Author's Note: Hello again! Goodness, it's been almost two months now. . . Therefore, I'd like send out a HUGE thank you to all the readers who are still with me! It really means a lot – more than you think. The good news is I feel like I'm getting back into the swing of things now, so hopefully the updates won't be as incredibly spaced-out as before. This one is almost 3000 words worth, so I hope that will at least partially make up for the delay! As always, if anyone would like me to email them when I update, just let me know and I'll add you to my mailing list. (I am reworking the mailing list right now, so that last bit's pretty important.) There is very little action in this particular chapter unfortunately – more explanatory stuff – but I'll get on to more of the good stuff (including dream sequences in Middle Earth) later. On with the story!
Hermione was already there when we arrived. She seemed pleased to see us, and took the liberty of introducing us to Ron, who was seated at the kitchen table when we came in. He was much taller than I'd expected him to be – tall and lanky, at that awkward stage some boys go into just after their growth spurt – but the red hair and freckles were all there, so that was all it took to convince me it was really him.
"It's wonderful to meet you, finally," he said, "Dad's been talking about you two nonstop for the past two days."
"Really?" I laughed.
"Oh yeah! I'd never heard of a nenshavite before, but he's very excited about finding one, he says."
"Oh, that reminds me," said Hermione, guiding me over to a couch in the living room, "I want to show you something."
She sat down next to me and produced a huge book – an encyclopedia of some sort – and flipped through the pages to a spot she'd dog-eared sometime earlier.
"When I heard it was a nenshavite that was after you," she said, "I had to look this up just to make sure. I've heard the name before, and eventually I remembered that it was during our third year at Hogwart's – do you remember, Ron?"
"Of course I remember," said Ron, coming to sit at a nearby overstuffed chair, "That was when the Dementors were guarding the school."
He shuddered visibly.
"Exactly," said Hermione, "Well, I started reading up on dementors, just out of curiosity, and it mentioned nenshavites as being somehow related to them."
"So you had to look up nenshavites as well, right?" said Ron, with just a hint of sarcasm.
"Well, yes," said Hermione, ignoring his tone, "And this is what I found out."
She found her place in the encyclopedia and began tracing the lines as she read aloud:
"Nenshavite: The Nenshavite, an ancient relative of the dementor, is a powerful fire demon of extraordinary power. Like the dementor, the Nenshavite feeds on negative human emotions, but it also has a particular taste for fear. Also like the dementor, the Nenshavite has the ability to extract a human soul from the body, but in this case the victim whose soul is taken is killed, not left with a half-life.
The Nenshavite possesses many other, more distinctive powers, the most notable of which is the nensha, or the ability to burn images onto any flat surface. It is generally believed that the nensha is a form of communication, as many Nenshavites have used it to use leave cryptic messages, in some cases for the purpose of luring their prey. It is this ability that classifies the Nenshavite as a fire demon.
Fortunately for witches and wizards everywhere, the Nenshavite is also extremely rare: it can only enter this dimension if it is provided with a human body to inhabit, and then only if it is summoned directly. However, should such an incarnation occur, all Nenshavites follow the same pattern: they inhabit one body from birth to death, leaving messages and clues for their victims, and become more powerful after they die. The body of a Nenshavite's prey is distinguished by its unusually rapid decay, and it is almost always surrounded by water. This is because all Nenshavites, after they are killed in human form, are left in water. There have been only seven Nenshavite incarnations in recorded history, the most recent being that of Samara Morgan, but all have followed this peculiar burial pattern: four were drowned, one was killed by a shark, one was strangled and then thrown down a well, and one died of natural causes and was buried at sea."
"Samara is the one in well, I guess," said Justin.
"It says 'see Samara Morgan' here," said Hermione, flipping through the pages once more, "I'm not sure how much you've heard already, but we might as well look it up."
"How much do you know about her?" I asked.
"Not enough," she confessed sheepishly, "I've heard about that tape, but I've never seen it. I'd rather not, to tell you the truth."
"Neither would I."
"Why not?" asked Justin, "I mean, she's already after us anyway – what harm could it do?"
"Well, you go ahead if you really want to," I said, "But don't expect me to join you."
"Here it is," said Hermione, finding Samara's entry in the encyclopedia.
She began to read aloud again:
"Samara Morgan: Samara Morgan was born in October of 1970 to a small Muggle family located in the Northwest region of the United States. The Morgans, desperate to have a child, enlisted the help of a dark wizard from Southeast Asia to provide them with an alternate means of conception. Unbeknownst to the Morgans, this wizard summoned a Nenshavite which became incarnated in the form of the child, Samara. (The wizard responsible has, of course, been imprisoned at Azkaban.)
As is the case with all Nenshavites, Samara's powers grew as she got older, until at last her family and neighbors began to realize that she was truly dangerous. She was murdered by her mother, Anna Morgan, sometime in the early 1980s, and buried in a well. But before she died, Samara made a pivotal discovery: she could use the nensha – the most important of the Nenshavite's powers – to burn images onto not only walls and wooden tables, but onto film as well. In her wake she left a slew of puzzling x-rays, photographs and – her choice of bait for her victims – a Muggle recording device called a 'videotape.'
"There's more here about the case," Hermione continued, "But it's mostly just details about the tape."
"Stuff we've heard before, in other words," said Justin.
"Probably."
"That's strange," I said, "I thought that the Morgans had adopted Samara."
"Yeah, me too," said Justin, "That's what they told everyone, anyway. Still, it makes perfect sense: Gandalf even called her a 'wielder of the nensha,' remember?"
"Gandalf?" asked Ron, sitting suddenly upright.
"You've spoken with Gandalf the Gray?" asked Hermione incredulously.
My face flushed; I glared across the room at Justin. He'd said too much.
"Well, is it true?" asked Hermione.
"Yes," I said reluctantly, "It's hard to explain – it's kind of a long story."
Justin and I then took turns explaining what had happened to us in Middle Earth. Ron and Hermione listened with rapt attention, although I couldn't tell whether they believed us or not. Looking back on it, I guess it was silly of me to be so much on my guard for a pair of wizards – they were used to dealing with the strange and unusual. I didn't have to hide anything from them. I did choose to leave out the part about my relationship with Legolas; they were still strangers, after all.
"Incredible!" said Hermione at the end of our tale, "You just popped up outside your apartment afterwards, just like that?"
"Yeah," I said, "I don't know how I did it – it just happened."
"You haven't got a Time Turner, have you?" asked Ron.
"Don't be silly," said Hermione, "You can't go back that far with a Time Turner. This was thousands and thousands of years ago – it would have to be very advanced magic."
"I don't have one anyway," I said, "Like I said, we were just running and all the sudden we were in Mirkwood."
"The weirdest part is that she followed us back there," said Justin, "It's Esther she's after – that's why we're here, I guess. We can't figure out why."
"Because you've never seen the tape," said Ron.
"Right."
Just then Mr. Weasley entered with a sizable cardboard box under his arm.
"Ah, welcome back!" he said cheerily, seeing Justin and me, "I've just picked this up at a Muggle ekeltronic store in town."
He set the box down and set about opening it up. Justin went over to help him lift the VCR out after he'd unwrapped it.
"It's not quite brand new," Mr. Weasley said apologetically, "But I'm sure it will work well enough for our purposes. Now, to plug it all in . . ."
"Oh, I'll help you," Justin offered, "It's easy. Here, I'll show you how to do it."
The two of them went into the garage, where the TV was, to hook up the VCR. Ron went with them to watch, but I stayed inside with Hermione. No way was I getting anywhere near that thing, if I could help it. Besides, there was something else nicking at my consciousness at the moment.
"Hermione?" I asked.
"Yes?"
"You don't happen to know any Elvish, do you?"
"Very little, but yes. Why, is there something you want translated?"
"Well. . . This will sound strange, but the Elves. . . While I was there, and sometimes later, in my visions – they kept calling me 'Eledhwen.' Do you know what that means?"
"Hmm. . . Well, it's a name, obviously, but I'll have to look it up. I can find a dictionary at Flourish and Blotts easily. If I look hard enough I might even be able to find an old copy of the Red Book Westmarch."
"Really?"
"Well, of course! I know I've seen most of the histories of Middle Earth in the library at Hogwarts, but they're mostly just used for research for papers and assignments."
"For what class?"
"History of Magic."
I nodded, feeling silly for not realizing that at the outset – of course the people in this world would know about Middle Earth. How could they not? It was practically part of their heritage. Just then Mrs. Weasley came in and asked us if we wanted anything to drink. We both declined, and then she went on her way again. I wondered uneasily just how close Justin and the others were in getting that VCR put together.
"Esther!" Hermione said suddenly.
I jumped.
"What?"
"I've just thought of something," she continued, her eyes widening with excitement, "Since the Nenshavites are supposed to be related to dementors, do you think they could be warded off in the same way?"
"You mean with a Patronus charm?"
"Yes, exactly!"
"I have thought about that, actually. I'm not sure. The only thing I'm worried about is, what if I come face to face with her, try to summon a Patronus, and it doesn't work?"
"It's worth a try at least. Lupin would know – he was our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher two years ago. He's the best one we've had so far."
"You're right – I should try to find him and see what he thinks about all this. Do you have any idea how to get in touch with him?"
Before she could answer, Mr. Weasley breezed through the room again.
"It's all set!" he cried triumphantly as he brushed past us, into the kitchen.
He returned brandishing the tape and beckoned for us to follow.
"You don't have to watch it if you'd rather not, of course," he assured us as we struggled to keep up with him, "But I myself am indescribably curious about this tape. I've waited years for this moment!"
We found the garage – a chilly, detached portion of the house filled with all sorts of mangled knick-knacks and electrical equipment – where the television and VCR were both set up in a corner. Justin was showing Ron how all the wires hooked up in the back. Ron looked up when we approached and grinned back at his father.
"I think I'm beginning to see why you like this kind of thing so much, Dad," he said, "It's really quite fascinating."
"Isn't it, though?" Mr. Weasley agreed wholeheartedly.
He bent down and popped the tape into the slot. A buzz of fuzzy static filled the television screen. I hung back by the door, watching the screen nervously. My hands were starting to shake, so I grabbed the doorframe to keep anyone from noticing.
Don't be an idiot, Esther, I scolded myself, You don't have to see this. Just go back in the house.
But I was riveted to the spot. I cleared my throat and tried to regain my bearings. Mr. Weasley was watching the fuzzy screen, his face scrunched up in confusion.
"Oh dear," he said, with a note of disappointment, "Is there something wrong? Justin, are you sure everything is in working order here?"
"Yeah, it's fine," said Justin, "It's supposed to start out fuzzy. Just give it another ten seconds or so."
"Um. . . Mr. Weasley?" I asked shakily, "Are you sure you want to watch this thing? I mean, you of all people know what she could do to you if—"He He
"Oh, not to worry!" he answered dismissively, "I'm quite prepared for the nenshavite, should she appear in the flesh. We wizards are not completely without precautions, you understand."
I nodded, forgetting to laugh at his attempt to lighten the mood. Hermione tugged at my arm; I had completely forgotten she was standing there.
"Esther?" she asked, her brown eyes wide with unfocused anxiety, "Do you reckon we ought to see this, really?"
I looked back at her for a few seconds; I wanted to leave, but I knew I'd still be thinking of everything that could possibly be happening in the garage if I did. I wouldn't be able to get away from it. I looked back at the television screen. I heard Hermione call my name once more, but only distantly. My entire being was fixed on the television; I wouldn't be able to focus on anything else until it was over. But nothing happened.
Justin knelt down in front of the screen and started fiddling with the tracking. The screen flickered hazily, as if the images were trying to pop up and failing. I blinked; it wasn't working. There was actually something wrong with the tape. I let go of the doorframe and moved closer to the set.
"What is it?" asked Mr. Weasley.
"I dunno," said Justin, ejecting the tape and looking at it curiously, "Are you sure this is the right one?"
"Oh yes," he nodded, "I have no doubt of that. There are a few others besides myself who have viewed this particular copy successfully."
"And Samara didn't come after them?"
"Well, no. This was after the Ministry decided to give up the case, so they made copies, as they were supposed to, and passed them on."
"Where did you get that copy?" I asked, kneeling down next to them.
"From Rachel," he answered, "Just before we had her memory modified. She was quite reluctant to part with it, as a matter of fact. Can't imagine why she wanted to keep it, though. . ."
I took the tape from Justin and turned it over in my hands. There was nothing spectacular about it – it was just a plain, unlabelled videotape. I had dozens of them at home. Well, at least I had before I'd seen that movie – then I'd gone through them and stuck labels on each and every one.
"Is this the one she found at the cabin?" I asked, "The same one Katie and her friends watched together?"
"I believe so," said Mr. Weasley, "Yes, it was one of the originals – not a copy, in other words. This one was created by Samara herself."
I looked over at Justin.
"What?" he asked.
"Katie and the others lived out in Washington, didn't they?" I asked, but it wasn't really a question, "In the Northwest part of America. Right?"
"Yeah. . ."
Then Justin cracked a grin; he saw where I was going with this. Abruptly, he started laughing, and took the tape back from me. The others started asking questions all at once.
"What?"
"What's happening?"
"Have you figured out what's wrong?"
"What's so funny?"
"Yeah," said Justin, "We've got it. This tape is American-made – it's formatted differently. It won't play in a British VCR."
"Oh, for goodness sake!" said Hermione, "I might have told you that – why didn't I think of it earlier?"
"Does that mean it won't work at all?" asked Mr. Weasley, looking heartbroken.
"No, it's okay," said Justin, "You'll just have to take it to an electronic store and have them reformat it for you. It's a pain, but it should work after that."
I couldn't help laughing a little myself. It was absurd, really, but only because the problem was so inane. Real life had so many silly, practical problems like that. . . Justin and I offered to take the tape to a store for Mr. Weasley the very next morning, and after taking some homemade rolls with us for supper (at Mrs. Weasley's insistence) we returned to the Leaky Cauldron for the night.