Author's Note: So, so, so sorry for the incredibly long delay. There a million different reasons for it – getting involved in other stories, schoolwork, the end-of-semester crunch – but in any case, I'm back now. This will hopefully explain some things for you, such as what a nenshavite is, and why they're related to Samara and everything. As for why the Elves and wizards know Esther, I'll get more into that later. (It might be a while, hehe, but I will get to it. I promise!) Jessica: Yes, there will be more LOTR stuff, but most of my setting will be in either Harry Potter's world or the world of The Ring from now on. But don't worry – Esther's dreams will keep going back to Arda (as well as some weird fantasy worlds of my own making). Ok, so here is the next chapter!

            We reached the Burrow in about twenty minutes. I was surprised at the briefness of the trip – it had seemed much longer when it was described in the book. But then I remembered we were going downhill instead of up; it made a little more sense then. The Burrow was wonderful of course: it stood a little ways off from a dirt road, an enormous, towering, nonsensical cottage that was both mind-boggling to look at and somehow warmly familiar. It had an aura of "home" about it. Mrs. Weasley was waiting for us when we came in: she ushered Justin and me to the kitchen table, making us lay down our bags, and treated us to toast, thick slices of ham, and bowl after bowl of steaming porridge. We tried to tell her not to trouble herself, but she insisted it was no trouble. (I personally didn't want to protest too much; I was starving.)

            "Arthur's thrilled to be taking up this case again," she told us, spooning another helping of porridge into my bowl, "He was right put out when they called it off – he thought it was unwise to leave it hanging the way they did. And right he was – look at the mess you poor dears have gotten into! He had to take all his records back here to keep them from being thrown out afterwards – that's why he asked you two here instead of to his office, as it were."

            "Oh yeah, I was wondering about that," said Justin, "I didn't think he usually had meetings at his house like this."

            "It's so nice of you to go to all this trouble for us," I added, "I hope we're not intruding or anything."

            "Not at all, dear!"

            She settled herself into the chair at the foot of the table with a mug of coffee.

            "Mrs. Weasley?" I asked tentatively, "Do you know anything about this case?"

            "Very little," she confessed, "But I do believe it involved a nenshavite that only seemed to attack Muggles. That's why Arthur was so keen to get it solved."

            "What exactly is a nenshavite?"

            "A demon of some sort, I imagine. They're quite scarce, thankfully, but of course that means there isn't a great deal known about them. They only turn up every hundred years or so; at least that's my understanding of it. But they can be quite dangerous."

            Just then Arthur came into the kitchen with an armful of folders and old papers and sat himself at the head of the table between Justin and me.

            "Here we are," he said, setting the papers down in front of him, "Forgive me for being so anxious; if you're still weary, then by all means we can look at these later. It's just such an unexpected treat to be working on this case again! I always felt rather ill at ease when they decided to drop it. Here now," he said, picking out a glossy photograph and setting it in front of me.

            "Is that the girl?" he asked.

            I looked at the picture he'd set in front of me; there she was, dressed in a white nightgown, seated on a small chair in the center of what looked like a white hospital room. Her dark hair hung down past her knees, partly covering her face; her eyes were downcast. There was a label at the bottom of the print that bore her name: Samara Morgan. I felt a strange chill go up my spine looking at that picture; it made the whole story more real somehow. Suddenly, the girl in the picture flicked her eyes up at me. I jumped and let out a little gasp.

            "Something wrong, dear?" asked Mr. Weasley.

            I heard Justin laughing at me.

            "The pictures are supposed to move, Esther," he said patronizingly.

            "I know that!"

            I felt a blush creep into my cheeks when I realized what had happened; I should have remembered that. How could I have forgotten? Of course the pictures moved – that was just how it worked here.

            "It's okay," I told Mr. Weasley, handing the photo back to him, "Yes, that's her."

            "Samara Morgan," he said, looking at the picture himself, "Yes, I thought so. This one was quite a handful, if I recall. So much so that the Ministry eventually decided not to bother with her anymore. Ridiculous, letting a nenshavite go round at large like that. . . It's never been done before, not in any of the nenshavite cases I've heard of."

            "I'm sorry," I interrupted, "But what's a nenshavite?"

            "It's a demon," he answered, "A fire demon, I believe. I never did much research about demons myself, unfortunately, so I don't know very much about them, but I do know that they're distantly related to dementors."

            "Dementors?" asked Justin, "Really?"

            "Yes, I believe so," said Mr. Weasley, putting the picture back in a folder, "But they're much more dangerous – impossible to negotiate with. That's why they're usually taken care of quickly, but in this case," he pulled out a complicated-looking document, "The nenshavite – Samara, I mean – found a loophole to keep herself out of the Ministry's scope for quite some time."

            "How'd she do that?" I asked.

            "Well. . . Are you at all familiar with the story?"

            "Yes. I mean, I think so."

            "How much exactly do you know about Samara?"

            "I know that she . . . well, I know there's a videotape involved somehow. She made it, although I'm not sure how, but when someone watches it, seven days afterwards she comes and kills them. That's right, isn't it?"

            "Yes, partly. That videotape is what brought her to my department – the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts. It's a brilliant strategy really – you see, all nenshavites use some sort of talisman to gain control over their victims. They put a spell on a seemingly commonplace object of some sort, and then whoever comes into contact with it will be drawn into the nenshavite's realm of power. In other words, they can find whoever's picked up the talisman and . . . well, kill them. It's usually not very difficult to discover if and when there has been a nenshavite attack – they have a very distinctive way of disposing of their victims – but with this one," he moved some papers aside to reveal a plain black videotape, "She chose to use this tape as her talisman."

            I swallowed hard when I saw the tape; I suppose I should have known I would see it up close eventually, but I hadn't been quite prepared for it. I steeled myself enough to ask Mr. Weasley another question.

            "How did that help her?" I asked.

            "Well," said Mr. Weasley, "Most wizards don't own a television set, so in using a commonplace object exclusive to the Muggle world, she kept herself out of our scope for quite some time. But there's something else as well: you see, usually a nenshavite kills its victims outright, but Samara used her powers a little differently. She gave her victims a loophole to save themselves: if they produced a copy of the tape, they would be spared. So, you can guess how this complicated the Ministry's job immensely, even after we discovered the case."

            "There are too many tapes out now," I guessed, "There's no way you could keep track of all of them."

            "Precisely."

            Mr. Weasley put the tape away again.

            "Which is, unfortunately, why the Ministry decided to let this case go," he continued, "You see, the only proven way to get rid of a nenshavite is to concentrate all of it's energies in one place, and then perform a ritual that will send it out of this dimension and into another, where it can't do any more damage, at least not to us. The problem is that to concentrate all of Samara's powers into one place, we would need all of her talismans – the tapes, in other words – and we have no idea how many there are in circulation. No doubt more are copied every week, so that just makes the entire situation more complicated."

            A heavy silence followed his explanation. I myself was more than a little overwhelmed by the whole thing; I had never really felt completely at ease talking about things like this, ghost stories or horrific events of some other description. Although I have to admit it was strangely comforting to hear Mr. Weasley talk about Samara so practically, as if she was some sort of pest or nuisance, rather than the murderous, frightening, demonic creature that I knew she was.

            "Have you watched the tape?" asked Justin suddenly.

            "Me?" asked Mr. Weasley, "Oh no, although heaven knows I've tried. I can't quite work out how to do it, you see. Here, let me show you."

            He rose from the table, gesturing for Justin to follow, and led him into a separate room. I looked over at Mrs. Weasley, a little uncertainly.

            "Is there anything I can do for you, dear?" she asked, smiling warmly.

            "Well. . ." I began, "I would like to. . . I'm not sure how to put this, really. Do you mind if I have a look around?"

            "Not at all! Would you like a tour of the Burrow?"

            "Yes, I'd love one! If it's not too much trouble I mean."

            "Nonsense," she said, discarding the idea with a wave of her hand, "Here, come this way."

            It seemed like such a strange request, but I couldn't stand the idea of sitting still. All through our conversation I had been feeling inexplicably restless; this warm, bustling energy had been filling me up since the moment we'd set foot inside, as if it was radiating from the very foundations of the house. During our discussion the energy had been masked by the cool anxiety I always felt when I had to think about Samara, but now it came back full force. I can't explain it, but all the sudden I had this irrepressible urge to run into every single room in the house and then run back out again, and then circle the whole place and do the same thing over and over. I had never felt anything like it; it was irresistible. Mrs. Weasley led me through the entire downstairs area, then up to the bedrooms (giving me just a peek into each room) all the way up to the fifth floor. I could hear the crashing and stomping of the little ghoul that lived in the attic; it made me smile. That strange, warm feeling stayed with me throughout the tour. Well, except for once: there was one room we passed by without going in, and it seemed like a chill hung over the door. Mrs. Weasley said it was Percy's room.

            I met Justin back downstairs and then we left the Burrow to find another place to stay for the night. Mr. Weasley had arranged for us to stay over for a night or two at the Leaky Cauldron, so it was back to London for a while. Neither of us were keen on the idea of traveling by floo powder, so Mr. Weasley offered to drive us back. He helped us unload our things and take them up to our rooms, and we three decided to meet again sometime tomorrow to discuss what should be done about Samara. And then he left us. Justin and I went downstairs to try some butterbeer, and Justin started talking about our "plans" for the next few days. I wasn't really listening; my mind was wandering restlessly.

            "Hermione is gonna be there sometime later today," he said, "Probably around four or five – we should drop back by and say hi and thank her and stuff. Hey, maybe she knows something about nenshavites – she's probably read about them somewhere, especially if they're related to dementors. I bet she looked them up during their third year at Hogwarts, you know, when Harry was having all that—"

            "Do you think houses have auras?" I asked suddenly.

            "What?"

            "You know, like personalities and stuff."

            "Uh. . ."

            "Well, I was just thinking about it. The whole time we were in the Burrow, I felt this weird, sort of happy energy. I know it sounds really weird—"

            "Yeah, it does."

            "—but what if the house picks up on the energy of the people in it? I mean, everyone knows the Weasleys are probably the warmest, most loving family in the wizard world; what if all that positive energy actually seeped into walls of the house itself? And stayed there?"

            "Okay, now you're starting with the bogus sci-fi theories again."

            "I'm serious! I really felt something in there. I'm not sure what, but I know it was a good thing. I guess it's not really that important, but it was nice to have some positive vibes to tap into for a change. Usually these visions I'm having just creep me out and keep me awake at night."

            "So you think this is all related?"

            "How could it not be? I've never felt anything like that before."

            "Whatever. So, you wanna go back later and see Hermione again?"

            "Sure. I should ask her if she knows anything about nenshavites. . . You know what? If they're related to dementors, I bet she looked them up during the third year, when Harry was having the Patronus lessons and stuff."

            Justin laughed.

            "What?" I asked innocently.

            "Nothing," he muttered, "That's a good idea. Let's do it."

            So we decided to back for the Burrow after lunch, using our leisure time to explore Diagon Alley more thoroughly than our first stop had allowed us to. I pulled out my wand and went down the alley, hunting for dark corners and then muttering "Lumos" and "Nox" just to watch it light up and then flicker out again. I tried to remember some other spells, but there wasn't much I could do without practice. I wanted to try and summon a Patronus, but I was too excited to concentrate – I can't even tell you how entertaining it is to play with a real magic wand for the first time ever. Justin and I sat down sometime later to look up a cab to take us back to the Burrow for a while.

            "I don't know about you," said Justin, "But I'd like to avoid the Knight Bus if at all possible."

            "No argument here," I said, flipping the through the pages of the directory I'd found in my room, "I think we can find something else pretty easily."

            "Oh, by the way," he said, "Did I tell you why that tape wouldn't work?"

            "What tape?"

            "Come on, Esther."

            "Oh, yeah. Why didn't it work?"

            "He doesn't have a VCR."

            I laughed. It wasn't surprising really; we both knew how easily Mr. Weasley could overlook details like that. Justin had told him the problem though, and Mr. Weasley was probably out right that moment looking for a VCR to hook up to his television. I didn't ask what was going to happen when he fixed it finally; frankly, I didn't want to know. And I didn't want to be there when it happened. But in any case, we found a cab, left most of our things in the rooms at the Leaky Cauldron, and headed back for the Burrow.