight and more birds chirping.

            His father then pulled his staff out of the holster on his back, and spread his arms wide. "Father of night and evil, I call you. Allow me to cross over and become your servant. I come freely, take me to the night!"

            Draco watched with a smirk on his lips as the fog parted and a cave loomed before them. Stone steps appeared on the water, bobbing slightly. It was an invitation to come in to the lair. Draco followed his father, his eyes taking in everything. They were cool and unreadable, but his brain yearned for more knowledge.

            He stepped into the cave, turning back slightly to realize that the stone steps were gone, and the fog was replaced. However, he could still see the other side, with the knowledge that anyone on the side couldn't see him.

            At the sound of his father's boots getting softer, he hurried to catch up with General Malfoy, and stepped into a large dome-like room. Crystals high above, hanging from the ceiling gave off light. Draco was sure that it was enchanted to do that.

            "Lucius Malfoy," a voice hissed. Draco's head came down from the ceiling to face the owner of the voice. He inwardly shuddered; this was Tom Riddle? He thought, looking at the young man. He had always thought his to be… stronger… uglier, really.

            Riddle's scarlet eyes swept over Lucius as if his father was nothing. Lucius had bowed on one knee, like he was supposed to before the clan leader. Draco, again, rolled his eyes.

            Instead, he found Riddle's eyes boring into his. He raised his eyebrow slightly, before bowing a bit at the waist. A small smile appeared on Riddle's lips. "Ah, a man who knows how to treat royalty."

            Lucius winched, looking back at his son. He shot his son a glare, as to say, copy me you idiot! But Draco just smirked.

            "You, boy, what is your name?" boomed Riddle, stepping away from his throne. Draco's face was unreadable.

            "Draco Malfoy, milord," he said, his eyes on Riddle's feet instead of face. If he had looked at Riddle's face, he would have seen the growing pleasure in his expression and nod of approval.

            "Draco Malfoy," he repeated, glancing over at Lucius. "He is your father, I presume?"

            "Yes, milord," said Draco, his tone still neutral. He wondered how long he'd have to keep this up.

            "Well! Then I daresay that you both shall be imitated at once into the Death Eater!" proclaimed Riddle. "Wherever your son got those manners, Malfoy, he was taught them well. Where did you learn them, boy?"

            "Clan leader Dumbledore made us learn those lessons, taught by mage Lupin," said Draco, "who is in the Talamancaian Clan."

            "Talamanca, you say?" mused aloud Riddle. He appeared deep in thought, but before anyone could say anything, he spoke, "come up here, boy, and receive a gift, a gift like no other!"

            Draco walked up the steps to the throne carefully, regarding Riddle's movements. Staff out, cool hardened eyes, indifferent emotion. He stopped on the last step, and kneeled. Riddle looked impressed. He took off his cloak, his shirt and bared his shoulder to his new Lord.

            The staff touched the skin and Draco inwardly screamed, biting his lips. He smelt his skin burning; felt it flaking off… seconds later there was nothing but a cool throbbing engulfing his shoulder and surrounding area.

            He stood, placed his shirt back on and cloak, and went to stand beside a young man with greasy hair and pale skin, with onyx eyes. He looked friendly enough, and familiar, so he made a beeline towards him.

            "Hurts, don't it?" he whispered softly. Draco, who had been watching Riddle question his father, didn't know whether or not the man spoke aloud.

            "What?" he whispered in the softest voice he could muster. "The mark being burnt in?"

            He nodded slightly, tweaking his nose as if it were itchy; it was a cover. "Severus Snape."

            Draco knew him immediately after that name was revealed. He had also been in love with Potter's mother, Lily Evans, but James had gotten to her first and bonded her. He, thought, had done everything for the girl and she in return took a liking to him. Nothing romantic so is said, but friendly. He had been enlisted to go with James to the battlefront of Drinett, where James died. The battle had officially ended when he died, but most mages and Nights had stayed, crusading against the Days from many different covens.

            The battle itself was told that no one survived, and had ended only a year ago. Draco, though, was standing beside a survivor.

            "I see," he said, unsure of what to say. Snape glanced over at him.

            "You do not wish to be here, be a Death Eater," he said, smirking slightly.

            "Of course not. Stupid father, makes me do 'what is best for the warlocks'," Draco hmphed, crossing his arms and brushing his hair back from his eyes.

            Snape nodded. "Join me," he whispered.

            "What?" asked Draco, looking at him from the corner of his eyes. His father's mark was burnt in and he was in, just like his son. He walked confidently away from the throne, taking a spot far from Draco. Tom Riddle stood, and shouted, "Eat, drink and be merry, my Death Eaters. For tonight we rest, and tomorrow we plan on attacking and decimating all opposing clans and covens who do not join us!"

            Cheers went up, people began talking, and Draco and Snape went to a secluded corner. They were in the dark, talking in soft tones.

            "I work still for Dumbledore, Talamancaian clan leader. He is the Priest, young Malfoy, and I dare not go against him, however strong milord is," revealed Snape. "I trust you, lad. Will you join me? I leave every midnight during the fortnight to escape to Dumbledore to tell him of Riddle's progress."

            Draco thought it over. Do I really want all this? He thought, looking around at the damp cave, when I had everything I wanted back in Talamanca? It took no further convincing. Draco and Snape shook hands, settling the deal.

            "No soul shall be told," he warned.

            "No soul," repeated Draco, echoing Snape. They then walked away from each other, unaware of a pair of eyes watching them.

**-**

            This time, Harry reined his horse and held up a callous hand to stop everyone behind him. Night had fallen not too long ago, making it dangerous to travel. However, he was on a quest, and nothing could stop him from fulfilling it.

            Ron pulled his hood back, letting his red hair capture the attention of birds around them. "What is it?"

            "Feet… magick…" whispered Harry, right before he felt the powerful magick of witches around them. A couple jumped out from before him, while others surrounded the two. They called their war cries, sounding like coyotes stalking their prey. This spooked Harry's horse, making him fall off. The horse took off, through the witches who stepped aside.

            Harry propped his elbows up, before Ron jumped down beside his friend. "C'mon, mate!" he shouted, pulling Harry up. They turned and began running in the opposite direction, ducking branches and bushes.

            Harry led, while Ron, a sandy brown haired man named Seamus next and the athletically handsome black Dean made a line behind him. Together they rushed through the undergrowth, trying to get away from the Days that were following them, keeping up with no trouble. He was sure they were teasing him.

            "Why haven't they attacked yet?" shouted Ron, gasping for breath.

            "Maybe they want a more dynamic death for us?" suggested Dean, shrugging his shoulders as he jumped a log.

            Harry was to retort, when he burst through the clearing… at the edge of a cliff.

            He turned; saw Ron, Dean and Seamus thinking what he was. They all whipped out their staffs, but only to see them be wrenched out of their hands.

            The leader of the Days, a young woman, stalked up to them, her hands glowing blue. "You honestly think that your wooden staffs would not obey their origins?"

            Harry gritted his teeth, wondering what was going to happen now. That same witch who spoke turned her palms face-up, just as the others were doing. Wooden ropes appeared from the ground, vines, wrapping around the four young warlocks. They struggled, but the ropes only tightened.

            "Come. Our coven leader will surely love to meet you," the same witch said, stepping forward. She grasped Harry's chin, forcing him to look in her eyes. "Talamancaian."

            Harry's fear created a large gap in the pit of his stomach, but refused to show it. "Then take us," he spat. The witch smiled.

            "Temper, temper," she whispered. "That will get you nowhere."

            With a snap of her fingers, the rope-vines cut themselves off at the root, still wrapped tightly around the four. They fell to the ground in a thud, before the Days had tied them all together with a magick rope. They were pulled to their feet, and forced to walk in the middle of the group. Unable to push aside branches, their faces soon became bloodied, their clothes muddy.

            Harry sighed. What's going to happen to us now?

**-**

            It was dark, very dark. Stars twinkles high above, littering the sky with their radiance, while the fire reached high, its flames licking the tops of the trees.

            "What are you doing?" screamed a voice. "Are you trying to burn down the Talamancaian Woods?"

            There was no reply except the low hissing sound of a snake. A shout and scream, as the fires raged. Soon, Days and Nights were appearing from every corner, dashing before colliding with fury. A war had erupted, in the middle of the night. Though, through all the screams of dying men and woman, a soft, melodious voice started singing, the same phrase over and over.

            "Twinkle, twinkle… little star."

            At once, the fires were put out and the world lurched into darkness.

            "Hello?" a voice called. "Is anyone there? Oh, please answer me! Please!" Nothing but the sound of heavy breathing reached the ears of the dreamer.

            "Enchantress…" a voice hissed, the same hissing sound that had replied to the burning of the Talamancaian Woods. "Enchantress… come closer…"

            "Don't." A new, forceful voice demanded. "Stay away from him."

            "I am not the Enchantress! I am not brave, nor courageous or bold! I cannot be something that I am not!" the same voice pleaded.

            "You are the Enchantress."

            "No!"

            "You are…"

            Hermione awoke with a start. Why had that dream come to her mind now? She placed her hands to her face, ready to cry out her pain, when the cries of the Days made her look up.

            They whooped through the bushes, dragging four young warlocks behind them. Hermione stood and watched them place them down in front of the fire. One looked up, bit his lip and allowed his chin to hit the dirt again.

            Someone laughed, and the conversations began again. Hermione glanced over at where she had last left Ginny, but she was no longer there. Instead, she was sitting with a few of the Elders, talking and listening to them.

            "Hermione! What do you want done with these warlocks?" asked the Days leader. Hermione wrenched herself from her contemplation and began to walk around the fire. To tired to think much, she muttered, "Just tie them up and place them upright. They deserve food and water. They are not prisoners. They will be released once we leave tomorrow."

            The Days leader nodded, and together, she and the others set the warlocks upright. Hermione then blinked and sat near the fire, watching it.

            "You know," said a voice, "I used to be able to scry with fire."

            Hermione jumped at the sound of Ginny's voice, but she smiled warmly at her friend. "Really. Can you still do it?"

            "I am nicknamed a Fire Faery, aren't I?" grinned her friend. Ginny sat, Indian style beside Hermione, with their backs to two of the warlocks. Those two watched their every move.

            Ginny closed her eyes, placed her palms on her knees and then stared into the fire. After a few minutes of nothing, she sighed. "Perhaps I have lost my fire."

            Hermione felt bad for the girl. She knew that she herself could scry with the fickle fire, and water and earth. She also knew that Ginny knew this and was jealous of her advanced training. "Why don't you try it again?" she offered. "Maybe you weren't concentrating hard enough."

            Ginny sighed again, nodded, and concentrated. Hermione then bit her lip; looked away, and whispered to the fire in her mind, please, reveal to us what is going to happen.

            At once, the fire leapt high into the air. All other witches went silent, as Ginny's concentration broke.

            Still, the image of the Talamancaian Woods burning was etched in their minds.

            Hermione gasped and scrambled backwards away, only a few paces. At once, the fire died down and returned to normal.

            Ginny's wide eyes turned to Hermione who was ashen. "Are you okay?"

            "Hardly," she muttered. She turned her head, and saw that one of the warlocks was watching her. "Can I help you?" she asked, rather rudely. She was tired and very scared at the moment, so one couldn't blame her.

            "No, not at all," he said in a smooth voice. Hermione ran her tongue over her lips, obviously deep in thought.

            She then dragged herself over to in front of him and a redheaded young warlock, and sat. "If I release you of the binds, do you swear on your life that you will not run?"

            The young man's emerald eyes locked with her cinnamon. Hermione felt something flutter at the bottom of her stomach, but she was sure it was because that roast turkey they had for breakfast didn't mix with griffin milk.

            "I swear," he said, still looking in her eyes. She nodded, and leaned in closer. Her fingers sneaked around his trim waist to find the knot that the Days had formed. The young warlock gulped, and she heard his friend, the redheaded one, snicker.

            "My name," she began, looking up at him, "is Hermione. I'm the coven leader of the remaining Wycliffes."

            The redhead now paid attention. "Do you have someone by the name of Weasley with you?"

            "Of course. Ginny!" shouted Hermione, turning back and waving her red-haired friend over. "C'mere."

            Ginny complied, saw Hermione on her knees searching for something behind the black-haired warlock and asked plainly, "what in the Goddess's name are you doing?"

            "Untying them," she answered as plainly as Ginny asked.

            "Are you crazy? They'll attack us!" she wailed, staring at her friend.

            Hermione stopped, looked up at Ginny and said, "Ginny, they gave me their word. If they break it, their magick breaks as well. It's a bond that all warlocks and witches go through. One can never break their promises."

            Ginny tapped her foot in impatience and haste, and said, "What did you want me for, Mio?"

             "This one asked about a Weasley. As one, you can answer anything he asks," said Hermione, nodding at the other redhead. Ginny's eyes widened.

            "Really," she asked. Turning to the young warlock, she looked him over. Tall, gangly, with a slightly large nose and the same sapphire eyes she had, the same random freckles spread along the bridge of their noses and cheeks…

            "Another Weasley," he breathed. "And a witch! Harry, can you believe it? I found my little sister!"

            At this, Hermione coughed, slipping from her careful undoing of the knot. "Sister?"

            Ginny echoed her, "sister? What?"

            The young warlock then broke out into a smile and said, "My father is Arthur Weasley, and I'm his youngest son, Ron. I was told by my father that I have a mother and sister in the coven Wycliffe."

            Ginny's pale face regained some of its color. "Ron?" she asked, whispering. She didn't wish of any other coven members to hear her. The warlock nodded.

            Hermione finished with the knot, pulled the vines out and exclaimed, "ta-da!" She then flung it away into the bushes. The young warlock with black hair rubbed his wrists, which were raw from the tight bind the Days had placed on them.

            "Thank you," he said, rubbing them. "I'm Harry. I'm the second-in-command for the clan Talamanca."

            "Talamanca!" called Hermione. "Really! Is Dumbledore still clan leader?"

            Harry's eyes widened. "You know him?"

            "Quite well, actually," she blushed in modesty. She looked down, at his hands, and then shook her head. "Really, you shouldn't do that, rubbing them. It'll make it worse."

            "Huh, what?" asked Harry, snapping out of whatever he had been thinking. Hermione shook her head slightly.

            She took his hands in hers, and placed them over the wrists. He hissed a bit in pain, as they were rubbed raw, but she allowed a blue glow to wrap around them. He was startled, thinking she had bonded him to her, and tried to pull away. "No wait!" she said. "Please!"

            He still resisted, leaning as far back as he could. She rolled her eyes and pulled her hands away. He stood up, tripping a bit backwards, before glancing down at his wrists. They were completely healed.

            "How… what…?" he stuttered.

            "I was trying to say, I could heal you. I can't bond and I wouldn't want to, anyway," she shuddered. "Doesn't that feel better without the raw skin?"

            Harry rubbed his wrists lightly, feeling the pinkish tinge appear as when one touches new skin would. He gawked, "yes, yes it does."

            On the other side of them, Ginny and Ron were chatting away, trying to get caught up. For once in her life, Hermione felt as if there was a balance. That was, at least, until someone in the coven screamed, "The warlocks are loose! They are loose!"

**-**