Chapter 4 – The Leech
Author's note: First I want to apologize if I mangle anyone's belief system in this chapter. I did a fair amount of research, but I had to go out on a limb in a few places. Regarding research, all of the battle sites in this chapter are real places, and the geography, as best I can tell from pictures and maps is also reasonably accurate.
Judged by reader response, I'm not sure anyone is actually reading this, but if you are, I hope you enjoy it
Sirius Black apparated into a grove of spruce trees at the bottom of a glen. In the shelter of the trees, he transformed himself into the shape of a large black dog and began to pad down the road. The path led him over a ridge and down into another glen. At the low point in the road, he turned off onto a smaller path that led through another grove of trees and to the door of a small cottage. There he transfigured back into human form and knocked at the door.
"Come in, Sirius" answered Harry's voice.
Sirius entered and greeted Harry. Ginny came in from the garden and gave him a warm hello. She went to the kitchen and returned with tea and cakes. They made idle chat for a while before talk turned serious and Harry asked for news of the outside world and the war.
Sirius shook his head sadly. "It's not going well at all. The Ministry has ceased to function as a viable entity. There is an organized resistance, but it is scattered and not as effective as it could be. Voldemort no longer even bothers to hide. The Muggle news is filled with report of his attacks – mostly attributed to terrorists and something called 'fallout' – whatever that is. Hogwarts is essentially closed and being used as a fortress and a headquarters."
"What about Ron and Hermione?" Harry asked.
"They're alive and well. Ron has the sword of Gryffindor, and that carries a lot of weight. He and Hermione are very active in the resistance. They have pushed themselves into a leadership role, by virtue of the sword. While people respect the sword, they don't necessarily respect the one who carries it. Not to put them down, they've had some successes, more than anyone else … They're just not leaders."
"I should be there," Harry said grimly.
"Harry," Ginny said softly. "You did your part. No one can reasonably ask more of you."
"That's easy enough to say," snapped Harry, "but why do I feel like a coward?" Harry reached for a tea cake with his left hand, but dropped it. With his Seeker's reflexes, he reached with his right arm to grab it, but only succeeded in deflecting its path so that it cart-wheeled across the floor, leaving a path of crumbs. Harry got up and attempted to pick up the pieces, but only managed to make a bigger mess.
"Don't worry about that, Harry. I'll get it." Ginny told him.
Disgusted with himself, Harry stood up and left the room. They heard the back door slam telling them Harry had gone into the garden. Ginny frowned to herself and picked up the broken cake.
"Still not taking it well, is he?" Sirius asked.
"Actually," Ginny replied, "This is a pretty good day. He hates being this way; he hates not being in the middle of things. Sometimes I think he hates everything and everyone."
"It's hard to believe that medical magic can't find a way to replace his hand. It just boggles my mind that in thousands of years of practicing magic, no wizard or witch has ever come up with a way."
"Actually one did," Ginny said. "Nuada, the king of Ireland lost a hand in battle and Diancecht the Leech made him a new one out of silver. I forgot all about that until just now…"
"Too bad, he doesn't make house calls…" Sirius remarked. "I assume this was a long time ago…"
"Around the time of the Trojan Wars I think, but there might be a way…" She stood up suddenly. "Can you stay here for a while and take care of Harry?"
:"Sure, I guess" Sirius answered. "How long? Where are you going?"
Ginny grabbed her bag and cloak. "Ireland," she answered.
Draco stood at the table staring at a stretched out map. Small figurines had been placed at various locations to represent the presence of forces of both the Dark Lord and his opponents. Lord Voldemort explained his strategy in great detail outlining specifically the part each of his Lieutenants was to follow. In spite of himself, Draco grimaced and looked up to see his master staring at him.
"You disapprove of something, young Malfoy?" Lord Voldemort asked with a sneer.
Draco trembled. In spite of his presence as a member of the High Council, he had long since given up the notion that he was vital or not expendable. Since he had been surrendered to Harry that day, he had remained ever vigilant, ever wary. He remained loyal to his master, but he let no opportunity pass to gather power or advantage to himself. Now the Dark Lord stood scowling at him for having questioned his wisdom.
"Out with it, Malfoy. Speak your mind, if you have one."
Draco swallowed hard, trying to decide on the proper course to take. In all likelihood he was going to feel the agony of the Cruciatus within a few minutes. He might as well make it worth the pain. "It's a good plan, Master, but it won't work…"
"Really?" snarled Lord Voldemort, reaching for his wand. "Please, share your brilliant insight with us… and this had better be good."
Draco took a deep breath and began. "The enemy is being led by Ron Weasley. I know him. He's a chess player. If we do this…" he moved a group of figurines forward, "Weasley will counter like this…" he moved more figurines, "flanking us and dividing our forces into smaller, less effective units. In all likelihood he will then call in his reserves to widen the wedge. We will then be forced to choose between retreating, or having our troops chewed up.
"If instead, we move these units here," more figurines were moved, "and these here… he will deploy his forces here… or here." Draco pointed at two locations on the map. "In either case, if we put our reserves here, and here, we can out maneuver him and cut him off from the rest of his army. He'll be forced to retreat toward the sea, unable to call for reinforcements from Hogwarts. It will then be a matter of pushing him back, and grinding away at his troops."
Finally finished, Draco stepped back, and tried to brace himself for the curse he was sure would arrive. Lord Voldemort remained silent though, pondering the new arrangement on the map. For several minutes he remained in silent thought before speaking.
"Are you so sure of this Weasley? Can you make this happen?" The Dark Lord asked.
Draco nodded. "Yes, M'lord. I've noticed it for some time in his strategies. I am quite sure of it now. I can make this happen."
"If you fail," hissed Voldemort, "You will die a very slow and painful death."
"I understand, M'lord," Draco answered respectfully.
"See that you do. I am turning over field command to you. I have matters to attend to elsewhere, but I will be watching closely. Do not attempt to deceive me. I will return shortly"
Draco bowed humbly. Voldemort disapparated with a pop, leaving Draco alone amongst the other Lieutenants and Circle members. Realizing the need to act decisively, Draco began issuing orders. The other occupants of the room, some reluctantly, began to move in response. When finally he was alone, Draco smiled to himself.
Ginny wandered among the ruins of ancient Tara until she found herself at the foot of a long low mound. Carefully, she walked around it, looking for the entrance. It was so well hidden that she didn't find it until her second go around – gray stones, over grown by weeds, and recessed by time into the soft earth. Carefully, Ginny cleared away the brush and excavated as much of the stones as possible with her hands. Once clear she traced the carvings of the stones with her wand until they began to glow with magical light. "Oscail," she spoke, and what had once been grass-covered turf shimmered and became a black void.
Without a second thought, Ginny stepped through the portal and into the mound. The scene around her was not what she had expected - not that she'd had any idea on what to expect in the first place. Inside the mound was much like the outside had been except that it was warm and summer and what had been ruins was now an intact but ancient city. Despite the temperature, she pulled her cloak up over her head and stepped out into streets of Tara.
Ginny wandered through the city in awe. Since childhood she had loved the stories of ancient Ireland and the Tuatha De Danann, had grown up reading every scrap she could get her hands on and even learned Irish to fully appreciate the flavor of it. Everyone had told her she was crazy to learn Irish, but now she felt it had been worth every agonizing moment.
"Pardon me," she said to a passer-by, in her best Irish, "Can you tell me where I might find Diancecht?"
The man looked at her oddly and she repeated herself slowly. This time he seemed to comprehend and pointed away to the castle on the hill. "Diancecht lives there, in the house of the king." Ginny had a hard time understanding him as well, his language was very archaic and she had to pay very close attention to make any sense of it. Ginny thanked him and headed towards the hilltop fortress.
Unlike most Irish castles, the High King of the Sidhe lived behind stone walls. Ginny approached the gates in awe. The call of the gatekeeper brought her back to awareness. "Who are you? And what is your business with the King?" the warder demanded.
"I am searching for Diancecht the Leech," she answered. "My business is with him rather than the king."
Again Ginny was the object of a puzzled gaze. "You speak our language poorly," the guard replied. "Strangers are rare here, whence come you?"
It took several seconds for Ginny to tease out the meaning of his words. "Kernow," she answered, "from the village if Ottery, St. Catchpole."
"Indeed?" asked the guard, "A rare visit indeed, especially a young lass such as yourself… You must dine tonight in the Great hall, in the company of the king and share with us the news and stories of your land."
Ginny bowed to the guard, thinking it was the right thing to do. "You honor me with your hospitality, but really I must speak with Diancecht on a matter of great importance."
"You may speak with the Leech, of course, but surely you must be tired from your journey and must rest before you return? It is our custom to welcome travelers and offer them supper and lodging in exchange for their tales."
"I will gladly accept," Ginny replied. As she thought about it, a feast in the company of the Sidhe and the remnants of the Tuatha De Danann appealed to her. "It would be wrong to reject such a generous offer."
The gatekeeper, satisfied, gave her directions to find the home of Diancecht. Ginny crossed the green sward of the courtyard until she found herself before a low stone house and knocked on the door. Avery tall man in a gray robe with reddish graying hair and beard answered.
"I am searching for Diancecht, The Leech," Ginny stated.
"Well, you've found him," the old man answered. "Is your quest at an end, or do you seek something further?"
"I've come to ask for help," answered Ginny. "You alone have the knowledge I seek."
Diancecht's face brightened somewhat. "That may be," he answered, "I am the Leech of the Tuatha De Danann and learned my craft from Danu herself, but I do not pass on such knowledge to strangers. Show yourself and tell me what is you are searching for."
Ginny pulled back her hood, and freed her hair. "I'm Ginny Weasley," she offered with a curtsy.
"A mortal?" Diancecht asked in surprise. "It has been a very long time since the last mortal came to visit Tara beneath the barrow, even by our measuring of time. It has seemed as if all knowledge of our deeds had been forgotten. Come in, lass, and tell me what quest brings you to the Fir Sidhe?"
Ginny was escorted into the house of Diancecht, given food and wine, which she consumed readily. When she was done, The Leech asked her to tell him what had brought her.
"I have a friend whose hand was lost in battle and destroyed. In the history of magic, you alone have constructed a new hand that functioned as the original. I've come to ask you to make one for him."
"That is very high magic, even for me, and such magic can only be called on for the sake of kings and heroes. It carries with it great responsibility for both the Leech and the recipient. Is your 'friend' a king or a hero?"
"He isn't a king, but he is a hero," Ginny answered. She then told him Harry's history, of his childhood, and his battle against Voldemort, and how he came to be captured and maimed. Throughout her story, Diancecht nodded and listened attentively. Not until she had finished did he speak.
"So magic is still practiced in the world above? I am surprised to hear that really. We've long believed that it had died out. Harry is both a wizard and a warrior? a curious combination… rarely does a mind that grasps the one have aptitude for the other."
"Harry is the exception to many rules," Ginny replied. "To be incapacitated in such a way is torture for him. Please tell me that you will create a new hand for him."
Diancecht frowned. "I cannot do that," he answered.
Ginny's heart fell to the floor. "Then there is no hope…"
"Not true," countered Diancecht. "I cannot do it, but perhaps you can. The craft of the Leech is bound to the land and its people. However noble your Harry might be, he is neither of my land nor my people. The power of the Tuatha De Danann no longer extends to your world except on rare occasions, but so long as magic remains in the world above, there is hope. If you would see your Harry's hand restored, then you must become a Leech and craft it yourself."
"What do I have to do?" Ginny asked.
"There is much you will have to learn. It will take time, but I will teach you all you need to know."
Ginny frowned. "Time is not a luxury. The Dark Lord advances daily and before long there won't be anything to save."
"There is no quick solution to this problem, but all is not lost.. Time does not pass here as it does in your world. A day here can be a year above, or a year can be a day. Much depends on the path one follows to arrive and depart. I will teach you all that I can in as short a time as possible, that is the best that I can do."
"Then I must accept," Ginny said, "and learn as quickly as I can."
An owl landed on the table in front of Draco with a message attached to its leg. Draco detached it and read it with a smile. When he was done, he crumpled it into a ball and tossed it into the fire. He then returned his attention to the table repositioning the icons representing forces of both sides. Carefully he studied the new arrangement and pondered the implications.
Suddenly, a new thought came to him. There was a factor he had been overlooking previously, a weakness to his enemy previously left un-exploited. His brain went into overdrive thinking of how to best put it into motion. When he had worked things out to his satisfaction, he began sending out owls with new orders. He then summoned the House Elves to gather up everything and move his head quarters.
At dawn, Draco stood on a high ridge over looking the valley below and the lower ridges on the opposite side where Ron had made his camp. At precisely 6:30, a vanguard of mountain trolls advanced on the camp from the north and the enemy sprang to life. Flashes of magic reflected off of the low clouds and the air was soon filled with the cries of battle, the crackle of lightening, and screams of the wounded and dying.
With in minutes of the trolls attack, blacked robed Death Eaters approached from the south. Deeming the approaching wizards to be a greater threat than the phalanx of gray behemoths, Ron's forces wheeled to counter them. Volleys of magic flew in both directions. The front lines of both armies crumpled and fell, but the troops behind them continued to advance until they were engaged in a full melee.
When Ron's army turned to face the oncoming wizards, only a small contingent was left to contain the Trolls. Slowly the trolls fell to the defender's magic, but not before dozens of troops had been smashed by large stone hammers, tossed aside like dolls and broken like china. The ground became red with the scarlet stain of blood. When the last of the trolls was dispatched, the remnants of the defenders joined the main force.
Draco sent up a magical flare to initiate the next part of his plan. The ground along the eastern ridge erupted in a spray of small dirt and stone fragments. Crazed goblins whooped as they poured out of holes in the ground. They were small, stout, sallow creatures with stringy gray hair and red caps on their heads and they crashed on the flanks of the opposing army like a wave on rocks, first striking at their opponent's knees and then swarming those who fell, and ripping them to shreds.
The body of Ron's army began to fall back. It was an orderly retreat though and Draco was forced to give them credit for that. He sent up another flare as a signal and his troops changed their tactics. While they continued to harass the forces of Light, they no longer attempted to hold them in fixed combat, but instead the back ranks maneuvered and elongated the line so that the enemy was left with a single direction in which to retreat – towards the west-northwest.
Yet another flare was sent up and a cloud of Cornish pixies descended from the clouds to harass those below. The pixies saw little distinction between the opposing forces and attacked both with equal vigor. The orderly retreat of Ron's army crumbled and fell into a full rout. Those of Draco's army not dealing with the small blue pests hurled fire and lightning at their foes to encourage the retreat until at last only one army stood on the field.
With the battle over, Draco returned to the house he had commandeered as a headquarters. The bodies of its former Muggle occupants still hung in the trees outside. Several owls bearing casualty and intelligence reports were waiting for him. He was still sifting through these when Lord Voldemort himself arrived.
"Report!" the Dark Lord ordered.
Draco rose and bowed before his master. "The enemy is retreating, M'lord. They suffered heavy casualties and withdrew."
"You did not crush them?" Voldemort challenged.
"No M'lord, not crushed but for the first time they are fleeing and wounded. They also don't know it yet, but they are cornered." Draco showed him the map. "When they stop to regroup, they are going to find themselves with the sea on three sides and our army on the fourth."
"They are Wizards, you know. They can always apparate themselves out of your trap…" Voldemort countered.
"That is true, but they can't simply abandon us to roam around the country side unchecked… especially if we're killing Muggles as we go" he added with a smirk.
Voldemort laughed. "True, they will do anything to save their precious Muggles. Now explain to me why you lost a whole company of trolls this morning."
"It was a calculated risk," Draco answered. "Trolls are expendable at any rate. They killed at least three of the enemy for everyone that fell. It was an acceptable loss in my opinion – for two reasons: First, it created the illusion for Weasley that he had cleared a way of retreat, the way in which I wanted him to retreat. Secondly, it forced him into a position where he was forced to sacrifice troops. Weasley is playing chess, remember. To a chess player, sacrificing a unit is a valid strategy, so long as it contributes to the greater good. Armies are not made of chessmen though, especially his army.
"If I order my troops onto a hopeless assault, they will obey without question because they know that to disobey is a surer guarantee of death than battle. The enemy fights to live though. Every death for them is a tragedy, and every death eats away at morale - all the more so when the troops feel as if they are nothing more than pawns in the game of their esteemed General."
Voldemort appeared contemplative. "I came here prepared to kill you, Master Malfoy, but after consideration I believe that would be rash. I will forgive you the loss of my trolls and allow you to continue as my general. Your continued existence rests on your ability to deliver victory."
At the first words, Draco's blood ran icy cold. A hard truth that he had been dancing around but refusing to accept reared its head once again. It was a matter he would deal with later. He maintained the mask he kept in front of his master and bowed slightly. "If I may be so bold, M'lord. There is another matter I would suggest."
"Out with it," demanded the Dark Lord.
"Hogwarts should be placed under siege, immediately if possible. Whatever reinforcements may be available to Weasley will undoubtedly come from there."
Voldemort nodded. "I'll see to it. Summon me for the final battle, I want to be present when these rabble are finally crushed." With out further comment, the Dark Lord disapparated.
Ginny toiled over a boiling cauldron, carefully adding prepared herbs and other ingredients as Diancecht instructed her. By her best reckoning, she had been in the land of the Sidhe for 6 months, and everyday had included endless study, practice and lecture from Diancecht. The Study of Leech-craft had consumed nearly every second of her life during this time. Only in the quiet moments before sleep claimed her, or briefly over her meals did she have the opportunity to think of Harry and project to him her feelings of hope and love.
"Our magic," continued Diancecht, "is the same energy as yours, but we harness it differently. The magic of the Sidhe is derived from the land, from the earth we walk on, the waters of its streams, the sun, stars and moon which crown the sky and the people, beast, and birds which call it home. We do not so much use magic as direct or rearrange it.
"Although we also use spells, much as your people do, the true art of our magic comes from understanding the inherent qualities of our surroundings and reshaping or redirecting that nature. The Leech uses the power of his land to keep his lands whole, which is the limitation of is his power. With in his own land he has the cooperation of rock and tree and sky, but outside he is simply another sorcerer."
Ginny nodded understandingly but continued to mind her kettle. Diancecht's instruction so far had squeezed what seem like five years of Potions, Herbology, Astronomy, and Charms into only a tenth of that time. If Diancecht were a kinder teacher than Snape, he was no less demanding or exacting.
"Will the use of magic as my people use it interfere with the magic of the Leech?" Ginny asked.
"Not as a rule," Diancecht answered, "although some darker and more corrupt magics might. In those cases the matter is decided between the will of the casters. In general you will find that the craft of the Leech is superior to other crafts when dealing with nature and healing, and perhaps less so in other matters. In all cases, the strength of Leech is determined by the extent to which he works with natural forces rather than against them."
Through out the day they continued this way. When Ginny's brew was finished, the old Leech tested it and critiqued it, instructing her on improvements she should make in the future and reinforcing the areas she had done well in. When the concoction was bottled and put away, they gathered their cloaks and sickles to wander the surrounding lands in search of other herbs.
"How many medicinal herbs are used by the Leech?" Diancecht queried her. "And what is the significance of their number?"
"Three Hundred and Sixty Five," answered Ginny, "One for each day of the year, and one for each joint and nerve of the body."
"What are the three wounds that Leech-craft cannot heal?" Diancecht continued.
"A severed head, a damaged brain, and damage to spinal marrow." Ginny answered automatically.
"What is the medicinal property of Maiden's Hair?" The Leech challenged.
"It is used for coughs and other respiratory ailments, also for jaundice and ailments of the kidneys," Ginny answered
As they walked through the countryside, Diancecht continued to quiz her while identifying new plants to her and teaching her the lore of rocks and trees and animals. Ginny soaked all of it in with determined effort. Leaving Hogwarts had been a tough decision for her to make, and only Harry's welfare had been enough to convince her to do it. Learning from Diancecht had filled a void she had thought would be permanent.
Sirius went outside to find Harry sitting in the garden, making a half-hearted attempt to rid it of gnomes. Sirius watched silently as his godson vented on the diminutive creatures. The bright-eyed and hopeful lad Sirius had first met was gone, replaced with a young scarred man, defeated and angry, and resigned to a life of misery. Having seen enough, Sirius stepped forward making enough sound to alert Harry to his presence.
"Ginny?" Harry asked turning around.
Sirius held up his hand in a calming gesture. "No," he answered, "just me. Still no word from Ginny."
Harry's face sank and he returned to snatching gnomes and hurling them over the fence.
"What are you going to do with yourself, Harry?" Sirius asked. "You can't spend your whole life tossing gnomes over the fence."
"You didn't come here to convince me to play figure-head did you?" Harry asked with insolence in his voice. "Save your breath, it isn't going to happen."
"I never thought I would live to see a Potter coward." Sirius said with disgust. "You're a ghost who hasn't bothered to die yet."
Harry turned to look at Sirius with steel in his eyes. "You have no idea how much I wish I was dead. I have prayed for death, begged and pleaded for it. You have no idea how much I dread waking up each day not being able to fasten my own robe, or write my name, or even cast a bloody first-year Leviosa spell. How dare you call me a coward? Even my father hid from Voldemort."
"Your father hid because he had a wife and child…"
"But when he was dead, he was allowed to stay dead. He didn't have to live on as a ghost after the fact. I do."
"You're not dead, Harry"
"I'm worse than dead," Harry countered. "I'm maimed, crippled and useless. I should have died, I wish I had died. I tried to do the right thing, and this is the reward I got for it. I couldn't even get a clean death… instead I get this." Harry turned away and pulled off his glasses, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his damaged limb.
Sirius moved closer to him and put his hand on Harry's shoulder. "You're allowed to hurt, Harry. I just can't stand to see you live this way. You can't let You-Know-Who have this victory. You can't let him destroy you this way. You're a fighter, Harry; a warrior; a hero. You can't just give up."
Harry accepted Sirius' hand at first but at the mention of the word hero, he shrugged it off and stepped forward, out of reach. "I am not a hero. I'm just a guy who tried to do the right thing. I never wanted to be famous, I never asked for the Sword of Gryffindor. All I ever wanted to was to be just a normal person with friends and parents and to be a good person. I didn't want any of this."
Sirius' face became tight. "You can't change the past, Harry, but you can shape the future. You don't have to do it alone either. I'm here for you, and so is Ginny."
"Ginny deserves better," Harry said bitterly.
"Yes, she does," agreed Sirius. "So give it to her. She loves you, you know."
Harry nodded. "I love her too. I just wish I could be the man she deserves to have."
"Hands aren't what make you a man, Harry. It's your heart that does. So long as you don't let Voldemort or anyone else take that away from you, you'll always be whole. Fight back, Harry, even if it's in a small way. It's the fight that matters, not the victory."
Harry nodded. "You're right. I'm tired of being helpless. I don't know how to fight back though. Everything I know how to do requires a hand."
"Learn to use the other one then, start small and reclaim your life. I'll help anyway I can."
"I'm pretty good at tossing gnomes," Harry said with a thin smile, turning around to face Sirius.
"You're an amateur," Sirius said with a grin. "Let me show you how a pro does it."
The two of them spent the rest of the afternoon chasing gnomes around the garden, yelling curses at both each other and the gnomes. Finally they collapsed from exhaustion onto the ground grasping for air. Sirius stretched his aching muscles and looked over at his companion. For the first time in ages, Harry was smiling.
The rain fell in buckets as Draco sloshed through the mud towards his headquarters in the Welsh village of Dolwyddelan. The village was completely occupied by Death Eaters, its Muggle inhabitants had been either killed or fled. It was part of his grand strategy: by terrorizing the civilian population of the area, he ensured that his opponents would remain focussed on the area, and that they were kept on the defensive
Draco stepped inside to find his captains assembled as ordered, murmuring amongst themselves, until they noticed his arrival. Quickly they snapped to silence and attention. Draco began his briefing and explained the plan for the upcoming battle, the timetable, the signals, and each unit's role in the impending battle.
"Any questions?" Draco asked when he had finished.
"It's too complicated," said McInnis. "It'll never work."
"I asked for questions," Draco snapped back, "not comments." He stepped in front of McInnis with fury in his eyes.
McInnis was an imposing figure, easily a foot taller than Draco, and at least thirty years older. McInnis answered Draco's stare of anger with one of contempt. "This is war, not a bloody Quidditch match. Only a Sprog like yourself would come in here and expect real wizards to put their lives on the line for this insanity?"
"I," hissed Draco, "am the first Wizard in a thousand years to lead a successful army in the field against those insipid do-gooders. Lord Voldemort himself gave me this command, and until he takes it away, you will follow my orders… or else…."
"Or else you'll have your father hire some goons to rough me up? That is the Malfoy way, isn't it?"
Draco drew his dagger in a flash and buried it to the hilt in the older man's abdomen. Several seconds passed before McInnis even knew what had happened. As realization spread across his face, Draco twisted the blade and jerked up on it, lengthening the wound as blood began to spill onto the floor.
"That," drawled Draco as he withdrew his blade, "is the Malfoy way. Too bad you won't be around long enough to put the lesson to good use."
McInnis crumpled to the floor, crying out for help. No one in the room made the slightest motion towards him. Draco waved the bloody dagger at the remaining Captains. "Any one else have an opinion they want to share?"
The room remained silent except for the dying moans of McInnis. Draco wiped off his blade on his already blood stained robe and re-sheathed it. "Take your positions then, the battle commences in one hour." His officers filed out silently. Draco summoned a messenger to remove McInnis' body and then left to change his own spoiled robe and cloak.
The opposing army was occupying the castle and village of Criccieth on the northwestern coast of Wales. Draco and his armies rallied in the square of the even smaller village of Pentrefelin, just on the other side of the ridge from Criccieth. Smaller forces had been deployed to most of the surrounding villages. At the specified time, the Dark Mark appeared above each of them simultaneously, and the squads of Death Eaters began a general rampage.
Within minutes, squads of Aurors and Hit-Wizards appeared to counter the threat. As the smaller skirmishes erupted, more Dark Marks were sent up, signaling the next phase of the battle. Draco sent up flares and the bulk of his force moved on Criccieth – first on the village, then on the castle itself. Fire rained from the sky and the earth shook as Giants and Trolls tore at the ancient walls
When it became apparent what Draco's true objective was, counter-signals were sent up, and all but a hand full of Aurors and Hit-Wizards were recalled to counter the main offensive. When the forces of Light launched a counter attack to break the assault on Castle Criccieth, Draco signaled his troops to disengage and withdraw. At the same time, larger units of Death Eaters were sent to renew the offensive on certain key villages.
What had been the sites of limited duels less than an hour before now became full-scale engagements. The small contingents of Aurors that had been left behind were quickly overwhelmed. As their opponents fell, the black hooded Death Eaters once again returned to causing mayhem and destruction. Orders had been given to kill as few Muggles as possible, believing that live and panicked Muggles were much harder for the enemy to control and contain than corpses.
The forces of Castle Criccieth had little choice but to send troops out to counter the offensive in force. Once his outlying units were fully engaged, Draco renewed his assault on the castle. Unsure as to whether or not this was simply another feint; the Aurors in the field were ordered to hold their positions. Draco countered by calling reserve units up to attack still more of the surrounding villages. When those units were fully engaged, Draco committed all of his remaining reserves, except for one special unit, to the assault of the castle
Again he was forced to admit that Weasley was putting up a good fight. To Draco's mind that only made his impending victory all the sweeter. He sent up a last signal and his 'special' unit began to deploy. A swarm of Acromantulas, all of various sizes and stages of development swarmed the castle. The stone walls began to writhe as if they were a single living mass as the larger arachnids scaled the vertical walls and the smaller ones slipped through cracks in the ancient mortar.
Draco smiled to himself knowing the effect this new terror would personally have on Weasley. As expected, with in minutes, the opposition began to apparate away, and the skies of Criccieth became quiet. Draco redistributed his forces to the outlying villages and by noon, all of the remaining Aurors had retreated or were overrun. Secure in his victory, Draco returned to his headquarters and demanded that his House Elf prepare lunch.
Ginny had spent the entire day walking the fields and forests surrounding Tara. In her basket, she had collected a supply of herbs. The nature of her training had changed, no longer did Diancecht accompany on these trips, and although there was always some specific and demanding task she had to accomplish, she found these trips refreshing and invigorating. Everywhere, the countryside spoke to her. Diancecht had instructed her in the languages of the birds and beasts and trees and rocks. Her quests no longer seemed so challenging when nature itself whispered the answers in her ears. Diancecht only replied that it was a part of the training, and encouraged her to use every resource available to her.
She came to a small stream, and stopped to bathe her feet in the cool water. The spirit of the stream greeted her and welcomed her. She spoke back to the stream and thanked it for the kindness and coolness of its water. She ate a hand full of berries she had gathered earlier and relaxed in the cool shade of an Alder tree. The tree embraced her and bent its branches to give her more shade. Contently she closed her eyes and felt the web of life pulse around her.
Her peace was soon shattered though. A crow landed and began to caw at her relentlessly until she answered it. "Master Diancecht wishes you to return," the crow told her.
Ginny regained her feet and bowed to the crow. "Please tell him that I will return immediately." The crow squawked at her and took to the air. Ginny collected her basket, smoothed her robe and began the hike back toward the castle at Tara.
Arriving at the home of Diancecht, she found him tending a cauldron, muttering incantations and slowly adding ingredients to his brew. Ginny sat silently waiting until he was finished, but carefully observed everything he did. She had heard stories of Diancecht's failings in her time here, but there was no disputing the mastery he had of his art. Watching him at work was frequently as instructional as the lessons he gave her.
"Was someone bitten by a snake?" Ginny asked.
"You are as attentive as ever, I see." Diancecht finally spoke. "What am I brewing?"
"You've added Tarragon and Bugloss, so far that I've noticed. Both are used to combat the venom of snakes."
Diancecht smiled at her. "You have learned much and your time here is almost done. There is much that is still before you, but every Leech must perfect his or her craft in their own time and in their own way. I have but one lesson left for you before you return to your own land."
"Harry's hand…" Ginny stated.
Diancecht nodded in answer. "Tell me, have you any idea how such a thing might be done?"
Ginny replied with her theories about the magical binding of nerve and sinew to artificial limb, of the enchantment of metal and silk and other materials to make the new limb respond as if it were real. Diancecht nodded attentively, asking her pointed questions of which the answering gave her new insight. The nature of this lesson, the one that had been Ginny's goal since her tutelage had begun, was far different than she had expected it to be. What he was teaching her now, besides the obvious, was how to teach herself and the methods by which she would be able to extend her own craft.
For weeks the discussion continued, not as lecture, but as guided exploration. At several points their talks would become near-arguments as each sought to prove the supremacy of their view. Usually, Diancecht proved himself to be correct, but on those occasions when Ginny proved that she was the correct one, he would only smile. "There are many ways to accomplish a goal," he would say in the end, "and every Leech must find their own best way."
At the beginning of every week, Diancecht would ask her the same question. "How would you create a new hand for your Harry?" Each week, Ginny knew she was closer to having the right answer, until finally, the final pieces clicked and she knew that she understood. When she explained the process to Diancecht, he congratulated her and then became serious.
"At the height of my prowess, I constructed such a hand for Nuada, who was then our king. It was an act of vanity, but to some extent, all Leech craft is. Although we work with the forces of nature, Leech craft is at its heart, and act of defiance. It postpones and puts off the cycle of life and death, and to what end? Why should any life be preserved? Or the consequences of wound or injury interrupted?
"Because life is an end in itself, and the Leech is a champion of life in the never ending battle of life and growth against death and decay. Just as every warrior wishes to slay the fiercest opponent, the Leech wishes to cure the greatest ills, and by doing so does as much to protect the land and its people as the warrior does with his sword. Death is our greatest enemy, but although he can be defeated, the Leech must forgo that one struggle. The Leech may postpone death by the healing of wounds, but is not allowed to banish it completely. Death is part of the great circle and must be permitted to claim its due so that new life may take its place.
"Two of my children also followed the path of the Leech: Miach and Airmid. They were very talented, but each of them forgot this vital point. I created Nuada's silver hand to make him whole again so that he could reclaim his crown, and lead our people to victory against the Fomorians. It was a great accomplishment, but still an act of vanity. My work was flawed although I would not admit at the time, and where my craft joined flesh, the wound festered. Miach my son sought to out do me. He recovered Nuada's severed hand, revived it and grafted it back to Nuada's arm.
"It seemed a miraculous thing, but it was an abomination. Dead flesh should not be joined with living flesh. What is dead must remain dead until it is reborn through the great cycle. I challenged my son and he accused me of jealousy. Harsh words were exchanged and eventually we came to blows. In the end I slew my son, but even in death he defied me. Atop his burial mound, in ordered fashion grew each of the 365 medicinal herbs. My daughter, Airmid gathered up these herbs with the intent to banish death. I could not allow this to happen, and so I scattered the herbs to the four winds, so that they now grow at random, and scattered.
"I regret the death of my son, but my duty as a Leech takes supremacy over all other bonds – even that of a father. So it must also be with you. You have learned much and will one day be as great a Leech as any who have ever walked your lands. You must do so under geas though, or I will not permit you to leave."
Ginny's face darkened. "What geas will I be bound to?"
"You must swear an oath to me, and to your homeland, the Kingdom of the Beurla, to protect and preserve your land and its people. You may never leave its bounds under penalty of death."
"I swear it," Ginny answered solemnly.
"You must also require this same oath of your Harry, before he may accept the limb you create for him. Together, you will serve as protectors and guardians, and against your combined strength, few if any will have hope of success."
"I accept these terms," said Ginny.
Diancecht nodded. "Tomorrow at dawn, I will accompany to the dolmen and see that you are returned to the proper place and time."
The sun rose to find Ginny and Diancecht standing before the pile of ancient stones Ginny had used to first enter the land. A cloud of crows cawed loudly as they flew overhead.
"I have given you a geas and you have willing accepted the mantle of Leech. I have taught you much and you have learned more. Now you must return home and begin your great work. You have been a worthy student, and as it should be, I have learned from teaching you. I give you this cauldron as a gift of parting. Much like Dagda's, a great host may feed from it and none leave unsatisfied. Perhaps not so many as the original, but I am sure you will find a worthy use for it."
Ginny bowed and thanked him. "I have no gift to offer in return," she said. "I came here with only the cloak on my back."
Diancecht shook his head and held up his hand. "No need," he said. "It is the customary for the master to give his apprentice a parting gift as they begin their own work. Succeed in your work and that will be gift enough."
Ginny smiled in answer. Diancecht began to work the spell that would open the portal to the world above, and Ginny stood patiently until he completed it. She picked up her cauldron and started to enter when Diancecht called out to her. "On the other side, you will find yourself in the land of the Beurla, as near to your home as I could arrange. The passage between our worlds is imprecise at best. Go now, and remember that once you step foot in your lands, you may never leave them again…"
Ginny stepped through the portal and into darkness.
