Author's Note: And I have a new chapter! Finally!! I know, I'm so terrible updating this thing… I don't know why this one is taking so much longer than all the others. I promise you this though: I will never, never abandon this story completely. One way or another, it will get finished. This next part is very little action, but it should explain a *lot* about Esther's situation. (As in, why she's actually going through all the stuff she's going through.) I'm not explaining it fully yet, but the deal with the names gets put straight here. Oh! And I'm bringing in Lupin too. (My favorite character in the HP fandom – and I know I'm not the only one!) So, without any further ado, I give you chapter 16. Thank you so much, the brave few who are still sticking with me! Kurleyhawk: You actually reread the whole thing just to keep up? Bless your heart! I'll seriously try not to make the wait *quite* so long next time. As always, I can add you to the mailing list if you give me your email, and I will personally let you know when the next chapter is up. Reviews are always, always welcome!

            The first thing I did was wake up Justin and drag him downstairs to go over my plan of action. I ate hurriedly – probably not the best idea before the long day I had in mind – and told him what I was thinking:

            "Here's what I'm thinking," I started, "First, we just need to get that tape to some electronic store or other in London – we can pick it up later, I'm sure – and then I want to go back to the Burrow and see what else we can find out about the case. What I really want to do is find out where that asylum is so I can go there and talk to Becca."

            "Ah," said Justin knowingly, "You had another vision last night, didn't you?"

            "Well, of course – I have them every night now."

            "What do you want to ask her if and when we find her, then?"

            I paused; I hadn't thought about that. What was I going to tell her? I knew my goal was to get her out of that place, but I didn't know how.

            "Maybe I should start somewhere else," I said resignedly, "Maybe we should just find Lupin and see what he can tell us."

            "Oh, that's a good idea. He can show you how to summon a Patronus – not that that's necessarily going to work, but it's a good skill to have anyway."

            "Yeah. It was Hermione's idea, actually. I bet he could tell us what else to do to protect ourselves anyway, in case that doesn't work."

            So, that was the plan: find Lupin. We dropped off the tape quickly as soon as we finished with breakfast, and then headed back for the Burrow. This time it was me, instead of Mr. Weasley, who was busting with questions. Unfortunately, as soon as I was given the opportunity, our alternate plan went flying out of my head:

            "Are you sure there's no way for us to contact Rachel and the others?" I asked.

            "Well, you could, I suppose," he answered thoughtfully, "But she has had her memory modified – she would never remember her interview with us. She wouldn't even recognize us, for that matter."

            "Okay, but what about Becca? You didn't say anything about meeting with her."

            Mr. Weasley's cheery face went stony.

            "Yes, well," he said somberly, "If it's her you're looking to help, then there's nothing I can do for you. We spoke with her, but . . ."

            He shook his head sadly.

            "But what?" I pried.

            "Well," he said with a heavy sigh, "Hers is a difficult case. Her memory was never modified, but she would never remember us. Her mind was nearly gone when we saw her; I've no idea how far gone she would be now. But she is quite safe," he added, seeing my concern, "We put a charm on the asylum where she is being held – the nenshavite will not be able to reach her there."

            "But if I could just talk to her—"

            "Esther," Justin interrupted, "Why don't you tell him about Plan B?"

            I sighed; I really wanted to talk to Becca, but Lupin was the only other choice we had. I did want to meet him, but I was anxious to fulfill the promise I'd made to myself while we were still in Middle Earth.

            "Okay," I relented, "Mr. Weasley, is there any way you could put us in touch with Remus Lupin?"

            "Lupin?" he repeated, "Yes, I suppose. But what do you want with him?"

            "We wanted to see if there's anything else he can tell us about nenshavites," said Justin, "So we'll be better prepared for all this."

            "Ah! Yes, of course. Although I am not permitted to disclose his whereabouts to you – you will have to meet him somewhere else."

            "Sure, whatever works best for you."

            We then arranged for an owl to be sent to Lupin describing our situation, and set out for the streets of Muggle London to get the tape fixed. We dropped it off quickly, but Ron – who had come with us, having been bitten by the same Muggle-bug that had nabbed his father – stayed in the electronic store with Justin to poke around with all the equipment. I headed back for the Leaky Cauldron. Hermione had said she'd meet me there with more information – hopefully concerning the name that the Elves had given me. She spotted me the minute I walked in and waved me over to the little corner she'd found; it was better if we did this out of the way of the other customers, she'd said. Once again, she had a huge tome with her, this time propped open on the surface of the table.

            "Is that the Red Book of Westmarch?" I asked.

            "No," she said, "It's just an Elvish dictionary. It was 'Eledhwen,' wasn't it?"

            "Yes."

            "Thought so. It says here that Eledhwen was another name for Morwen, the daughter of Baragund and wife of Húrin. Do you know who that is?"

            "I'm not sure. . . I'm not as familiar with the older parts of the story as I ought to be."

            "He was the one who was taken prisoner by Morgoth – I think he's the first Elf that was actually tortured by him personally, but he got away. His son died though, because Morgoth put some sort of curse on him. I could look it up to make sure, if you like."

            "No, that's okay. I don't know why they would compare me with someone like that though. She was an Elf, right?"

            "Yes, but that's just the only record of an actual person with that name. The prefix, eledh, is actually a Sindarin form of 'elda' which means 'of the stars.'"

            "Really? That's interesting. . ."

            "Does it mean anything to you?"

            "Well, yeah. That's what 'Esther' means: 'star.'"

            I smiled. I wasn't any closer to the real problem yet, but I felt a little lighter. I could do this.

*          *          *

            We met Lupin inside a little shop in Muggle London. He was shorter than I'd imagined him, with a ratty grey-violet cloak and a good deal of grey in his hair. He had a calm, patient face, soft azure eyes, and gave me an impression of complete and total safety despite his uninspiring appearance.

            "You're Miss Golding, I presume," he said, his voice gentle, "It's a pleasure to meet you."

            "Hello," I said, "It's a pleasure to meet you."

            We shook hands, and then he led Justin and me over to a little, crowded table next to the window where he'd gathered some documents and odd gadgets – stuff I assumed would be explained later. We sat down.

            "Well, Miss Golding," said Lupin, "I'm not sure where to begin. Arthur tells me you've been tagged by a nenshavite – is that right?"

            "Yes. Her name is Samara Morgan. Have you heard of her?"

            "Only in passing. The case was hushed up pretty quickly as soon as the Ministry decided not to investigate any more."

            "So I heard. Arthur – I mean, Mr. Weasley was saying he had to bring all his documentation on it back home with him to preserve it."

            "Yes. . . It's silly, really. Nenshavites are so dangerous – it's ludicrous to let one go just because she's so much trouble."

            "What can you tell me about nenshavites then? In general, I mean?"

            "Well, first off they're fire demons. Have you done any reading on them?"

            "A little. Hermione Granger found an encyclopedia entry about them."

            "Good, good. The trick is to gather all the nenshavite's powers into one place, inside a circle of wizards. Not just any wizards, mind you – specially trained Dark Arts wizards, people that can hold their own and not run off when things start to turn ugly."

            "Like aurors, you mean?"

            "They can be, yes. There's an incantation that goes with the ritual, once the demon is drawn out. But that doesn't get rid of it – it just sends it into a different plane of existence."

            "What do you mean? You can't kill them?"

            "Well, technically they're already dead. A nenshavite, after its mortal body dies, is a restless spirit that preys on the living for nourishment. So by bringing all its talismans into one place, you force it to stop wandering. And then you can send it away, but you can't really 'kill' it."

            "That's strange. . . How do you know it won't come back?"

            "We don't. That's just the problem. It has been theorized, actually, that every nenshavite case that's been recorded is actually a reincarnation of the same spirit over and over. The fact that there are so few cases supports this – no two nenshavites have ever existed at the same time. And since we've never actually proved that they leave indefinitely after the ritual . . ."

            ". . . there's no reason to think that they couldn't come back."

            "Exactly."

            "Well, jeez. . . Mr. Weasley said that was the only way to get rid of a nenshavite. Anything we could do would just start the cycle again."

            Lupin grinned, and his soft eyes lit up for just a second.

            "Not necessarily," he said, "You see, that's just the only proven way to get rid of a nenshavite. There is another way, but it's never been done before. It's more of a rumour than anything else. You see, there is another theory that every being, good and evil, has an opposite. In every dimension, every piece of time and space, there is supposedly someone who is the exact opposite of someone else. But you see, Samara – the nenshavite – is from a different dimension to this one. She's not supposed to exist here, which is why she has to resort to this demonic half-life in order to sustain herself. The rumour is that her opposite, a sort of mystical being called 'the peacemaker,' will one day appear to balance her out, and take her back to where she came from."

            Something stirred in memory, Galadriel's words from the dream I'd had in the hotel: There are many other worlds besides this one, and some boundaries have been broken that should never have been crossed. This must be what she had meant. I would have to start paying better attention in my visions – all this had to lead somewhere, and if I got behind I would never get to the end of it.

            "Sounds like a prophecy," said Justin.

            "Yes," Lupin nodded, "In a way. But it wasn't given in the same way – not quite as cryptic, if you know what I mean. In theory, if we can find the peacemaker, then we can make Samara go away for good."

            "Oh God," I muttered, "I think I see where this is going. . ."

            "What's that?" asked Lupin.

            "Nothing. Well. . . Have you had any luck finding this . . . 'peacemaker' so far?"

            "Little. It's just a theory – more like legend than anything else. At one point we thought that maybe it could be Rachel's son, Aiden. Of course, after the case was abandoned, we didn't have much of a chance to follow through on that idea. Personally, I don't believe it anyway. He's too young, and the rumour of the peacemaker says that he – or she – is supposed to appear the very same year of the nenshavite's mortal death."

            "What year did Samara die?"

            "Sometime in the early 1980s. The exact date isn't known, but it's either '82 or '83."

            Justin looked over at me. I didn't turn; I knew what he was thinking, and I didn't want to hear him say it. 1983 – that's the year I was born. I just stared at Lupin, trying not to believe that it was really me he could be talking about. I didn't want this. I'd known for a long time that this would happen, but I didn't know what to say. So I stayed silent, my head buzzing as I struggled to keep my mind a blank.

            "Do you have a wand, Esther?" Lupin asked.

            "Yes," I said, grateful for the distraction.

            "Mind if I have a look?"

            "Oh, sure."

            I fished the wand out of my purse and handed it across to him. His face was stony as he turned it over in his fingers. He didn't look nearly as surprised as Ollivander had when I'd bought it.

            "Dragon heartstring?" he asked.

            "Um, yes," I said.

            "Thought so."

            He handed it back to me and then got up from the table.

            "Come this way," he said.

            He led us into the back of the shop where the space was wider.

            "I just want to try something," he said, moving some stray chairs out of the way, "Do you know the incantation to produce a Patronus?"

            "Expecto Patronum," I said, "But I've tried it once – I don't think I've had enough training to do it right."

            "That's all right," he said, "That's what I'm here for. Now come here, into the middle of this room – you may want to leave your purse in the corner there, it'll get in your way."

            I put the purse down and went to the center of the room, taking my wand with me. Justin sat down next to the wall to watch. I felt the wand getting slippery with sweat from my hand; I knew what would probably come next, and I was a little nervous. I hoped he didn't have a boggart for me to deal with, because I knew exactly what it would turn into once I looked at it. I didn't feel up to the challenge yet.

            "Don't worry," said Lupin, reading my mind, "I'm not going to do anything drastic today. I just want you to practice the incantation. Hold your wand arm out. That's right, and try not to shake so much. I know it's difficult, but be steady. Focus on a happy memory. It can be anything, something from your past that made you feel good. Just focus on that."

            I closed my eyes, thinking that that would get me to focus better. But as soon as I shut my vision to darkness, all I saw was Samara and her veil of black hair; I heard the screams and pleas of the children I'd heard inside the well in my last vision, and the ghostly faces in the gray world I'd found afterwards. This wasn't working – my arm was now shaking even more than before.

            "Open your eyes," said Lupin, "Try to get the memory in your head first, and then shut them. You're letting your imagination take hold of you too much – you need to concentrate. Go on now, you have plenty of time."

            Embarrassed, but determined, I gritted my teeth and stared down the length of the wand, trying to force all the bad thoughts out of my head. The deep red wood just reminded me of blood, and charred wood, like the dark etchings that Rachel and Noah had found carved all over Samara's loft in the barn.

            Stop it! Stop it! I scolded myself, Just think of something happy. It shouldn't be too hard – when's the last time you were happy? Think about it!

            The last time I'd been happy . . . was when I was in Middle Earth. With Legolas. I tried to focus on his face, his soft features and the sweet, almost fearful way he looked at me, but all I could feel was bitterness. I lowered my arm in defeat; this wasn't helping. All I could think about was how much I missed him; conjuring up that memory was just too painful.

            "I can't do it," I said, "I'm sorry."

            "Oh, come on Esther!" Justin scolded, "You always give up too easily – you haven't been standing there five minutes. Stop being such a drama queen."

            I whirled around to glare at him, but I also saw Lupin apparently biting back an amused grin.

            "He's right," said Lupin, "It just takes time, that's all. We're not in any rush, you know. You shouldn't have to force this – just do what you can with it, and we'll work with that. Now, when you get your memory – and you will get it, it just might take a few minutes – go ahead and try the incantation. It should be easier without a Dementor to pull the bad feelings out of you."

            I sighed, then lifted my wand again. This time I determined not to think of Legolas. I tried to picture something more simple, like a memory from my childhood – little pleasures, like smelling the grass or walking through the sand at the beach. The problem with that was I couldn't seem to find a specific memory with any of those things in it. The last time I remembered feeling that way was . . . That was it! My vision, the second part of it. I had been running through the golden wheat field with Fire Wing, and we'd been running so fast my feet barely even touched the ground. I'd almost laughed aloud—

            "Expecto Patronum!"

            A beam of white poured out of the end of my wand, and at the same time I felt a strange pull at the center of my chest. It was as if some part of myself, a part I'd forgotten entirely, was running down my arm and through the wand, rushing outside of it to take shape. The white mist billowed out and expanded, towering over everything in the room. I saw giant wings stretching, and the thing turned, lowering its massive head towards me. I almost thought it could be bowing, but the idea was absurd – why should this huge, powerful creature bow to me? Pearl-like scales glistened down its serpentine neck and all along its enormous haunches. Silvery wings folded along its back in submission, and its great eyes, like pools of moonlight, gazed expectantly down at me. In the back of my mind I heard Justin whisper, "Wow," and say something to Lupin. I just stared up at it, not quite believing that the giant, white dragon was mine. Suddenly it lifted up on its translucent forelegs and spread its wings high. It gave one gale-like flap, and then the mist dispersed itself again. It was gone. I turned back to Lupin, speechless. He smiled, then came towards me and looked down at the wand again.

            "Dragon heart-string," he said, "Let's see if we can't find out exactly where that wand of yours came from, eh?"

**All the name stuff about "eledhwen" is taken from the glossary of The Silmarillion, as is all that stuff about the life of the Elf of that name, should anyone feel compelled to double-check it.