A/N: Once again, I thank my dear readers for your infinite patience. I am now preparing for that legendary professional horror, that trial by fire of which nightmares are made—the Bar Exam. I'll be taking it toward the end of July, but hoping to continue reasonably regular updates for you.

Canon Explanation: I'm aware that all the history in this story may be hard to follow for those of you who haven't read The Lord of the Rings or who don't know the legend of King Arthur. This isn't a crossover per se, just a shared history.

Here's the rundowns: according to Lord of the Rings and its prequels and sequels, the kings of Middle Earth came from a legendary continent called Numenor that was sunk into the sea, and they went on to fight against an evil Dark Lord for several generations, until their last descendent, Aragorn, took up their ancient sword, renamed it, and defeated the Dark Lord for the last time, bringing peace for many years.

The Arthur legend as I'm using it goes thus: Arthur, pupil of Merlin, pulled the sword Excalibur from a stone by the hilt and won the throne of ancient Britain, married Guinevere, who became his queen, and formed the knights of the round table. But Arthur himself was the bastard son of a previous king—his nephew (some versions say son, but I'm going with nephew) Mordred challenged Arthur's rule and a war broke out. Arthur's side won, but Arthur died shortly after the battle. His half-sister was Morgan le Fey (aka Morgana), who ruled Avalon with the help of the Lady of the Lake, a magical woman-being who tutored knights in some legends and fell in love with Merlin in others. (In the legends I've read, she's gone by four different names, but I'm making her four different people instead.) Morgana buried Arthur at Avalon. According to JKR, she was a bird Animagus and a healer. To this day, historians are still trying to figure out where the Real World location of Avalon is.

Chapter Six: Echoes

Ron looked back and forth between Harry and Hermione for a long time. Finally, he said in a perfectly calm voice, "Don't be stupid."

"Ron—"

"Just because King Ruddy Arthur died fifteen centuries ago doesn't mean Harry's going to!" he snapped, outraged. Glaring at Hermione, he added, "And if the…spirit, ghost, or whatever that's sending you visions is Morgana, than you shouldn't trust her."

He stalked off. Hermione and the others watched him go. "Well. He took that well, didn't he?" Ginny said dryly.

"You believe it?" Harry asked her.

She frowned at him. "I wouldn't be surprised if you were descended from Arthur somehow, but I do think Ron's got a point about Morgana. She was pretty famous for hating Merlin."

"He abandoned her brother," Hermione said without thinking. "He gave Arthur the advice to fight Mordred, but then he backed out of the war. Arthur was all she had; she was completely alone after he died."

"And I know for a fact that's not on her Chocolate Frog card," Ginny sighed.

"The dark man in the visions is Merlin," Harry said. He looked at Hermione. "I've seen you—or maybe it's Morgana—there too." He grimaced. "I heard you screaming. But he told me it was my fight, only…it wasn't only him. Something else was telling me too."

Hermione nodded. "He told me—or her—that it wasn't our choice. Something about how he didn't make you. She still blamed him. I can't say I really blame her; I'm starting to think Merlin wasn't so great a wizard as we all thought."

Viktor sat down in front of them. "I think you are fearing them all too much." The three of them stared at him. "We learned better of Divination and fate at Durmstrang than you here at Hogwarts." Hermione had to smile at that—he had a point. "Fate may lead us to a place, but still it is our choices that take us to the end." To Harry, he said, "It may be you are chosen as Arthur and Elessar to fight evil. But you cannot be destined to die. You will have many choices to lead you to your end." To Hermione, he went on, "And you are called to Harry's side for a reason. Perhaps it is Morgana, or perhaps it is Merlin. But dreams such as these are not idle; you choose how you will act."

Harry listened to him thoughtfully, then got up and said, "I'm going to go talk to Ron." Ginny patted Hermione on the knee and followed Harry out of the forest.

When their footsteps died away, Hermione smiled weakly at Viktor. "I guess that would explain why I've only ever thought of Harry as my brother."

Coming to sit right beside her, Viktor said quietly, "Do not assume you will lose him."

"I'm not assuming anything!" she whispered, tears prickling her eyes again. "I'm just…afraid. There's always been a chance…he's been in danger all his life. Voldemort could kill him!"

"None of us will abandon him. And…" Viktor met her eyes. "And you will not be left alone."

"You said we can't know the future," she pointed out. "How do you?"

"I do not know it," he replied. "I believe it."

The forest was silent around them; no wind blew, no birds sang. Hermione felt as if the barrier between the past and the present and the future was starting to fade, making her remember things from centuries ago as if they'd happened to her. "I guess it doesn't surprise me that Harry would be descended from kings. I just never thought…"

"You do not surprise me," Viktor said. Hermione raised her eyebrows, and he smiled. "As Morgana's heir, by blood or fate? Arthur is the more famous, but Morgana held Avalon. Her power and wisdom must have been very great."

The Order gathered in the Great Hall to hear what Professor McGonagall and the other leaders had decided. "We are dispatching four teams of twenty to search for Avalon. The remainder of our forces will wait here at Hogwarts for news."

"A team of twenty isn't going to last long if they run into resistance," said Bill Weasley.

"It's a reconnaissance mission only. Your aim is to find them before we engage them," Kingsley replied.

"Have we got any intel on which site is the most likely?" asked Roger.

McGonagall shook her head. "Nothing. However, I doubt we may assume they have gone to ground. They have no reason to hide. Therefore, those assigned to the teams must use extreme caution."

"Constant vigilance," Hermione heard Ron mutter behind her. She smiled.

Harry raised his hand. "Are Hermione, Ron, and I on any of the teams?"

The Headmistress looked at each of them before saying, "That is up to you. I would prefer not to risk you until we have a better idea of where Voldemort is and what he is up to, but there's little doubt that the three of you are in the best position to find him."

Hermione turned in her seat and raised her eyebrows at Ron. He shrugged. "I'm not the one having visions."

At the front of the room, McGonagall smiled faintly. "The rest of you, check for your posted assignments. The teams leave at five o'clock tomorrow morning. That is all."

The Great Hall broke up into chatter. Viktor turned to Hermione. "Does the Order always defer to you and Harry?"

She laughed. "Hardly. But Harry at least has an annoying habit of always being right, so they've gradually let him go. He also has an annoying habit of ignoring anyone who tells him to do anything he doesn't want. Headstrong little berk."

"And you and Ron?"

"We stay with Harry," she said firmly.

"Even when you think he is wrong?"

"Someone has to keep him from getting himself killed!"

If Viktor had any doubts on that score, he thought better of voicing them. An awkward silence fell between them until Alexiev waved to him. "I will see you later?"

Hermione nodded. As Viktor walked away, leaving her alone, Hermione felt a premonitory shiver. It was as if the sight and sound of the Great Hall blurred, and she was no longer entirely there. The area around her seemed hazy, as though she were dreaming and nobody was really real.

Then she could see one person clearly, standing out in the foggy unreality. In front of her, where he'd been sitting during the meeting, was Harry, only…not. He was looking back at her, not moving, yet she had a fearful feeling that he was getting further away and there was no way she could follow.

"Hermione?"

Someone touched her arm, and she jumped. It was Fleur. Shaken, she looked back and met Harry's bleak eyes. Whatever had just happened to her, he had seen it too, and it felt as ominous to him as it did to her. He said nothing as he, Ron, and Ginny joined her, but they both knew it had happened again.

"Bill and I are assigned to Glastonbury," Fleur told them. "Will you not come with us?"

Harry said, "I dunno." At their surprised expressions (Harry was almost never indecisive), he explained, "I don't know what the visions mean anymore, let alone where Avalon's supposed to be." With a shrug, he walked away. Ginny hurried after, leaving Ron, Hermione, and Fleur watching in dismay.

"You shouldn't have told him all that rot about King Arthur," Ron muttered at her.

"I'm not the only one who's seen it," she replied. Ron looked doubtful. "And I don't think that's the only vision he's having anymore."

Ron opened his mouth, then thought better of it. Fleur looked at Hermione. "Harry is afraid?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "It may just be that he doesn't know what to do now."

"Harry? Not likely," Ron finally said. He pulled a face. "He's holding out on us again, I bet."

"I hadn't thought of that," Hermione mused. "Although I would have thought us threatening to kill him if he did it again had made him think better of keeping secrets."

"When does that ever stop him, stubborn little git!"

Hermione felt as if some gap in time and space had opened up between herself and the others. It was a foregone conclusion that everything was changing now; it wasn't just a case of Harry being close-mouthed, no matter how she tried to convince herself otherwise. Or maybe it was…and for the first time, Hermione could see the world through Harry's eyes.

How has he managed to survive years of living this way, knowing more than anyone else about what's coming next? It had only been a few days since her first prophetic dream, but she already hated it. She felt separated from everyone she used to be able to lean on.

Ron was watching her, and read her expression. "Or maybe it's not Harry holding out this time," he said dryly.

"I'm not holding out on you," she mumbled.

"Then what's the matter?"

"I don't know!" To her horror, her throat tightened up. "Seriously, Ron, I don't. It's just…I have this feeling."

"Bloody hell, you really have caught the Harry Disease!"

"Do not tease her, Ronald," Fleur scolded. "She is distressed!" She put a hand on Hermione's shoulder and said, "It will all work out. Perhaps ze visions will have more answers for you or Harry soon. We must be patient. Bill and I leave with ze teams tomorrow; we may find Avalon, or you and Harry will see somehow ze way to find it."

Hermione forced a smile and covered Fleur's hand. "Be careful?"

"Of course!" Fleur sounded miffed.

Ron looked as if he didn't want to let them change the subject, but Hermione decided standing there arguing with him about feelings she couldn't explain would accomplish nothing. So she excused herself and made her way out of the milling Order members. There was no sign of Harry or Ginny, but she did get her first pleasant surprise in—well, months.

"Hermione!"

She turned around. "Professor Lupin!" The uncontested favorite Defense teacher made his way over to her, looking even more worn and tired than she remembered, but with a smile on his face. And with him… "Tonks! I thought you were dead!" she blurted before she could stop herself.

Lupin blinked, but Tonks laughed. "All evidence to the contrary, eh?"

Hermione hugged them both. "I'm so glad you're okay. Have you seen Harry? He'll want to know you're safe."

"Yes, and he said the same thing to her," said Lupin. He gestured at Tonks with his hand. "Somebody's wires got crossed on the casualties, obviously."

"It's a good mistake," Hermione said firmly.

Ron came over as Tonks and Remus walked away. "At least that's one bit of good news to be had."

Hermione nodded. "They said Harry's seen her."

"Yeah, he knows." Ron was silent for several moments, and Hermione turned and looked at him. "I didn't mean anything by it, you know."

She sighed and folded her arms. "I know, but you, Ronald Weasley, need to get it through your thick head that I am not in need of a minder. I'm not your sister, and I haven't been your girlfriend for quite some time."

His ears went red, as she'd known they would, but he looked sheepish rather than stubborn. "Hey, old habits die hard. I got used to looking after you."

"I think it was me looking after you, actually," she teased, but Ron seemed too serious to be distracted. So she waited, and he fumbled out what he wanted to talk about.

"It's not that I'm jealous of Krum—well, I am a little, I guess, but not that way, I mean…"

Hermione sighed. "I know." She smiled sadly. "Kind of hard for things to work out the way we imagine when we're on the run all the time."

"Yeah." Ron shuffled his feet, avoiding her eyes. "It was, y'know, nice. I mean, while it lasted." This time it was Hermione who blushed, well aware of what Ron had thought was "nice." "But, you know…I do think Krum's all right, I mean…if you and he…"

She supposed that she ought to be outraged, or at least annoyed, that Ron had the temerity to assume that she somehow needed or wanted his permission to be with Viktor. But somehow she couldn't seem to get angry; instead, she felt a rush of unexpected warmth for the red-haired boy who had been her best friend, partner in mischief, confidant, and even lover for years. He was letting her know, in his own awkward, typically-Ron-way, that he would still be the other things to her, no matter what the future held.

So she just smiled and kissed him on the cheek, earning a blush. "I'll see you later."

After receiving his assignment from the Order, Viktor found himself with time on his hands. But he wasn't on the mood to mingle among the others. Crowds of chattering people made it hard to think, everyone talking, moving about; Viktor greatly disliked it. He preferred peace and quiet, not that he had not lived in close quarters with his comrades for the better part of a year, but their numbers were small enough to manage, and their aim focused on the work in the field.

So he retreated as far from the bustle of the Great Hall as he could manage, and soon ended up in the library. Really, it didn't surprise him; although the stacks were dimly-lit, dusty, and neglected, he found the place comforting. Once there, immersed in the dry, musty smell of all the books and the sight of the tightly-lined shelves brought his mind back to a recollection of years before, when students had milled among the stacks and upset the concentration of their more studious classmates.

With that thought, he headed deep into the darkest section of the library that had not been restricted, where not even the faintest echo of the activity in the upper floors of the castle reached, until at last, he came to the old window alcove behind the oldest scroll collections. The table and chairs they had occupied were long-since gone. Viktor stood in the center of the alcove, gazing out the small window as the sunset turned the dull stone walls and faded carpet brilliant with shades of pink, peach, and gold, searching for some shadow of the innocent emotions that he recalled whenever he thought of this place. As if he could get back all that he'd lost by returning here.

But there was only silence, far deeper and emptier than the quiet that had surrounded them as they worked at the table here. The soft noises of the library had never troubled him; books absorbed much of the sound. Viktor went to the window and pressed his forehead to the glass, closing his eyes against the onslaught of grief, long-suppressed, that came surging to the front of his mind. What use was there in coming here, trying to seek solace in the memories that echoed only faintly in this place? That world was gone forever.

He was a fool to dwell on it. There was nothing left for him here.

"Viktor?"

He spun around. The empty, dusty stacks had absorbed the sound of Hermione's footsteps. He'd have had a chance to compose himself if he'd heard her coming.

She blinked at him. "What's wrong?"

Dry-throated, he rasped, "Nothing…I did not hear you…"

Hermione nodded, her eyes wandering around the small space. In the rich glow from the window, her skin and hair seemed to shine against the darkness of the library. He swallowed. "Did you study here much after the Triwizard Tournament?"

He was surprised by her answer. "I haven't been back since the day you left Hogwarts." Leaning in the entryway, she avoided his eyes.

Viktor caught her meaning anyway. "You were grieved?"

"We were all grieved for a lot of reasons," Hermione replied, but then she sighed. "I just couldn't. There was so much happening until school ended, so many people afraid, asking questions…the mourning for Cedric, and Harry so upset…I didn't want to be alone," she admitted. "Not all the way down here."

Somehow he knew she didn't mean that she had been afraid. "I too was lonely," he said quietly. "We were few who knew the truth that first year after Cedric was killed. I am thinking now it was wrong of us to go apart. Together we are stronger."

Taking a deep breath, Hermione nodded, still looking at the walls rather than at him. "I think you're right. Well," she seemed to relax, apparently better at ease talking of old strategies than of old sorrows. "Just being together wasn't enough. Ron and I spent the summer at Order Headquarters with his family, but they still wouldn't tell us anything. And it was worst of all for Harry—locked up with those horrible relatives of his all summer, with what had happened at the Tournament just…festering." Her eyes darkened with remembered anger. "I still wonder where they got the idea that ignorance would protect him. Or any of us."

"But they do not keep you in ignorance now," Viktor hastened to remind her. "What is past cannot be changed, but we cannot believe the mistakes were fatal ones. For we are still alive."

"Right now," she said, pulling a face, then smiled wryly at him. "Sorry. I'm not being very positive."

"I am not troubled by it," he assured her. "The others are not here, and you need not pretend with me."

Hermione looked at him unguardedly then, with some semblance of anxiety, as if he had pulled some protection away from her and she could not be sure whether she would be hurt. "I do not mean to offend you," he said quickly.

"You don't," she blurted. "I just…do you pretend things? To make people feel better?"

"I believe we all do," he told her honestly. "It is not that things are much worse than all say—rather we all feel the same doubt and fear. When all are meant to work together it is best not to think of doubts. But we are not working now. Can you not speak of your fears to your friends alone?"

She was suddenly distressed, sinking to the floor with her knees drawn up to her chest. Viktor knelt in front of her, and she shook her head. "Who can I talk about doubt to? Ron? Harry? They each have enough to worry about."

"And your fears are for them," he concluded.

She gave him a watery smile. "You're a Legilimens, Viktor Krum."

"You wear your thoughts on your face, Hermione Granger," he retorted. She grinned more easily, wiped her eyes on the back of her hand, and leaned back against the wall.

"For all I'm better at Occlumency than Harry, it doesn't do me much good, does it?"

"I would not attempt to use Mind Magic upon anyone without their knowledge!" he exclaimed, insulted.

"I didn't mean literally!" Hermione got to her feet and went to lean against the window glass, trailing her fingers down it to trace each beam of gold sunset. "I'm not a good actor, or a good liar. At least not to people I care about. But how can I talk to them about what I'm feeling when I'm starting to wonder if it's really a warning?"

"Your fears for Harry are growing?" he asked quietly, moving closer to her.

She tried to look at him, then turned her face away. But in hazy reflection on the window glass, he could see her grief, real and imagined, and now anticipated. "Not just Harry," she whispered. "I have this…sense, this…feeling, this horrible feeling…" With a strangled cry, she pressed her forehead to the glass, her hands over her mouth. "I'll be alone. I'll lose them…all of them…if it were just that I was going to die I wouldn't be so scared, I'm not that scared of dying, but if they all die and I'm the only one left even if we do win the war what'll be left in it for me—"

Viktor moved without thinking and pulled her forcefully into his arms, crushing her against him. She buried her face in his chest with a whimper of misery. "That will not happen," he told her.

She wrenched back, teary-faced and now angry, "And how can you possibly know? You told me not to pretend, Viktor, so do me the courtesy of sparing the empty promises!"

"I make no such promises!" Viktor snapped, grabbing her shoulders when she would have stormed away. "You speak of these feelings you cannot explain, but you do not understand them, Hermione, not truly. It is as I have said to you and Harry—you do not understand predestination, the workings of fate and history. Do not presume that all prophecies and premonitions speak only of doom." Startled, Hermione stopped struggling, and he went on more calmly, "The Sight is in all magical blood, Hermione. Your Trelawney speaks of Seers as though they possess some skill exclusive, but that is not so. We all of us have echoes of the memories of our ancestors; they are a part of us. Our fathers and mothers whisper to us in all things, and we are guided by them often without knowledge of where these guiding feelings come from. Often we repeat their steps unknowing."

Hermione too had calmed down, and now looked thoughtful. "Then what's happening to Harry and me?"

Viktor said bluntly, "It is clear that his ancestors and yours have stood at the center of wars such as the one we fight. There is no doubt that you repeat their steps very closely as the struggle approaches its end—but the end is not predestined. Morgana of Avalon has warned you of her brother's fate, has she not? That her end was sad does not mean yours must be."

"Men's actions foreshadow certain ends," Hermione murmured.

"But if those actions be departed from, the ends must change," Viktor finished. "Your only fault would be to assume that you are powerless to help him, or your other friends."

She puffed out her cheeks as she let her breath out. "There's so many people, so many forces at work. I guess that's why I hated Divination. It made me feel powerless."

"That is why we join forces," he told her. She frowned at him, and he pointed out, "Does it not occur to you to ask why my feeling of this is so strong?" Hermione's eyes widened, and he smiled.

She tilted her head at him. "What is it you're thinking, then?"

He met her eyes. "I have told you. You have wisdom that few in the Order can match. I am thinking you will be at the center when the end comes, but Voldemort has none among his number who can give to him what Harry and the Order shall have from you. And…" he swallowed convulsively. "You will not be alone. Not in war, nor after it. Nor now."

Where he suddenly felt shaky, she seemed to steady, and asked in a low voice, "You think that?"

He shook his head, not leaving her gaze. "I choose it. I swear to it."

She slowly held out her hands, and he took them, him coming to her and her to him, meeting in a kiss that began soft and light, the sealing of that promise, then deepened into a passionate embrace that pushed away the fears and frustrations in favor of those other emotions that had long been contained for the sake of the mission that filled their lives. Her arms wrapped around his neck, his hands rose to run through her hair, and they let themselves forget everything else. War, fear, death, and pain would return with the morning, as it always did, but here and now, there was a chance to forget. The only fault would be to let the chance pass them by.

After some immeasurable time standing there together, Hermione pulled back, their eyes meeting in the growing shadows in a silent question that was answered at once. She might have faltered at any moment, and he would have released her without hesitation; they were both well aware of that, just as she would have stepped away at once if he had wavered. And it was that awareness that freed them both from the careful restraints practiced with all others, and until this moment, towards each other.

So Hermione looked into his dark eyes, and he into hers, for several long moments, then she pulled out her wand. Stepping closer still to him until her entire body pressed against his as he trailed his fingertips along her wrist and hand, they looked to the entrance to their sanctuary, and she cast the charms and wards that would keep them from being disturbed—with surprising ease, considering that he could feel her heart racing against his chest, and his own was beating no less rapidly. She looked back at him then and let the wand fall from her hand to the floor, forgotten like everything else.

And Viktor sank to his knees with her, trembling, desiring both to feel and taste her mouth endlessly and at the same time to continue staring at her in the waning sunlight. There too they cast away the old associations of this small, quiet space: the last vestiges of innocence and childhood they had unknowingly shared in those hours of study here three years before. It had been sacred to him in his memory, a shrine to the youth that had ended so abruptly with the loss of Cedric Diggory's life, and he knew that for Hermione it had been the same.

But it was not so now, for it changed with them, that old cloak of cherished innocence falling away as theirs did. The first white streams of moonlight crept over the windowsill as they lay fully prone, with Viktor's cloak beneath them and Hermione's over them, still in a close embrace, their hands and lips wandering almost lazily. It was not as if they had all the time in the world, but tonight, for the moment, they could pretend that they did.

There was no war at that moment, no fear, no death, no pain to reach their minds as they caressed in the darkness. Nor was there any guilt or shame in their joining beneath the beams of white light flowing over their bodies. They had no illusions; it was not the first time for either of them, but there was no question or need to say that this night was more meaningful than any experience either of them had ever had.

For it gave them a chance, however brief, to let go of pretension and restraint, and at the same time, to forget.

And chances like this were precious indeed.

People were fleeing, screaming, from a raging torrent that rose up over hills and buildings, engulfing the land. But it was not the sea rising—the land itself was sinking, with a roar that spoke of a final, brutal punishment. Some cried out for forgiveness of their faults, but it was too late.

And yet there was one who reached the highest of all places, the most sacred of places, and though her cry was lost in the noise of the raging water, she and that last shard of her homeland were not swept beneath. In time, she stood alone, and yet alive. No longer did she fear the sea, for if it had spared her, it would not claim her now. When the waters calmed and receded, she was again sole mistress of this land, never again to have it taken. This she understood, even though no voice spoke to tell her.

Guarded by the faith that had led her to live when her traitorous kin had perished in pride, now assured of a new existence in the freedom of immortality, she left the dry edge of the land and walked into the water.

Four daughters had she, though so alike in form and voice that the eyes of mortals perceived them all as the same woman. They left the land and dwelt there no more, but lived entirely in the water, for it was of the water they were born, not of a father. Few mortals know the secrets of their parentage and their number, but they would favor a few with their tutelage and their magic.

All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken:
The crownless again shall be king.

She hid her face behind her robes, making herself a shadow in the bright stones of Camelot. The people took little notice of her, for she walked like the humblest of peasants. She dared use little magic in this place, for its guardians would surely be alerted to her presence.

She was met at the scullery door by another figure in dun robes, but behind the drawn-up hood, she beheld the bright hair and brighter eyes of one who should not be hiding in the halls of her own palace. "What mean you by this, Guinevere? Does the Queen seek to involve me in plots against my brother's place?"

"Hold your suspicions, sister of my husband, as it is for his sake that I send for you. There are plots here, true, but they do not spring from me. I hear whispers of Arthur betrayed by his trusted regent."

Witch though she was, Guinevere could not hide her intentions from this one. She was telling the truth. "The devils are inside the walls." Guinevere nodded. "What would you have me do?"

"I have sent knights still loyal to bid Arthur return, but he fights Emporer Lucius in Rome."

She understood. "He will be long in coming. Know you who Mordred's allies here be?"

"Some of the lower knights, to be sure."

Sounds from the stairs reached the women, and they hushed their voices. Guinevere drew from her robes an object tightly swathed. "Arthur carries the sword, but I fear the scabbard is no longer protection enough for me when the very guardian of Camelot has betrayed us. And in Mordred's hands, it would mean disaster. Take it, Morgan, and keep it from him at any cost."

Again their words were interrupted by noise, and Morgana looked past the Queen to the scullery entrance. "You are watched?"

"I evaded them long enough for my aims."

"What will he do to you?" She and Guinevere had no great love for each other, but their shared love for brother and husband would ally them at any time.

Guinevere drew herself up and cast the hood from her face. "Let him do his worst; I have not sent Lancelot or Gawain away, and they remain loyal and formidable. Let Mordred reckon with them when he at last finds the courage to set his hand to me."

The footsteps on the stairs were growing loud indeed. "Go now, sister in law, and beware: you may be pursued. Let no part of Excalibur fall into the hands of Arthur's enemies."

Morgana did go, and although she heard the cries from behind her indicating that the Queen was discovered, she had no choice but to keep faith that Guinevere's station and her remaining loyal allies would keep her safe—for now.

And she was pursued from the walls of Camelot, over the land, by men armed with sufficient tracking magic to see through her arts of elusion. So close were they on her trail that she wondered with bitter spite and fear whether Merlin himself was behind this rebellion. She had long distrusted that wizard, so assured of his own wisdom and aloof in his disdain for the injuries caused by his meddling. Arthur's trust and devotion to the old warlock was the only restraint on Morgana from challenging Merlin outright. And her brother said SHE was misguided.

At last, it was clear to her that no art she possessed would throw off her pursuers, unless she turned herself into a bird and flew from them—but she could not do that while carrying the scabbard. And she was approaching the shore—trapped at the water's edge, she and the scabbard of Excalibur would fall into the hands of Mordred's men.

So she cried out to the tutor who had taught her the old, magical ways, who she trusted far more than Merlin. And as she reached the shoreline, the Lady rose from the waters, raising cries of fear and awe from the men. Morgana tore the cloth from the scabbard and hurled it into the water, into the hands from which it could never be prized by any mortal, no matter what old arts he had learned. Even Morgana would not be able to retrieve it if the Lady of the Lake chose to withhold it. But she was not grieved of that, and knew Guinevere would not be either.

By the time the men sent by Mordred, Regent of Camelot who harbored thoughts of becoming Lord of Camelot (believing that his bloodline entitled him to the station regardless of his fitness), reached the shoreline, Morgana was airborne, flying beyond the range of bow or sword over the water, and the scabbard of Excalibur had vanished beneath the surface of the water along with all signs of the Lady of the Lake.

Hermione jerked upright with a shriek, her arms extended as if she might turn herself into a bird and fly away right at that second from shock. Viktor lurched awake beside her and grabbed her around the waist. "What is it?"

Gasping as if she'd just been running for her life, she looked around, trying to put together her current surroundings and how much time must have passed. "Dream," she croaked.

Shaking off the last of sleep, Viktor sat up. "A vision?"

She nodded. "More than one, actually."

"What did you see?"

Puzzling over all the different events she had witnessed, Hermione leaned against him, trying to make her heart slow down and her mind let go of someone else's fears. "History." Viktor made a confused noise. "I was—or she was—thinking about things. Remembering things she knows. It was as if she—and I—was reading it from a book and imagining it. It was about the Lady of the Lake, where she—I mean they—came from. And then there was the riddle from The Lord of the Rings: 'all that is gold does not glitter.'" Viktor nodded. "And then I was Morgana, like the vision by the lake when Harry and I fainted. Only she'd gone to Camelot in secret. Guinevere sent for her because Mordred's treason had begun. She gave Morgana the scabbard of Excalibur, but Morgana had Mordred's men after her. So she threw the scabbard to the Lady of the Lake to keep it away from Mordred."

Viktor wrinkled his nose, thinking hard. "There must be a reason for the different parts of the dream. A connection."

"I think so too," she mused. "The very first part…it reminded me of something. And we know there were actually four Ladies of the Lake, four sisters, but I think the first part was about how they were born. Their mother was a mortal woman. There was a flood, and she was saved…somehow." Grimacing, she flopped onto her back. "And seeing as this is before the birth of the Ladies of the Lake, that flood would have been a long time ago. There've been a ruddy lot of floods in ancient history."

"Perhaps you are thinking too broadly," Viktor said. "Your visions speak of the Arthurian Wars, but also of the War of the Ring. Perhaps that is the place to start." He pulled on his trousers and outer robe and trotted out into the library. Hermione waited, baffled, until he came back with a stack of books. "The writings of Master Tolkien would seem the place to begin."

"Lumos." Hermione picked up The Lord of the Rings while Viktor began leafing through The Histories of Middle Earth. "You know, the riddle poem could easily be referring to Arthur: the "crownless again shall be king" and the importance of a sword in the crowning—good god!"

"What?"

"The sword!" Hermione slapped her forehead, appalled at her own denseness. "The sword and the line of wizard kings!"

"Excalibur?" Viktor said in confusion.

"Among other things!" Hermione was almost giddy with excitement. "The first wizard king was Elendil, who carried the sword called Narsil that was broken in battle. Then his sons were killed and the line of kings was lost until his descendent, Aragorn, reforged the sword and renamed it Andúril, Flame of the West and regained the throne of men. And then…"

"His line of descendents was lost until Arthur pulled Excalibur from the stone as proof of his kingship," Viktor breathed. "It is—"

"—the same sword!" Hermione chorused with him. Impulsively, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him so wildly that they knocked the stack of books over. Breathless, and a little embarrassed, she pulled back. "Sorry."

"Do not be. I am excited by this too." Then they both caught the double-meaning and blushed. Hermione was suddenly hyper-aware of his bare chest, and her own unclad state. It rather bemused her that they had unthinkingly brought their interlude to a premature end for the sake of digging through books. She leaned against his chest, and he nuzzled her hair. "I said once I had never met anyone like you. That is still true."

Hermione looked up without moving her cheek from his skin. She liked the way he felt. "It's true for me too. You're wonderful, you know."

"I do not know, so I am glad you say it." She laughed, and he lay back down with her head still on his chest, absently rubbing circles on her back. "What is the time?"

She fumbled for her watch. "Quarter to one. Your team leaves in about four hours," she sighed.

Viktor echoed it, then changed the subject. "It is interesting, the significance of the sword, but why are you to know this, I wonder?"

"Hmm." She put her chin on his chest so she could look at his face. "Well, we know she gave the scabbard to the Lady of the Lake—one of them, anyway. And we're thinking Godric Gryffindor got his hands on Excalibur, but did Morgana ever get the scabbard back? And if not, where is it?"

"The scabbard had powers of its own, I remember," Viktor said. "It would be a great asset to Harry against Voldemort."

"Lord! Does this mean Harry's going to wind up some sort of king?" Hermione exclaimed, only half-joking.

Viktor laughed, shaking her with the movement until she braced herself on the floor with one hand. "Somehow I do not think so. But a leader of influence, perhaps. Not unlike Albus Dumbledore. In the days of Arthur and Elessar, power was in the hands of the warriors. Today, it is in the hands of the thinkers and the sorcerers. We have seen Harry's power already." Hermione shivered. "You are still afraid for him?"

"Either I am or she was. It's getting harder to know the difference. Harry seems…he's such a boy sometimes, still. Such a little boy. It doesn't seem right to put him in that position."

"Arthur was very young when he gained the sword. But he had his knights and his tutor. Perhaps his power was more from them than himself, and that is how it will be for Harry."

"I hope so," Hermione sighed. Her arm bumped one of the toppled books, and she grinned and shoved them away. Then her eyes fell on one of the titles.

The Silmarillion. "Oy!" Inadvertently jabbing her elbow into Viktor's ribs, she half-scrambled across him and grabbed the book.

"What have you found now?" Viktor grunted, sounding slightly disgruntled for the first time as he rubbed his bruised side.

"Sorry about that." Hermione flipped the book open gleefully and held it up for him to read.

"Akallabeth. The downfall of the island of Numenor into the ocean." Viktor recited, and a slow smile crossed his face as he comprehended her meaning.

"And the queen, the last child of the faithful to the Valar, ran up to the old temple to try to escape," Hermione finished, slapping the book closed in triumph. "It's assumed she drowned along with the rest of them and that Numenor sank completely, of course, but what if it didn't? What if the part of Numenor where the temple to the Valar—the old religion—stood stayed above the water?"

"And the shard of the island of Numenor, the land from whence all wizards came, became Avalon. And Queen Miriel was the mother of the four Ladies of the Lake," said Viktor. "And they became the guides of wizards in all the descending magical wars."

"Are they still alive, do you suppose?" Hermione mused.

"One was killed in the wars, I am thinking," Viktor said. "And Nimue the Fair died of a broken heart after Merlin's death, it is said. Merlin and Nimue had a child also."

"I remember—the water fay. I'll have to look her up, but there have been lots of water fey in history, so odds are they're all descended from Merlin and Nimue," said Hermione. "It would help if there was still a Lady of the Lake around for us to go chat with—once we find Avalon, that is. If we find it."

"I think we will," Viktor said. "And if there is reason for your visions, then it is significant that you have been told the origins of the Lady of the Lake, and that Morgana was her pupil. Perhaps as her descendent, you have inherited her mantle, and the Lady's help."

"That would be useful," Hermione agreed, suddenly noticing that her cloak, which had been doubling as a blanket, had slipped clean off her chest.

"Do you wish me to find more books?" Viktor offered, perfectly willing, but Hermione's heart was suddenly no longer in it.

"Later." Viktor blinked. "We have four hours until this bloody war resumes." With a wandless sweep of her hand, she banished the books back to the stacks. "And I mean to make the most of it."

Viktor needed no persuading.

A teasing kiss on the jaw line roused her, and she turned over to groggily tug him back into her arms. "It is almost five, beloved," Viktor murmured in her ear. "I must go."

"Damn," she muttered. "Tell Voldemort to bugger off."

She felt him chuckle against her side. "Gladly I will do it, and I think the rest of the Order will also."

With a groan, Hermione rolled onto her back. "Where are you going?"

"I am assigned St. Michael's Mount," he said, getting dressed.

Hermione sighed and hunted down her clothes as well. "I'll go with you to the Hall."

The Great Hall was a hub of activity, even at this early hour, as the teams assembled their gear and the families quartered at Hogwarts said their goodbyes. Viktor and Hermione walked close together, no longer concerned about the stares or remarks of others, and in truth, everyone else was too preoccupied to notice or care.

Alexiev greeted the two of them with equanimity, and Viktor saw Ron and Ginny Weasley with the rest of their family saying goodbye to Bill and Fleur with the Glastonbury team, but even when Roger Davies called him aside, Hermione did not leave. It gave him a strange, not-unpleasant warmth, knowing that she was there waiting. When he rejoined her, they went to meet the Weasleys.

"Where's Harry?" Hermione asked Ginny.

"Seeing Remus and Tonks off, I think."

Fleur kissed Hermione on the cheek, and Bill pried himself away from his mother long enough to embrace her and his younger siblings. "We'll see you when we get back."

"Look after yourselves," Ron told them gravely.

"And you!" Bill retorted, getting a chuckle from them all. "You take care as well, Krum."

"I will," Viktor replied.

Ginny looked around and frowned. "If Harry doesn't hurry up, he's going to miss you." She went to find him.

"Krum! We're ready here!" bellowed O'Rourke.

Viktor nodded to the others and walked back to his team, Hermione at his side. They paused a few paces from the group (who courteously busied themselves with the gear.) "Be careful," she said quietly.

"I will be. You must also be."

Hermione nodded, looking down, but he saw her trembling. So he abandoned all effort at discretion and kissed her. She clutched at him in response, eyes squeezed shut, until he forced himself to let her go and rejoin his team.

"Let's move, you lot!" Roger ordered, and as they gathered up their gear and headed out the door, Hermione stayed where she was, watching them go, and Viktor looked over his shoulder at her. He heard other Order members calling out farewells and good wishes as they went, but did not look away from Hermione until the Great Hall doors closed and they were marching down the grounds toward Hogsmeade.

"You all right?" O'Rourke asked him.

He didn't answer.

As the Glastonbury team moved out with Bill and Fleur, Ron came over to Hermione and put a hand on her shoulder. "He's a good bloke. He'll be okay." She forced a smile and nodded, not quite up to talking yet.

Ginny came stalking back into the Hall. "Problem?" asked Neville Longbottom.

Her jaw clenched, she growled, "He had better just be sulking somewhere."

Hermione forgot her anxiety for Viktor. "What?"

"I can't find Harry anywhere. Nobody's seen him since he said goodbye to Remus and Tonks!"

Ron hissed. "He…wouldn't…dare."

Headmistress McGonagall came to join them as Ginny marched back out. "Potter?"

"Appears to have misplaced himself," someone said.

"Hang on. I've got one other place to look," Ginny called to them. A few moments later, she returned with a small, square mirror in her hand. "Harry Potter, where the devil are you?"

The mirror glowed with early morning sunlight, illuminating Harry's startled face—startled like someone who'd been caught at no good. "Ginny?"

"Harry!" Hermione shrieked, grabbing for the mirror. "What do you think you're doing?"

His face had that all-too-familiar resigned, determined look that he got when he'd made up his mind to do something his friends would not approve of. "I've had another dream. I'm sorry, I just had to go."

"Wait!" Ginny yelled, as McGonagall seized the mirror.

"Potter, if you mean to confront him, let us send you with backup!"

"I don't know what I mean to do yet. I just know I have to go!" Harry insisted. "I'll call you again as soon as I figure this out. Don't do anything yet."

"Harry!"

But the mirror had gone dark.

To be continued…

Coming Soon: Harry is being led toward the final battle with Voldemort by a force he doesn't understand, but that same force is affecting Hermione—and although they don't realize it yet, there are others in the Order with ancestors whispering in their ears as well. Soon the voices of the past will be as loud as the ones in the present, and they're leading heroes and villains alike in Chapter Seven: Lineage!

PLEASE DON'T FORGET TO REVIEW!

P.S.: For those still having trouble following the Arthur/Lord of the Rings background, or who are just curious about what I've done with those two stories themselves, feel free to post questions on my forum, my LJ, or my Yahoo Group—or just email me if you wish. I'll probably post an article explaining the connections I've made in more detail soon, and possibly a short story in which one of the characters in question does the explaining.