A/N: God, I'm sorry! I've actually had this done since like Monday but I was determined that some editing should be done before I posted it. It's so freaking long, though, that I've only had time for one read through. Seriously, this was the chapter that wouldn't end. I'd also like to point out that all facts concerning Glastonbury, including descriptions of various places, were taken from my own knowledge and experiences there (all two of them) and I'm rather glad that I was able to keep it more or less factual. I apologize for any goofs. I tried to be accurate.

I also want you all to know that I think I've sorted the plot out but if you see any MAJOR plot holes, send me an e-mail (don't put them in a review, as I may miss it). The next chapter will be brimming with plot but will be so involved that it may take a while to update. I intend to devote myself to this story until it's completed, however. I'm on a roll and I'd like to keep on it. Sorry for those of you waiting for more of my other stuff. On to that when this is completed. I promise I'll write faster that way.

Hope you all enjoy. I tried to balance plot with human interaction. We'll see how well THAT turned out. Sorry, too, about any misspellings, grammatical errors, etc. I wanted this posted TODAY so I had to rush the editing more than I like.

J.T. of Gryffindor

()

Disclaimer: We solemnly swear we are up to no good…(of course it's not ours!)

()

NOTE: Yes, I know I call the pub The Seraph in the last chapter and the Saracen's Head in this chapter. It is because I am a moron and screwed up the name of the pub in the last chapter. I've been there, for god's sake! You'd think I'd know. Anyway, its real name is the Saracen's Head, and I've changed it in the last chapter as well. Don't be confused.

P.S. Anyone who catches the V. BRIEF Monty Python reference/quote gets a gold star – and a medal – and a "bitchin" sweater that's belonged to my best friend's vati since the late 1790s!

P.P.S. Special thanks to reviewer XUnFoRgEtTaBlEbAbEX who wrote a bitchin, long review for me including all sorts of questions that were the layout for me when I sat down to plan the end of this story. You've saved my butt, friend!!!!! Word to yo mama – and stuff

()

"Tris? Tristy? Oh, come on, love, wake up!"

The tender voice in her ear momentarily confused Tristan.

"Daddy?" she whispered, blinking blearily as she stared over the side of her bunk at a blurred figure with prominently black hair.

"Thanks a lot." Ah, no, that would be Cedric.

"Glasses?" she croaked. Something cold and metallic was pressed into her waiting hand.

"Thanks." Donning the telltale specks, she peered at him again, noticing both that he was already dressed and that he had a pack on.

"Wha – we're leaving already?" she yawned, pushing herself into a sitting position.

"We're the first bunch out and we've a seven o'clock bus with our names on it. We'll grab a quick bite in the cafeteria and then hit the road."

"Seven o'clock?" Tristan demanded, nevertheless throwing her long legs over the side of the bed. She glanced out the window, through which a dim light was beginning to glimmer. "Why so early?"

"Two hour bus ride," Cedric told her, reaching up and lifting her easily down. Tristan sighed in annoyance. He always babied her. Ruffling her hair was another unfortunate habit of his, which he soon after indulged in.

"Ced, stop it," she whined, stepping out of reach. "Two hours? I thought Glastonbury wasn't twenty miles from here."

He grinned ruefully.

"It isn't." He hefted the pack. "But the coach goes through a lot of country – Muggle towns and the like. In fact, we'll have to change in Wells, and then it's another twenty minutes."

"Oh, good," she muttered. "So if we get there before nightfall, we should count ourselves lucky?"

"Look on the bright side – you'll have as much time as you want to pick bloody stupid fights with lover boy out there," he retorted, his voice a funny mixture sarcasm, gruffness, and amusement at her discomfiture and subsequent blush.

"Go away," she said, giving him a shove toward the door.

"Going, going," he said, holding his hands out in a gesture of mock-placation. "Pack up. And put some clothes on."

"These are clothes," she called after him.

"One might also call them 'unnecessary enticement,'" Cedric retorted from the hall, his tone a bit louder than usual.

Probably hoping Hayden would overhear, Tristan thought with a flash of annoyance at her brother's over protectiveness. She really didn't need it – she'd proven for years that she could protect and take care of herself.

Except the time when it was most important, she thought, remembering with a fresh shock the reason they were all on this crazy escapade. It was she and Hayden who'd wound up dead at the wrong end of the timeline, after all.

The why of the whole thing was what puzzled Tristan, though. There was the why of her and Hayden being the targets, for a start . The obvious conclusion to draw was that they were the children of two of the most socially elite wizarding families is Britain. But what would the murderer have to gain by their deaths? Wouldn't a ransom make more sense than a murder? Was it an implied threat – as in, 'these two are first, who might be next?'

And then there was the why of the tampered with Portkey from Batley. Instead of taking them to Baggeridge Woods it had taken them to a dragon breeding ground.

"Who did Uncle Draco say the owner was?" Tristan mumbled to herself, pulling on her pants and staring blankly at the wall. Mac-somebody. Could someone from that family be in league with Red Robes?

The why that was really bothering her, though, was why the hell had they gone back in time to begin with? Had they indeed been killed in this time and been removed to the past to lure her young mum and dad here or had they gone back in time and been met by the killer? Had the killer been her and Hayden's reason for going back? Maybe they'd wanted to warn somebody of something.

A sudden thought struck Tristan. What if Red Robes wasn't really after her and Hayden? Neither of them were important key players in anything, as far as she knew. If would make much more sense for Red Robes to be after her father, or Uncle Draco, or Aunt Gin, even. She and Hayden made much more sense as the pawns, standing between Red Robes and the king or queen. Or they might have been in the way at the time they'd been killed, implying that they had gone back in time of their own volition.

The question was whether Red Robes was after the elder or younger versions. It made more sense to kill Harry, Blaise, Draco, and Ginny in the past, rather than trying to contend with their powerful future selves, she supposed.

It struck Tristan as she pulled on her worn boots that despite her impending murder, she wasn't feeling afraid, exactly. She should have been. Goddess, they were being chased by the murderer and their murder could have been any time in the near future. And yet . . . she felt strangely calm. A bit tense, as she had been for the entire trip. But it was more the tension of having been on her guard for weeks than of fear.

Perhaps it was her hope that her young father's coming was going to change time in some significant way that helped keep her composed. They had fair warning now. They would get to Dumbledore, Merlin willing, today. And they would get answers, sanctuary. She would be safe. Hayden would be safe.

And we might find Mum, she thought suddenly. A week ago she would have liked nothing more than to rip her mother's cold heart from her chest for the pain she'd caused her father, for the hurt to Cedric. Now, though . . . she'd gotten to know her mum's younger self, particularly on that night at Ken's place. The way she'd spoke, defended Tristan from her nightmarish younger Uncle Draco, touched her face . . .

"That's enough, Draco!"

"Thanks – thanks for defending me."

"Yeah – right. He shouldn't have been talking to you like that."

"I miss not having a mum."

"Look, hun. I'm no good at sentimental rubbish, but I seriously doubt I would have left Potter and my family without a good reason. Even now, I can't imagine it. And come on, Neville sodding Longbottom?"

Tristan grinned a bit.

"God, you move like a flobberworm."

Tristan glanced sharply up and saw Hayden glaring through the half-open doorway. He'd been even more unpleasant than usual after their scene in front of the Saracen's Head. They'd sat as far away from each other as possible inside the pub, but Tristan had not bothered to hide her staring as she contemplated Hayden and her past with him for the first time since – well, since before their fight in first year. Allowing herself to accept what she felt for him and likewise becoming fully aware that it had been his fault, not hers, had given her boldness to confront the pent up emotions that had haunted her so long.

"If you can't say anything worth hearing, then shut up," she advised, lacing her boots with care. "No one's stopping you from going down to breakfast without me." She gave him an unimpressed look. "I doubt even Ced is that paranoid."

She'd guessed and defeated his purpose. He'd been opening his mouth to blame his loitering on her older brother, but Tristan had him.

"It is awfully nice of you to wait for me, though," she said, managing to remove the bite of sarcasm from her voice. "I won't be another minute, really."

His scowling face disappeared from her door, but she didn't hear the tramp of retreating feet. Odd.

Don't read anything into it, she chided herself. He'd spent seven years convincing himself she was at fault and that he hated her. Nothing had changed.

"I don't hate you."

"You – you don't?"

"No."

Tristan closed her eyes as the memory of his voice when he'd said that came back to her. She shook the thought away, hoisted her pack onto her back, checked her pocket for her felly-tone, and left the room. Sure enough, Hayden met her on the landing (he was still glowering, she noticed with annoyance) and they descended the winding steps.

"Get up on the wrong side of bed?" she asked, partly irritated, but mostly curious. Anger was a symptom. Something besides Tristan must have been aggravating him. Sure, he was still hacked about last night, but then why wait for her on the landing?

"You do realize," he bit out, "that we're being chased by a murderer."

She stared at him. That hadn't been what she expected at all.

"No way! What brought you to that conclusion?" she said in mock-horror.

"Tristan!" He grabbed her shoulder, pulling her to a halt as they stepped off onto the next landing and stepping around to face her. "Have you really thought about this? You're going to die."

She gaped. Not because she hadn't realized this but because it was only a few minutes ago that she'd really begun to give it thought herself.

"Don't you see?" he said, his voice suddenly strained and his expression going from angry to anxious. "Our parents coming forward in time – us going to find Dumbledore – this could all be leading up to our deaths, couldn't it? Their coming to warn us could be what's going to make us go back in time and die."

Tristan gave a start, as she suddenly realized what he meant. Her parents coming to save them, before they'd gone back in time, could be – or rather, have been – what caused them to go back in time themselves in the first place.

"What – what suddenly made you start thinking about this all of a sudden?" she asked shakily.

"Nothing!" he snapped, tearing his eyes away from her face.

"Hayden!" she said, almost desperately. He'd not said "we're going to die" but "you're going to die." And he didn't hate her. And he'd offered to loan her a sweater. And he'd kissed her – twice. And she loved him. And . . .

"Oh," she whispered, staring at his downcast face. He was glowering defiantly at the floor. "Hayden?" she said again, reaching out a hesitant hand and pulling at his chin until his eyes rose to meet hers. Their expression was unreadable, but the thoughts behind them were as open to Tristan as a book. She'd known him since they'd been babies, after all.

Feeling torn, she passed his chin to stroke his pale cheek, wishing achingly that they could resolve everything right now. But it was like there was a wall – a wall that didn't allow Hayden to say the words Tristan had to hear. He stared helplessly at her through hooded eyes, as if trying to throw the words he couldn't say aloud into her mind. He stood perfectly still as her hand traveled gently over every inch of his face.

Tristan took a deep breath, feeling a headache coming on. Nothing had ever been simple with them, and she couldn't accept a silent repent. Until he overcame the pride that he landed him in Gryffindor House, Tristan couldn't accept him. Slowly, she removed her hand from his face, watching his beautiful eyes flutter closed and then open again with an almost painful entreaty.

"Look." She rubbed her temples, closed her own eyes. "We don't have time for this, or 'what if' games. Yeah, this might be leading to our deaths, or it could be that Uncle Harry's decision to warn us has already re-written a huge chunk of history. I don't know." She opened her eyes, but couldn't stand to look at him and hurried passed him down the stairs.

He followed in silence, making no move to stop her.

She reached the cafeteria to see her brother chowing down on cereal, fruit, and toast points. He'd already filled their bowls, cups, and platters with food he knew they liked.

Both sat silent as they eat, and Tristan couldn't ignore her brother's surprised, suspicious glances.

"What's with you two?" he finally demanded after finishing off the last of his toast. "No bickering, no teasing, nothing. What's up?"

"We're worried about Red Robes, Ced," Hayden spoke up quickly. Tristan threw him a grateful look for taking the initiative. She didn't think she was up for lying to her brother at the moment. Not that it was completely a lie. They were worried about Red Robes.

About time, too, she thought, realizing how ridiculous it was that neither of them had really given their murderer deep thought before.

"We were talking about the timeline, and – well, our parents coming forward in time could be what caused us to go back, couldn't it?" he said, quirking a blond brow.

"It could," Cedric agreed, looking speculatively between his cousin and his sister. "But – look, kids, don't go second guessing yourselves. It could be that, or it could be that dad and mum and Aunt Gin and Uncle Draco are creating massive changes that are already altering things for the better."

Tristan felt relieved as he spoke the words she had earlier so firmly.

"Let's take this one step at a time," he said slowly, watching them finish their food. "We'll get to Glastonbury, hopefully find Avalon – "

"If anyone can find it, you can, Ced," Tristan said with a firm grip on his hand.

"She's right," Hayden said, his eyes steely. "You'll find it, Ced."

He grinned ruefully back and forth between the younger kids. There was something in his eyes that made Tristan uneasy. Whatever it was vanished almost before it had appeared. "Well, no sense in worrying prematurely. Let's get that bus and get the hell out of here."

They checked out soon after, and were waved away by Stan and his toothy grin.

"Have a safe trip!" he called cheerfully after them.

"You said it, bub," Cedric muttered, leading the way through the sliding glass doors and down the steps into the courtyard.

They walked in silence, lost in their own thoughts, until they'd passed through Bath Abbey Square and hit the main drag that led back to the train station.

"Didn't you say Ian and Aunt Gin and Uncle Draco were staying along Manvers Street somewhere?" Tristan asked, as the silence went from companionable to uncomfortable.

"Yeah." Cedric's eyes stayed straight ahead. "See that red door and flashy sign just up ahead? That's where they are."

"Poor mum – hope she got some sleep last night," Hayden murmured, more to himself than to them.

"Don't worry – Ian'll take care of her," Tristan said. "He can be useful when he puts his mind to it."

She smiled as she thought of her redheaded friend.

They finally made it to the coach depot that sat in front of the train station. Cedric's sharp eyes raked over the few busses parked there.

"There it is – and it looks empty," he said in relief. "Come on, let's go."

()

Hayden would never have admitted it, but he hated busses almost as much as his father did. He didn't feel sick, exactly, but he was sure he would if he looked anywhere but out the front window. Beautiful as sunrise-illuminated English countryside was, the road, which was most of the time only wide enough to admit a single Muggle car twisted and wove between cottages, woods, and pasture. Two hours of this – well, an hour and a half since there were few commuters at this time of day – and Hayden did become increasingly aware of his breakfast sloshing around in his stomach.

It was a very relieved party of three that climbed off the bus in Wells. Another few moments of searching found them the coach to Glastonbury. They hadn't been aboard two minutes before it pulled away.

Hayden felt a lurch in his stomach that had nothing to do with motion sickness. After all this planning, after everything they'd been through in the past couple of weeks, they were finally going to reach Glastonbury – finally going to see Dumbledore and sort this mess out!

"I can't believe we're nearly there," Tristy's awed voice echoed his thoughts from her seat across the aisle where she sat with her brother. "After all the crap we've been through."

"Just hope we find Dumbledore in time," Cedric said, more to himself than to them.

"Never mind Avalon," Hayden pointed out. Worrying about finding Dumbledore was a bit premature yet, he thought.

"'In time' for what, Ced?" Tristy asked curiously.

"Oh, we'll find it," Cedric assured him, answering Hayden's question and ignoring Tristy's.

"How do you know?" Hayden probed. The older boy did sound awfully sure of himself.

"Trust me," he said. "I know these things. I'm a tracker, remember?"

"Sure." But Hayden remained doubtful. A mythical land, long lost in legend, Avalon could take them weeks to find. It could have been hidden anywhere.

It might now exist.

Hayden cursed himself for getting so worked up. They hadn't even begun looking yet.

"Where will we start, Ced?" he asked. "Looking, I mean. What's in Glastonbury?"

"Well, there are three points of interest relevant to the Avalon myth," Cedric said slowly. "There's Glastonbury Abbey, which was once the second richest church in England and in which King Arthur and Queen Guinevere are supposedly buried. Then there's the Chalice Well, which is considered sacred by Muggles. It's like a garden," he explained, noticing their questioning faces, "that feeds off the water that comes from an underground pool called the Chalice Well. The legend is the Joseph of Arimathea – he's a bloke central to a Muggle religion called Christianity – he brought the Holy Grail – a goblet carrying to blood of the Christ who's supposedly the savior, according to Christian doctrine – to what was then Avalon and buried it at the source of the Chalice Well. See, the Holy Grail is supposed to have healing powers – the blood of the savior is supposed to heal blindness and stuff like that. So Muggles come to the Chalice Well gardens and drink the water, which oddly enough runs orange. Some Muggles say it's the Christ's blood that still runs through the water and gives it its healing properties. Some say it's just iron, because the rocks in the creek bed are stained orange. In any case, this seems a likely place to find an entrance to Avalon. It's going to be magically concealed either under Glastonbury or near it somewhere. The other place we'll want to look at is the tower on Glastonbury Tor. Supposedly, the source of the Chalice Well is underneath the Tor at its center. The tower itself is kind of mysterious. Muggles think it was built by an enemy of King Arthur to keep the captive Guinevere hidden from him, but others think it was built to protect a sacred healing site, because the faults created by the water running under it are supposed to be incredibly powerful and healing. Not a lot is known about it."

"You seem to know an awful lot about all this," Tristy said, eyeing him speculatively. "How'd you learn all this stuff, Ced?"

"I keep my ears open," he said casually. "And I've been reading up on the legends and stuff."

"However you look at it," Hayden said slowly, turning this new wealth of information over in his mind, "it sounds like the Chalice Well is the key to all this."

"Right," Cedric nodded. "Which is why we're going to check it out first. Dad and mum are going to take the Tor and Uncle Draco, Aunt Gin, and Ian are going to take the Abbey. The three of us poke around the Chalice Well a bit. But you're right, Den – I've got a hunch our answer is the well."

Hayden guessed it was another ten minutes before they reached Glastonbury. It was hard to tell where to get off. They'd passed a sign reading "Welcome to Glastonbury" above five miles ago and then proceeded to drive up onto a kind of plateau packed with Muggle houses. After driving around it for a time, Hayden was beginning to wonder if that was all there was to Glastonbury when the bus suddenly plunged down a steep, narrow road and came out paralleling the cliff face.

"I think this is it," Cedric murmured, pulling a cord by his chair. A pleasant ding sounded just as the bus came within view of several tall structures to their right, which could only be commercial buildings.

The bus pulled off and let them out at the top of a gradually descending street.

"Okay, I think I know where we are," Cedric said slowly. Hayden had seen him pouring over a map the night before. "We want to parallel the town but not actually enter it. The Chalice Well should be along the main drag here."

As they headed off along the main street, Hayden was surprised to see Tristy trying to catch his eye.

"What?" he mumbled, as she dropped back to walk beside him.

"Dunno," she said. To his surprise, she was eyeing her brother with an anxious expression. "It's Ced – he, um . . . " she paused, looking pained, and then dropping her voice even lower, she whispered, "How does he know so much about this place?"

"Could he have been here before, maybe?" Hayden said.

"Why would we bother with guide books and the like if he'd already been here?" she retorted.

She had a point.

"He's been pretending to be just as clueless about it as the rest of us," he agreed slowly.

"Pretending? You think he knows more about what's going on than he's letting on?" Tristy hissed anxiously.

"No idea – he's your brother," Hayden pointed out.

Tristy went quiet, but she still looked desperately worried. Hayden was beginning to feel that way himself as he followed in Cedric's long, purposeful steps. Had his cousin – blood brother, Hayden remembered idly – more knowledge than the rest of them? Or had he just read up on everything and was an exceptionally good tracker?

Hayden sighed. His brain was smarting and he didn't think he was getting himself anywhere. Never mind. Dumbledore would help them sort everything out in Avalon, Hayden reassured himself as he followed Tristy and Cedric down the now sunny sidewalk.

()

"I knew sharing a twin bed was a bad idea," Harry muttered balefully, staring up at Blaise in mild annoyance.

"Not my fault you move around a lot when you sleep." Blaise grinned over the edge of the bed at Harry, who was gracelessly festooned in bed sheets and was sprawled across the floor of their room at the Muggle bed and breakfast. The grin became a smirk as Blaise offered him a hand up, which he accepted, rubbing his backside, which ached slightly more than the rest of him.

"I'll be stiff for hours," he complained.

"Again, not my fault," she said, curling up like a cat and staring up at him expectantly. "Nightmare?"

She said it casually, but Harry caught something more than idle curiosity in her expression.

"Nightmare," he confirmed, hobbling toward the loo. "Nothing new."

When he emerged five minutes later, Blaise was already pulling on Ginny's borrowed sweatshirt. She hadn't noticed him yet, so he took a moment to just look at her, marveling at what they'd become over the course of the trip.

"Get off me, Potter!"

"Watch it, Potter – I don't want to have to burn these robes just because you touched them again."

"Sweet Merlin, she's a contrary little witch."

"Wouldn't you be if you had to walk around looking like you had dung under your nose all the time?"

"What the hell were you doing, Potter? I thought you were supposed to be the youngest Seeker in a hundred years – I've seen that fat ass Longbottom eat faster than you were running!"

"Don't ever scare me like that again, Zabini."

"One that involves you getting the dragon's attention while the rest of us make a run for it, no doubt. Potter, do you want to die? One wonders sometimes, you know."

"Why? Would you miss me if I were gone, Zabini?"

"Zabini, you can seduce the local innocents later!"

"He – he kissed her!"

"And what exactly are you smirking at, Potter?"

Harry blinked. Blaise stood staring questioningly at him and he realized he'd been completely lost in his reverie. He blushed, but answered bluntly.

"You, obviously."

"Something you want?" she asked, moving toward him and lifting a provocative eyebrow.

Harry gave a rueful chuckle deep in his throat. She had no idea . . .

"Nothing we have time for right now," he said regretfully, nevertheless resting his hands on her waist when she'd swaggered within reach. "We've got a bus to catch."

Blaise sighed and rested her forehead against his for a long moment, her arms looping round his neck.

"This whole 'adventure', I think you called it, has been hell," she said at last. "But – " she paused, pulling back and staring almost shyly into his eyes – "there're a few things I don't regret about it."

Harry smiled warmly at her, leaning forward to give her a long, slow kiss.

"That makes two of us, Zabini," he murmured, moving from her lips to her cheek to her neck.

"I thought we didn't have time for this, Potter," she sighed, arching her neck into the kisses.

"We don't," he agreed, his arms tightening around her back as he pulled her more firmly against him. She felt – perfect. "But how long will it be before we're alone together again?"

"How true," she whispered, her hands coming from around his neck and working up the front of his shirt.

Things might have gotten considerably more out of hand, had there not been a quiet tap at the door. Both froze, sharing looks of mingled horror and regret as they pulled (with difficulty) away from their somewhat tangled embrace.

"Yes?" Harry called cautiously, smoothing his shirt.

"Sorry to disturb, Mr. Potter, but breakfast is being served if you're hungry."

Oh, praise Merlin, it was just Mr. Shears, Harry thought with infinite relief. He'd been expecting far less pleasant company. Not, he chided himself, that less pleasant company would have bothered to knock.

"Thanks," Blaise called. "We'll be down in a minute."

"We will?" Harry mouthed, shouldering his pack and staring curiously at her. He could hear Mr. Shears footsteps descending the stairs.

"If we don't eat now, when do you think we'll get another chance?" she retorted. "We may arrive at Avalon today, for all we know. And we have time. Ced and company are leaving first, if you recall."

She had a fair point, Harry thought. He was hungry – in more ways than one. Blaise must have noticed him staring again.

"Don't come near me, Potter," she warned playfully, throwing a pillow at him. "I won't let you off so easily next time."

Harry was torn between a groan and a snort. The noise that came out of his mouth was more of a grunt, and he hurriedly slipped passed Blaise through the door.

They ate quickly, careful not to speak too openly to their hosts and trying to keep unobtrusively quiet through their meal. They had finished before anyone else.

"That was fast," Mr. Shears said. "You're certainly eager to be off."

"We're heading for Ireland this morning," Harry lied easily. "Got to catch a train to Liverpool so we can make our boat to the Isle of Man on time."

Where had all that rubbish come from? he wondered, trying to keep a smile of mild satisfaction from his face. Well, that might throw Red Robes or whoever was looking for them a bit, should the news spread. They certainly weren't heading north.

"Well, glad you could stop by Bath," Mr. Shears said pleasantly. "Come back for a longer stay sometime."

"We will," Blasie said casually enough. "Bath's a nice place."

They settled their bill and departed, eager to make their nine o'clock bus.

"Hope Tristy and Ced and Hayden got off alright," Harry murmured and they retraced their steps through the Royal Victoria Park and wound their way up past the Royal Crescent.

"If anyone can make their part of a plan go off without a hitch, it's our ruddy son," Blaise muttered, sounded both proud and annoyed.

Our son.

Both paused at the sound of that, and oddly both blushed. Blaise had been right. In keeping with the timeline, she would have to have Cedric when she turned eighteen, which was within the year and a half or so.

"Do you – do you think it'll happen?" she asked haltingly, turning her head to glance at him with the first uncertain expression Harry had ever seen her wear.

"Dunno," he said, his forehead wrinkling in thought. He winced. "I love Cedric, I really do. But I'm just not feeling – well – " he paused again, felt the blush deepen a bit.

"Not feeling up to teen fatherhood?" Blaise said bluntly, although she, too, was still blushing. "I – um – I'm not sure I'm up for it, either – motherhood, I mean, not fatherhood."

Harry couldn't help grinning at her. She sounded so uncharacteristically innocent and nervous. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Never mind that now," he said. "We've got other things to worry about. And anyway, we've polluted the timeline so badly by now that I can't see any of this going on the way it is now."

Blaise was silent until they'd passed through the Circus, a circular series of fancy buildings, and passed onto Gay Street.

"Suppose it's us meddling with time that causes all this?" she said, her voice low. "Suppose if we hadn't come none of this would have happened? I mean, before this you and I hadn't said two things to each other. Now we're – this." She indicated their clasped hands.

Harry swore. That thought, amazingly, had never even occurred to him. What else might not have happened if they hadn't come forward in time? Just as quickly, he shook off the thought.

"No – innocent until proven guilty." He murmured Dumbledore's words like a mantra. "Anyway, Red Robes has a hand in this himself. Whatever's happening he's also to blame for messing about."

"Of course – Harry, stop blaming yourself!" Blaise said sharply. "I didn't mean this was your fault. Weasley, Draco, and I were foolish enough to follow you, so you're not to blame for us. Anyway, what's done is done, and our job is to find Dumbledore and see if we can fix it. Let's focus on that, not who's to blame."

"Right." Harry forced his mind away from his gnawing guilt at have betrayed Dumbledore's orders not to meddle and onto the task at hand. Saving his daughter.

()

"How's he doing?" Ginny asked, hoping she didn't sound too anxious.

It didn't matter how casually she said it, Dorian was still going to take whatever she said regarding Draco completely the wrong way.

"He's fine this morning and cursing the air blue," the redhead told her with an impish grin. "He's not fond of his current diet, I can tell you that right now."

Keeping Draco to his strict diet of toast, soup crackers, water, and juice, Ginny and Dorian had left the dingy youth hostel and were having a rather fancy breakfast in Bath's elegant Pump Room. Neither of them had any intention of telling Draco this, or he'd have thrown the mother of all fits. But after what she and Dorian had had to endure the night before, Ginny had decided they deserved a reward.

"Well, at least whatever he had was temporary and not contagious," Ginny muttered. "We're so close to Glastonbury – I'd hate to have to stop again because you or I was ill."

"Too true." Dorian took a hefty bite of scone and cream, a large gulp of tea, and grinned.

"But then, if you get sick, Uncle can return the favor and baby you for a night," he pointed out innocently.

Ginny blushed, but had to agree that Draco definitely owed her. She couldn't believe their luck – his and Dorian's assigned dorm had been totally empty for the rest of the night, so she'd been able to be in there most of the night without either getting kicked out or stared at. Actually, she didn't believe their luck – she had a feeling Dorian had bribed one of the Muggles downstairs to rearrange the room assignments so the dorm would be empty.

In any event, Draco had settled into a comfortable routine of dry retching at every half-hour from about ten-thirty to two the night before. When he hadn't had any complaints between two and four, Ginny had sighed in relief and realized the episode was over. He'd been oddly quiet through the whole ordeal, and even allowed Ginny to replace his frequent dashes for the loo with a bucket. That had been particularly disgusting, since Ginny couldn't use magic to clean it and had had to make trips to the loo herself to dump the contents of the bucket. By midnight, there were no contents, so Ginny had sat quietly, holding the bucket for him just in case, and holding his hand.

She could have just left him to it, but she didn't. There was something so pitiful about the whole thing, and Ginny knew that she herself hated to be left along while sick. She wondered if Draco had ever had anyone to be with him while he was ill when he was a child. Well, he bloody well wasn't going to be alone this time.

Dorian had wisely gone to a bunk on the other side of the dorm and dropped off to sleep, pretending not to notice his weak uncle. Ginny babying Draco was one thing, but both Weasleys knew that the irascible blond would take exception to any 'manly intervention.' Not that anyone referring to Dorian would think to use the word 'manly', but it was the idea that would sting.

It was around three that Draco finally spoke to her.

"Shove off, Weasel, I'm all right," he muttered, sounded both exhausted and embarrassed.

"Oh, that's nice," she murmured in return, a glint of amusement in her eye. "And don't call me Weasel."

"Fine, Virginia," he said, opening eyes that were twinkling likewise. "Get off to bed and stop fussing. It won't help if I have to carry you around tomorrow."

"We're the last group to leave. I can sleep till ten and we'll still make our bus," she reassured him, smoothing the coverlet unnecessarily.

He sighed resignedly and closed his eyes. No thanks, no anything. Not that Ginny minded. She wasn't doing this for thanks, she was doing it out of compassion.

Or something else ending in passion, came an annoying voice in her head. You're just obsessed, that's all.

I'm just doing what's right, another part of her brain chimed in.

Sure you are – but you're also mad about him.

How true.

Draco's eyes had snapped open suddenly, making Ginny jump. They glittered in the light of the streetlamp outside, turning them an even more steely grey than usual.

"Why are you doing this?" he demanded, almost plaintively. "I treat you like dirt, all the time – and you treat me like I'm – like I'm – "

"Like you're human, and not a nasty little ferret," Ginny finished for him, with an ironic smile. He scowled, but gave a little nod.

"Dunno," she said, which wasn't completely true. "I guess I just can't help myself. You act all self assured and proud of yourself and your family. But really – " and here she smiled. "Really, I don't know what you are. Sometimes you're a terrible prick who's horrible to everyone. And sometimes," she paused again, searching for the right words. Inexplicably, his older self came into her mind, and she smiled. "Sometimes, you're this handsome man who admits he's an arse, looks scarily like his father, kids with his son, and kisses my hand." She stared at him, blushing. "It's like you're two different people."

Draco stared hard at her, eyes still glittering strangely in the light.

"Aunt? We've got trouble," came Dorian's voice through her reverie. Ginny felt her consciousness snap back to the Pump Room like a rubber band. She jumped, and felt her heart rate pick up considerably.

"What sort of trouble?" she demanded. Oh, Merlin, it was Red Robes for sure. Seated with her back to the door she couldn't see who Dorian was watching. For once, he was exercising caution, flickering his eyes every so often toward the door.

"It's bad – oh, but not that bad. Merlin, I'm sorry, Aunt," Dorian said in a rush. "I didn't mean to frighten you! It's just – "

"Ginny Weasley," came a curt voice from behind her. "You left me alone in a sleazy dorm with sugar water, crackers that tasted like sand, and a banana while you came down here to the nicest tea room in Britain to eat scones with your pillock nephew."

"Our pillock nephew," Ginny retorted, rolling her eyes as Draco took a seat at their table, glaring daggers at her. "How'd you know we were here?"

"Asked the Muggle at the desk if you'd gone out and he said you were looking for somewhere 'nice' to eat," Draco told her, reaching for her scone. She slapped his hand away.

"You're not supposed to be eating anything like this right now," she admonished, totally ignoring his deadly expression. "The last thing we need is you getting sick again, especially since we have two hours and twenty minutes of bus riding ahead of us."

"Like I give a – " but the implied warning had the desired effect and he drew his hand back, muttering rudely under his breath.

Ginny and Dorian decided not to tempt his appetite or temper further by remaining in the elegant hall, but instead hurriedly finished their breakfasts and returned with the testy blonde to the hostel to collect their belongings.

"You're starting off early," Jake, the Muggle, said good-naturedly. "You sure he's up for it?" He nodded toward Draco.

Feeling now was not the time to strain the Slytherin's temper, Ginny jumped in.

"Just food poisoning, he's fine."

"Like we said, we're on an adventure," Dorian added. "We're bored with Bath so we thought of heading for – ah, Liverpool." Draco kicked Ginny's foot, probably so she'd stop gaping at her nephew like a beached whale. Liverpool?

"Right," Jake said. "Liverpool's a real laugh riot. Well, have fun. Be careful what you eat up there in highflying, action packed Liverpool."

He seemed to have taken Dorian's slight of Bath as a personal insult. Ginny snorted. Boys.

As they tramped out of the room, Jake called, "Look, skip Liverpool. Try for Manchester. Wicked football teams and the best night clubs."

Ginny waved back and ushered the boys out in front of her.

"Football?" Draco said, the second the violently red door had closed on them. "What's – "

"It's this lame-as-arse Muggle sport," Dorian explained, hefting his backpack and leading the way down Manvers Street toward the bus depot. "There's one ball, no brooms, and no co-ed teams."

"You're kidding!"

Ginny couldn't quite believe that this line of conversation kept them entertained all the way to the bus depot, but Draco enjoyed being contemptuous and most wizards or witches who weren't Muggleborn were disgusted with football, as compared with Quidditch.

Ginny tuned them out once they'd boarded the correct coach. She stared out the window at the bright, cheerful day, the lovely rolling hills, and thatch-roofed houses of the countryside they passed through. The ride was a long one, but she looked up often enough to note that Draco wasn't looking even remotely sick, even on the narrowest, twistiest country roads. For this, she was deeply grateful. One night had been bad enough. Now that they were (supposedly) nearing the end of their journey, any changes in schedule might ruin everything.

"You look out that window long enough and you'll be sicker than I was, Weasley," came Draco's (currently bored) voice over the rattle of the bus. He was seated beside her, as the bus was crowded. Ginny had heard him swear more than once that he was not sitting next to a Muggle if his life depended on it.

"I won't," she assured him. "It's next to impossible that I'll get sick from a scone and a cup of tea."

Her stomach was doing funny things, however, in response to his leg being pressed up against hers. She was glad Dorian was seated in front of her and was currently occupied in flirting with a passably attractive Muggle in a school uniform who had seated herself beside him.

"Hope the kid doesn't say anything stupid," Draco muttered, evidently following her gaze.

"He may be careless, but he's not stupid, Draco," she pointed out. This time she only sighed and turned a bit pink when she realized she'd called him by his first name. There was no help for it – she was falling hard.

"Are you kidding?" For once, Draco seemed disinclined to comment snidely on her slip of the tongue. "He's related to Ron Weasley, world's greatest prat and dimwit."

Ginny slugged him in the arm, glaring ferociously.

"Don't you insult my brother when he's not here to pound your face, Malfoy!" she hissed dangerously.

"Ow! Stroppy cow!" Draco muttered, rubbing his arm. "What do you care what I say about him?"

"He's my brother and I love him," she said simply. She paused, thinking of Ron and her other brothers. She wondered briefly what Bill looked like – or Charlie or the twins. Ron had looked like Charlie had at that age. An overgrown kid. She smiled at that. Were the twins married? she wondered suddenly. What was Percy up to? For all she knew he could be Minister of Magic.

Or dead.

Ginny gave a physical start as the thought occurred to her. Her family had dangerous professions and all had lived through a time of great turmoil. It would, Ginny thought (horrified), not be so surprising if not all of them had made it through.

Leaning forward with the intention of asking Dorian about his uncles, her finger paused just over his shoulder. Dorian, still chatting up the blonde schoolgirl, didn't notice. After a moment's reflection, Ginny drew her hand back. On second thought, there was a good bet they'd be out of this timeline by this evening. And although she'd been curious about many things in her future, she had just touched upon the one that she least wanted to know.

"What was that about?" Draco asked, eyeing her shrewdly.

"Nothing," she said. "I just – though better of something." She smiled ruefully. "I have a dreadful time controlling my curiosity sometimes."

"It's that and your bloody pride that got you into Gryffindor," he pointed out.

She turned to offer an angry retort about the oh-so-noble qualities that made him top-candidate for Slytherin – and paused. He was smirking and obviously looking to provoke her, but there was more there, too. It had almost sounded like a question.

"As opposed to your cleverness and maliciousness that landed you as king of Slytherin?" she retorted, trying to inflect the same question into her own tone. When he didn't immediately respond, she added, "Labels are really very easy things, aren't they?"

"What do you mean?" He looked genuinely curious now, and as that wasn't a look he wore often, Ginny tried to encourage its continuance for the present by elaboration.

"Well, at Hogwarts, it's the old one-liner – oh, don't worry, he's only a Slytherin, or oh, we're only playing Hufflepuff, or well I would ask Padma Patil to the Yule Ball but she's a Ravenclaw, you know so she'll probably be in the library instead." Ginny shrugged. "I guess it was watching Hayden and Tristy going on that got me thinking about the House thing. I mean, our son, Draco – he's in Gryffindor, and yet he acts more like a stereotypical Slytherin than Tristy ever has. She shows loyalty, he shows coldness, she shows curiosity, he shows cleverness. They could as easily swap Houses, you know."

"Well, you've got to cut Hayden a break," Draco pointed out, although to her surprise he seemed to be turning the thought over in his mind. "He comes from two people who are so totally different – I mean, hell, Gin!" He gestured wildly at her. "About the only thing we have in common is that we're both devastatingly gorgeous twenty-three years from our own time."

"And we're modest, too," Ginny muttered.

"I'm serious!" Draco snapped. "As part Weasley – " he shuddered at the thought, which was rather insulting – "he was bound to land in Gryffindor. Who in your family hasn't? But as part Malfoy – well, we've got strong personalities, haven't we?"

Ginny snorted. Draco quirked an eyebrow.

"Something funny?" he asked.

"I can't understand how you're so fully aware of your own persona and you're completely okay with it," she blurted out.

"Why wouldn't I be?" he asked, sounding genuinely puzzled.

"You've said it yourself, Draco – you're an extreme arse!" she told him.

"Sure, I am," he said with a shrug. "And Potter's reckless. And Blaise seduces innocent schoolboys. And you're hopelessly naïve." He paused, staring hard at her. "Some things never change, Weasley. I accept who I am, the good and the not-so-good. Believe it or not, some people think I'm all right. Just like people think Potter's all right and Blaise is all right. Merlin, people are mad about you!"

And why shouldn't they be? Ginny thought indignantly. There wasn't anything wrong with her! Well, she had her quirks, but so did everyone.

She stopped suddenly as she suddenly realized what he meant. The cogs in her brain slowed as she pondered this new idea. She had always accepted herself as she was because she knew that bad qualities accompanied good. Why should it have been any different with Draco? Or Blaise? Or Harry, even? Even Draco had good qualities. He'd shown many of them during this trip. Thankfulness, uncertainty, remorse – and those had only appeared during the last twenty-four hours!

Entirely preoccupied with this idea, Ginny didn't speak again until they got off the bus in Glastonbury (having nearly got off too early before, Ginny was grateful that Draco and Dorian had been paying attention).

"So," Dorian said, clapping his hands eagerly together, "which way to this Abbey thing Ced wants us to look at?"

()

"I hope," Blaise panted, "that this climb is worth it."

"You and me both," Harry said.

They'd found Glastonbury Tor quite easily, as it was along the main road just outside of town and there were signs liberally posted as they drew near. The lovely, pale blue sky that Harry had been giving thanks for earlier he was now learning to loath. Only the first part of the path up the Tor had been shaded by a heavy overhang of tall, ancient trees. Now, however, they were paralleling a field of cattle and took comfort in no shrubbery or brush of any kind. The sun beat down on them as they climb an old stile and followed several tourists up the path.

"It's impressive, you've got to give it that," Blaise pointed out breathlessly, coming to a halt below a set of stairs built into the face of the grassy hill. It was pretty spectacular. The tower sat perched at the very top of the grassy slopes that spilled away on either side, creating a hill almost triangular in shape. Just over the tower sat the moon, much more defined than Blaise had ever seen it before during the daytime. The Tor itself, Cedric had told Blaise a few days ago, was only the hill, referring in Celtic to its triangular shape. The tower was an entity unto itself, and according to Cedric there was a lot of controversy surrounding it.

"According to this," Harry said, squinting down at a brochure some Muggle had offered him at the bottom, "there's a load of controversy surrounding the tower. The official, Muggle version is that it's all the remains of a church – the church of St. Michael. There're myths and legends about King Arthur's wife, Guinevere, being kidnapped and held here by King Melwas. . . and then there's a bunch of stuff about the Tor itself . . . "

"Come on, genius," Blaise sighed, knowing that if she didn't distract him he'd probably stand there all day reading the bloody brochure. "Let's go have a look."

It was a 160-meter climb to the top over a long dirt path, which with a few aberrations went straight up the Tor. The view was spectacular. On one side lay Glastonbury proper, a collection of village houses and small buildings, as well as a couple of churches (big on religion here, Blaise thought), and on the other lay the panorama of Somerset County, oddly obscured by a hazy, gray mist.

When they at last reached the top, it was to discover that there was a very healthy wind pummeling the place, which was a relief after the dusty climb. Several tourists were milling about, but otherwise the tower looked deserted.

"Shall we?" Harry called over the wind, gesturing to the tower.

It came as something of a shock when they entered to discover that the tower comprised little more than a single area no larger than a room, and had no roof. One door led in one side and another led out opposite side.

"Fancy," Blaise said, staring around.

"Not a lot here," Harry agreed, meandering over to a wall and placing a hand on the cool stone. Blaise wandered out through the other door. The view on the other side of the tower was similarly spectacular, although the strange, grayish haze again obscured it. She wondered idly if it was fog or that vapor caused by Muggle pollution.

"Weird, isn't it?" Harry's deep voice came from just behind her.

"What's weird?" Blaise asked.

"This is probably exactly what it looks like in our time," he said softly.

Our time.

Blaise felt her insides lurch as she suddenly recollected that she was staring at a landscape that was twenty-three years older than she was. It was unnerving. She felt totally out of place.

"Unsettling, more like," she mumbled to herself. She barely noticed Harry's arm wrap around her waist and pull her to his side. For another heartbeat, Blaise gazed unseeingly out over the vast landscape below them.

"It's funny," Harry said suddenly. "According to Muggle history, all that farmland and everything below us used to be a seabed."

"What?" Blaise was brought back to the present – not her present, she reminded herself uneasily – but the present nonetheless.

"You can see the lines, actually," Harry went on, pointing down the opposite side of the Tor. "If you look all the way down to about ten feet above the base of the Tor you can almost see how the water might have washed against its sides. And think about its shape. See how some parts of it look almost terraced? And look at the fields. According to this," he gestured to his brochure, "when people began to settle here they found the earth incredibly fertile."

He opened the pamphlet and began reading again.

"Yup, here it is – 'Two thousand year ago, the sea washed right up to the base of the Tor, being succeeded gradually by a vast lake.'"

"Huh." This new knowledge stirred something in Blaise – like an important piece of a puzzle that didn't quite fit. "Well, let's poke around some more and then give Ced or Draco a buzz and see if they've found anything."

()

"Dunno what they expect us to find," Draco groused, the beauty of the place completely lost on him as he strolled impatiently among the ruins of Glastonbury Abbey.

"Why can't you just enjoy it?" Ginny demanded from beside him, her bright eyes taking in the immense pillars of stone with wonder and delight. "This is massive. I can't believe Muggles built this without magic! It must have been spectacular when it was still standing."

It was massive, Draco had to give her that. There were two main portions still standing, in addition to the Abbot's Kitchen, which stood passed a neat arrangement of stacked stones that supposedly indicated the location of parts of the church that had been totally destroyed.

"Supposedly it was destroyed by a fire in 1184," Ginny said, her nose buried in a booklet she'd bought at the ticket booth. Their tour book hadn't been all that informative. "That seems odd, though. How could a stone church have burnt down?"

Draco admitted that it was a bit odd, but wasn't interested enough to give it much thought.

"So," Dorian, on Ginny's other side, said eagerly, "what're we looking for?"

"No idea," Ginny and Draco said simultaneously. Ginny grinned at him and Draco fought a losing battle not to return it, resulting in a rather crooked smile on his part. He cursed himself several times for allowing her so much power over him.

"Well, what does that book thing stay about King Arthur – Merlin, even?" Dorian asked, clapping his hands together excitedly. "Since it's the Isle of Avalon we're looking for, and Muggles consider that a myth – "

"Most wizards consider it a myth," Draco muttered.

" – then it makes sense that their Arthurian legend is going to tell us more than their Muggle mumbo jumbo," Dorian finished loudly. Fortunately, there were only a few other visitors and they were too far off to hear Dorian's careless speech.

"Well . . . " Ginny said slowly, studying her book. "The obvious place to start is the burial sites of Guinevere and Arthur." Her nose still very close to the page she was reading, Ginny wandered off between the two massive configurations of stone that had surely once been walls.

"This was once the choral chamber," Ginny informed them vaguely. "At the end of these stone pillars here – " she indicated the encasing walls of stone that made up walls to their left and right, " – was the high altar. And here," pausing before a simple, square enclosure of cement upon the ground, "is the burial site."

The three of them stared at it. Considering that it was supposedly the burial site of one of the greatest kings of all time, Draco thought it was rather pathetic. The surrounding cement enclosure, which stood no more than an inch off the well-kept lawn, was commemorated only by a sign that read:

"Site of King Arthur's tomb. In the year 1191 the bodies of King Arthur and his queen were said to have been found on the south side of the Lady Chapel."

"That's that structure back there," Ginny told him, pointing back the way they had come at the front part the church, much of which was still commemorated in stone. Draco turned back to the tomb.

"On 19th April 1278 their remains were removed in the presence of King Edward 1 and Queen Eleanor to a black marble tomb on this site. This tomb survived until the dissolution of the Abbey in 1539."

"That's the new tomb – over there." Ginny gestured to a slab of flat, black, glittering marble that lay twenty feet behind them.

"Fat lot of good that did us," Draco muttered, turning away and shielding his eyes against the glare of the sun on the smooth, black tomb.

"It does us loads of good," Ginny retorted. "We know Arthur and Guinevere were here. And according to our history books, Merlin saw Arthur off on his quest for the Holy Grail, supposedly hidden in Avalon. That's proof that we're on the right path."

Draco gave her annoyed look as a mask for some deep thought and wandered off back toward the remains of the Nave and Lady Chapel. While wizard history spoke of Arthur and his courageous deeds, it dealt little with Muggle-related aspects of it. It listed Arthur's dealings with Merlin, but as Merlin was one of the few wizards to interact with Muggles at that time, history related to Arthur and Avalon were limited to events involving Merlin.

"Why he would hang around Muggles in the first place . . . " Draco muttered, steering clear of a group of teenage, school uniform toting Muggle girls, all of whom openly leered at him.

"Ever feel like you're in a petting zoo?" Ginny asked from his other side, grinning mischievously and linking her arm through his. Draco saw the expressions of the schoolgirls turn sour and couldn't quite stop a snort of amusement from escaping his lips as Ginny stuck her tongue out at the girls behind his back.

"Mature, Weasley."

"I do try."

They had come upon the remains of the Nave. Though the grand stone archway and parts of the surrounding walls still stood, there was no ceiling to block the radiant beams of sunlight cascading down into the lower level of the ruin, which was supposedly the Lady Chapel. Ginny skipped a little ahead of him and descended a set of stairs that had obviously been built into the remains fairly recently. The overhead walkway on which Draco now stood alone was the only overhang above the Lady Chapel and he could see Ginny crossing to what looked like an alter of stone against the wall closest to the door they'd just come through.

"Anything interesting?" Draco called casually, this voice echoing off the stone.

"Not to you, probably," came the dry response. "But this is a beautiful little spot I've found."

Only mildly curious, Draco descended into the lower level. The alter Ginny had found was actually snuggled away under the overhang of the upper level's surrounding walkway. There was a hole cut into the wall that seemed to act as a kind of window. Around the window, little vines and flowers had grown, seemingly out of the stone itself and on the altar sat veritable mound of fresh, white wild flowers.

"Daily offerings from the people of Glastonbury, according to my book here," Ginny said, noticing him eyeing the flowers. "And I bet when the sun sets the light through this window will fall exactly over this altar thing." She gazed out of the stone cutting, which wasn't more than a foot above the grassy lawn outside and offered a clear view of the Abbot's Kitchen. Draco stepped up next to her to look and saw Dorian Weasley plodding toward the Nave from the Kitchen.

"I've found the most brilliant thing," the redhead called, spotting their faces through the window and hurrying over. "It's in the Kitchen. Come have a look."

The window was large enough for Ginny and Draco to crawl through, although Ginny was short enough to need a leg up. She tumbled onto the grass, accepted a hand up from her nephew, and then offered her own to Draco, who used it and then for unknown reasons kept hold of it as the three started back the direction Dorian had come. Ginny made no objection to Draco's possessive gesture, which rather surprised him.

The Abbot's Kitchen, being unconnected to the rest of the abbey, appeared to have been untouched by the fire that had consumed the church. It was the only structure that stood wholly intact, probably unchanged from the day it was built. It was a round, stone building that began in the shape of a large igloo at the bottom and then terraced off into a tower about twenty feet from its base.

Dorian led them through the only apparent set of doors, which had been propped invitingly open. Several other visitors were milling about the room, although why, Draco had no idea. The Muggle curator had decorated the place with tables covered in what appeared to be plastic replicas of foods prepared by the abbot and the herbs used for medicinal purposes.

"Over here," Dorian said, leading them off to one side.

He was indicating what Draco at first assumed was a round table of thick wood standing on a single, thick leg. But the top of the table appeared clear.

"It's a mirror," Dorian explained eagerly. "It's so visitors can look at the ceiling or something. At least, that's what the sign says."

"This is what you dragged us over here to look at?" Draco demanded in annoyance. Huh – Muggles! They'd made a table with a mirror – "it rotates!" Dorian informed then, leaning on an edge so the table rolled slightly and reflected a different part of the ceiling – so that they could look at some scaffolding and admire the elaborate spider webs quilting the interior of the tower without straining their necks.

Well, Dorian was a Weasley and Draco supposed this mirror thing qualified as a shiny object . . .

"It might be important!" Dorian insisted. "Have a look at this."

He pushed on a corner of the mirror and it rotated to reflect a corner of the ceiling directly across from the door. For a moment, Draco couldn't tell what the kid was all excited about. Then –

"Are those – engravings up there – or just blemishes in the wood?" Ginny asked.

"Oh, they're engravings," Dorian assured them eagerly. Dropping his voice conspiratorially, he leaned forward over the mirror, gesturing for them both to do the same. "I recognize them from the god-awful 'Unfogging the Future' book we have to have for Professor Trelawney's class. They were definitely made by a wizard."

Draco squinted. Looking closely he could see the resemblance to the tiny shapes he'd studied in Divination.

"What shapes are they, Ian? Can you tell?" Ginny asked, leaning closer to the glass and bumping her sheared head against Draco's. "Oops, sorry, Draco."

"I – I think the first one is a – a half sun," Dorian murmured, shaggy head right beside Ginny's. "That's the symbol for ending – kind of like a sunset."

"Okay – and the next one . . . it kind of looks like a – a staff – no, a scepter," Ginny said, pushing her fringe impatiently out of her eyes. "That's the symbol for power or leadership."

"The third's a symbol for prayer," Draco mumbled. "See the two hands clasped? It symbolizes holy thought – or a place of holy thought."

"What's the fourth one?" Ginny asked. "I can't make it out."

"It – looks – like – a urn, maybe?" Dorian suggested tentatively.

"No, it's got a stem," Draco said, pointing. "Sticking up from the top."

They all studied the symbol for a moment.

"No, hold on, we're looking at it upside down," Ginny said, tilting her head. "It's more like a goblet. Doesn't look familiar."

"So what does it mean?" Dorian asked, pulling back and staring at his aunt and uncle. "A half-sun, a scepter, a prayer symbol, and a goblet."

"Do you suppose the Muggles know what it means?" Dorian asked, glancing around at the few who were still milling about the room.

"It's not in the brochure about the Kitchen," Ginny said, examining it closely.

"It wasn't on the sign thing over here, either," Dorian pointed out.

"Maybe the Muggles are too dull-witted to see it," Draco suggested smarmily.

"Let's find out," Dorian suggested, strolling determinately across the room and accosting one of the schoolgirls who'd strayed in after them in the following manner.

"I say, love, could you help us out over here?"

The girl looked up from the sign she was examining, blushed furiously at the sight of Dorian grinning disarmingly at her, and giggled.

"Er – ah," she said.

Dorian took this as an affirmative and took her hand, leading her to the mirror.

"Have a look over here," he said, pointing to the corner with the etchings. "My aunt here – " indicating Ginny, who flinched at his carelessness in revealing their unlikely relationship, " – insists that these pock marks in the ceiling have some shape. My uncle and I disagree. Can you see anything?"

The Muggle stared incredulously at Ginny and Draco, obviously thinking Dorian's claims of his relationship to them more than a little odd. After a moment, however, she turned slowly back to the mirror and gazed into the corner Dorian indicated. She blinked once, and leaned forward.

"It is awfully bumpy up there," she agreed after a moment. "But – no, I think those are just spots from the wood decomposing. This building's been here since the original church went up, you know. See, those look like water damage – " she indicated two spots that were gouged deeply into the center of the goblet, " – and this might have been – er, something else."

"But they don't look regular?" Ginny asked. "Like – like shapes?"

"No way," the girl said. "Well, if you squint at this one – " indicating another shapeless spot a few inches away from any of the shapes, " – it looks a little like a sheep – "

"Right," Dorian said triumphantly. "Thanks. You've been brilliant."

"Oh." The girl looked rather deflated. "That's it, then?"

"Yup – thanks," Dorian said again, leading her back to the marker she'd been reading. He seemed to notice her disappointed expression, because as he deposited her he leaned down and kissed her cheek.

"Cheers," he said with an impish grin.

Draco snorted. The girl looked at though she might faint and the instant Dorian turned away, the girl's three friends, who'd been loitering about as well, all slunk up beside her and began squealing and giggling.

"Ian, don't be such a flirt!" Ginny hissed. "Now they probably won't let you out of their sight."

"Don't worry so much, Aunt," Dorian said. "They're too busy staring at me to pay attention to what we're actually doing. Speaking of, do you reckon she could see them?"

"No way," Draco snorted. "She looked right through the goblet at that blemish in the middle. And those praying hands are way to intricate to miss."

"You think they're magical?" Ginny said in an almost whisper. "I mean, like only a witch or wizard could see them?"

"Seems likely," Draco said. "Anything that seems magical around here might have a connection to Avalon, which if it exists is likely to be a totally magical place. No Muggle is going to be able to find it or anything connected with it."

The three stared at the symbols for a few moments.

"So – assuming these symbols are in some way linked to Avalon," Ginny said slowly. "Are they meant to be taken figuratively, like in Divination? Or literally – like the goblet means a goblet and the praying hands mean a prayer and the scepter means a power?"

"Dunno," Dorian said. "Let's start with the first one."

"I don't think a half sun is meant to be taken figuratively," Draco said. "Doesn't make any sense."

"It would mean sunset, then," Dorian said. "Or rather, a 'burgeoning of misfortune,' as Trelawney calls it."

"So something happens at sunset," Ginny hazarded. "Something unlucky?"

"No – skip the metaphorical crap."

"Something at sunset, then."

"It's a start," Draco shrugged. He couldn't help a small smile from creeping onto his lips. He'd always hated Divination, but using his limited knowledge of it to problem solve was certainly less boring than wandering the grounds looking at ruins.

"What's the scepter mean, then?" Ginny asked, eyeing the second symbol.

"Usually it refers to power or royalty," Dorian said.

"Which one?" Ginny murmured.

"Hello?" Draco rolled his eyes. "Whose tomb were we just looking at?"

"Of course – King Arthur." Dorian nodded energetically.

"Or Guinevere," Ginny put in rather indignantly. "Chauvinist pigs!"

"Don't get your knickers in a bunch," Draco advised, returning his gaze to the symbols. "So – the hands."

"That's obvious, too," Ginny said, still clearly nettled. "We're in the middle of the remains of a church. It probably refers to worship that took place – still takes place here."

"And the goblet?" Dorian said, indicating the last symbol.

"Dunno." Ginny stared at it. They all did, but for some reason they all seemed to be drawing similar blanks.

"So we know that something happens at sunset that might be involved with royalty and prayer," Dorian recapped, his brow furrowed in thought.

"Maybe the king nips out for an evening's meditation," Draco suggested dryly.

"That's helpful, Draco," Ginny said, snorting. Draco noticed that that was the second time she'd used his first name without flinching, blushing, or stuttering.

They stood for a few minutes more in silent contemplation.

"What if . . . ?" Dorian paused, his eyes on the symbols.

"What if . . . ?" Ginny prompted.

"Well, the king's tomb is just across the way there and you two were just looking at an altar that's obviously used for religious purposes," Dorian said slowly. "If the half sun indicates location, then the other symbols might as well."

"You mean like, at sunset something will happen at the king's tomb and the altar?" Ginny asked, starting to sound hopeful. "And the goblet?"

"Hang on." Draco felt his brain give a start as the pieces began to fall into place. "What does everything in this ruddy down seem to revolve around?"

"King Arthur?"

"Churches?"

"Avalon!" Draco snapped, annoyed with their sluggishness. "King Arthur went in search of Avalon why?"

"To find the Holy Grail," Ginny said impatiently. Then she stopped, her eyes widening. Slowly, her eyes returned to the goblet symbol. "You're saying that's a Grail?"

"What else could it be?" Draco demanded.

"At sunset," Dorian said for the umpteenth time, "something happens at the tomb and the altar . . . that will lead us to the Holy Grail . . . "

"That will lead us to Avalon," Ginny finished. She paused. "Bit of a long shot, though, isn't it?" she added uncertainly.

"Best shot we've got," Draco pointed out.

"So what should we do?" Dorian asked, staring back and forth between aunt and uncle.

"Easy," Draco said. "One of us waits by the tomb and the other two by the altar."

"What about the mirror?" Ginny asked, glancing back down at it.

"What about it?" Draco retorted.

"Well – " Ginny gazed at it, her eyes unfocused. "Suppose something happens to it? I mean, the clues were here, weren't they? The mirror might be connected as well."

"Maybe." Dorian looked unsure. "But suppose nothing does? That leaves one of us stranded here."

"Provided anything happens at all," Ginny returned. "I know it's another long shot, but something tells me someone needs to be here. I'll stay – it was my idea."

"There might be a problem, though," Dorian said. "Won't the three of us hanging around all afternoon look a tad suspicious? Sunset's not for several hours yet."

"And shouldn't the others be told?" Ginny added, looking worried.

"And I'm hungry."

"You're always hungry, Ian," Ginny said, cracking a small grin and giving his arm a squeeze. "Come to that, I'm a bit peckish myself."

"Yeah – and some of us've only had crackers and juice today," Draco added testily.

"So there's a tea room right across from here," Ginny said. "We can head over there, get – er, dinner, I guess – and give Ced and Harry a call."

"Good idea, Aunt," Dorian said, nodding approvingly and patting the arm still linked through his.

"Course it's a good idea!" Ginny said loudly.

Draco followed them out, shaking his fair head at the two redheads in front of him.

What a trip!

()

"Wow!" Tristan breathed, gazing up at the arbor-covered walkway that was blooming with all sorts of lovely flowers and vines. She followed slowly along behind her brother, who paced briskly up the cobblestone path to the entrance of the Chalice Well.

"Nice place," Hayden commented – rather crassly, Tristan thought, annoyed.

"'Nice place', indeed," Tristan muttered, shaking her head. "You're about as sensitive as a brick wall, Hayden Malfoy."

"And how," he agreed, with a smirk.

Oh, right. We've not had enough animosity in our day yet, Tristan thought sourly. He's just keeping us up to scratch.

"I'm going to get married here," she said abruptly, for no reason at all.

"Who'd want to marry you?" her brother called back to her, cracking a crooked, teasing smile.

"Who do you think, genius?" she retorted, throwing a meaningful look at Hayden. When he opened his mouth to retaliate, she added coyly, "Although I think Ian has allergies so perhaps he'd prefer something indoors."

And away she sauntered into the gardens, delighted at having exasperated both of her male companions in one fell swoop.

The gardens really were magnificent. As Tristan traversed one stone path, then another, she felt more and more convinced that she wanted to stay forever. Blooming bushes bordering the walkways, secluded benches covered in canopies of wisteria, and the single creek that ran through the grounds made the whole area feel like an entirely different planet – almost removed from reality.

"This way, Tris," her brother said, taking her elbow and leading her by a set of steps that led down to a small pool at the bottom of a small waterfall.

"Can't I – ?"

"No."

"Why - ?"

"There'll be time for poking about after we've found the well source."

"Why do we need to find the well's source?" Hayden asked curiously, jogging along behind them.

"Because supposedly the Holy Grail is buried there and if we find it or indications that it's near, we've got the key to Avalon."

"But isn't the Grail supposed to be hidden inside Avalon?" Tristan asked.

"Precisely."

They followed the main trail up through still more impressively exotic greenery until they saw it dead-end at a massive weeping willow, which hung protectively over what appeared to be a round door built into the ground.

"This is it!" Cedric said, looking excited. "This is the source of the well."

It was set into a raised platform about eight inches above the path and was nearly completely shaded. The round door had an intricate, black symbol etched in its tawny wooden surface.

"Is that Celtic?" Hayden asked.

"It's the Vesica Piscis," Cedric told him, drawing level with the door and mounting the steps to the hole in the ground. "The interlocking circles represent the harmony of spirit and matter that these gardens were created to symbolize. The arrow through the middle represents the perfect symmetry of these circles."

Tristan joined her brother on the dais and gazed down into the well. An iron grate covered the opening. The well dropped no more than four or five feet below the surface of the dais, but it was so dark (the darkness augmented by the shade of the weeping willow) that for a moment, Tristan couldn't make out anything inside. A moment's heavy blinking brought the flicker of light reflecting off of water to her eyes. Descending about a foot into the well was a rocky shoot of natural stone, peppered with green algae and moss.

"There's a chamber just below us that was used to store water for Muggles at one time," Cedric said. "It's not more than four feet deep."

"Does it lead anywhere?" Tristan asked, kneeling beside the well and trying to peer into the side of the chamber, to see if there was anywhere it might lead. But she could see nothing in the shadows cast by the tree.

"Supposedly not," her brother said in answer to her question. "But again, that's the Muggle version."

He glanced quickly around to be sure no Muggles might be able to overhear, and then went on, "But I've got a hunch this is the key to us finding Avalon."

Hayden and Tristan shared a rather doubtful glance before sinking simultaneously onto a stone bench that bordered the well source on three sides.

"So," Hayden said after a moment's silence. "Do you think the well itself leads to Avalon? Literally, I mean. Like we could swim there?"

Cedric snorted.

"If it were that simple then anyone could find it."

"Why couldn't they?"

"Avalon's only accessible magically, by people who've been invited by someone within it."

"How do you know that?" Tristan demanded, gazing with a gnawing feeling of suspicion at her brother.

"Research," was the unsatisfying reply.

"So wait," Hayden said, looking as stumped as Tristan felt. "How do we know we've been invited?"

"Hopefully someone down there is waiting for us," Cedric said, his voice rather tense.

"Why would they be?" Tristan asked. "No one was expecting us, were they?"

"They should be, if Dumbledore got Dad's letter," Cedric retorted.

"Dad's letter?" Tristan stared at him.

"You know, right before the younger version of our nutty father proposed this outrageous scheme, he sent Dumbledore an owl, warning him about Red Robes being on the loose and you and Hayden – " Cedric broke off, and Tristan swallowed. She knew what he'd been about to say.

"And you think Dumbledore might have got it after all?" she hazarded.

"I think he's expecting us, yeah," Cedric returned shortly. He knelt beside the well, resting his hands on the grate and leaning down to stare into the water.

"What're you – " Tristan began.

"Ah-ha!" Cedric said triumphantly. "I've found the clue."

"Clue?" Hayden and Tristan demanded.

"Clue to how we get in," Cedric told them impatiently. "Look."

Tristan and Hayden knelt on either side of him, leaning close to gaze into the water.

Water that was now shimming from an unknown light source and reflecting a strange series of images. A golden orb appeared and then flickered out, followed by a tree from which a single white flower fell. The tree vanished, but the white flower remained, dropping into what appeared to be a ripple in the undulating water. This imagery repeated itself several times, before flickering a final time and vanishing, along with the light source into the depths of the well.

"What's it mean?" Hayden whispered, gazing at the now still and empty water.

"This is our clue," Cedric murmured, sitting back on his heals and staring unseeingly at the trunk of the weeping willow. "Our only hint about how to enter Avalon. Someone is expecting us."

"Hopefully someone friendly," Tristan couldn't help muttering, getting to her feet and dusting off her hands.

"But – you don't think Red Robes is waiting in there, do you?" Hayden said. His words stated aloud what Tristan had been trying to avoid thinking.

"No – not if Dumbledore's in there," Cedric said confidently.

"I think we're placing entirely too much merit on the abilities of an extremely old man," Hayden mumbled to Tristan out of the corner of his mouth as they followed Cedric back to the main path.

"Don't say that – Dumbledore's a really great wizard!" Tristan whispered back fiercely. "He defeated Grindelwald and helped Daddy prepare to battle Voldemort in the final – "

"He barely defeated Grindelwald," Hayden corrected, tucking his slim fingers into his pockets as the two followed Cedric up a gravel path to some of the higher grounds of the garden. "Didn't you know? The history books aren't specific because not a lot is known. But I heard Mum and Dad talking it over a few months back and Dad says that he once asked Dumbledore about the battle. I guess it was right before he and Mum took off to help Uncle Harry in the final battle with Voldemort. Anyway, he said that Dumbledore looked all humble and said to be prepared to rely on the Order of the Phoenix and Harry, especially, to stop Voldemort, because he, Dumbledore, had never quite had the strength he'd once had after dueling with Grindelwald."

He paused. Tristan stared impatiently at him.

"So – what did he say about it?"

"Just that in the end it had been a lucky escape," Hayden said. He suddenly looked worried. "I guess he told Dad that he didn't fancy pitting his abilities against Voldemort in a similar situation because he wasn't likely to win it. He insisted that Uncle Harry had a better chance, for some reason."

Tristan turned this idea over in her mind, feeling disturbing ideas beginning to form there. She supposed that, even though she'd never known the guy, his reputation had always made him seem omnipotent. When she, her young father, and Dorian had decided to go after him, Tristan had felt sure it was the right thing to do because Dumbledore would sort it all out in the end. Young Harry had seemed convinced that Dumbledore would make everything all right.

"No," she said slowly, tramping up the gravel walk beside Hayden. "I'm not worried. Dumbledore might not be up for any more wizards' duels, but he's supposed to be brilliant. Tactically, he was almost always two steps ahead of Voldemort, wasn't he? He protected Dad his entire life so that Dad could face him when the time came. He helped develop the defenses that kept the Order of the Phoenix hidden from the Death Eaters and Voldemort. If he can handle all that, I'm sure he can keep Red Robes out of Avalon."

"Let's hope so," Hayden mumbled, more to himself than to her.

Tristan shivered.

The area of the gardens to which Cedric had led them was actually more like a meadow planted on the side of a hill. One or two tall apple trees stood about on a part of the hill that flattened out a bit, but otherwise they had a fairly unobstructed view of Glastonbury proper on one side and what Tristan could only assume was Glastonbury Tor just behind them.

At the edge of the little plateau and just off their dirt path sat two wooden chairs separated by a flat wooden table. Cedric took one and Hayden slipped into the other, leaning back and grinning smugly at her. Tristan shrugged and seated herself in her brother's lap. This seemed to annoy Hayden immensely, but he wisely didn't comment.

"So," Tristan said after the three had silently admired the admittedly hazy view for a moment, eyes shielded from the now glaring sun by their hands. "What do we do next?"

"Solve the clue, of course," Cedric said. "And enjoy the sunshine. We've got several hours to wait for the others to arrive and scout out the Tor and the Abbey, and in the meantime we might as well relax a bit."

"I find it hard to relax when I'm being chased by a murderer," Hayden muttered.

"Scared, Malfoy?" Tristan jibed.

"As if!"

"Knock it off, you two," Cedric said distractedly. "All right. The first bit was the flickering gold ball."

"It looked like the sun to me," Tristan said promptly.

"But what's with the flickering?" Hayden countered.

"Maybe we're supposed to wait around for a supernova," Tristan smirked.

"Maybe you should shove that supernova up your – "

"For Merlin's sake!" Cedric snapped, and both teens went guiltily silent. Tristan saw his chest rise and fall with several deep breaths before he spoke again. "Okay. I think you're right, Tris. It did look like a sun."

"And the flickering," Hayden said with a nasty look at Tristan, "might have meant the sun 'going out' or setting."

"Good call, Den," Cedric nodded approvingly. "Now – the next object was a tree."

"Well, we're in a garden full of 'em and it wasn't a tree that would stand out to me if I saw it," Tristan said. "Ced, this is supposedly a sacred garden. Are there any – "

"Religiously prevalent trees?" He grinned. "You two are sharp. Yeah, there're several. There're the Yew trees that sort of grow everywhere through the garden. They pre-date Muggle Christianity and go way back to Celtic and Druidic culture. Dunno what connection they could possibly have to Avalon, though. And they don't bare white flowers."

"And the other trees?"

"The ones that seem more likely are called the Holy Thorn Trees," Cedric said, tapping a hand against Tristan's leg as he furrowed his dark brow in thought. "There're supposedly three thorn trees in this garden that were sprouted from the original tree that grew from the place where Joseph of Arimathea stuck his staff. He's the guy who supposedly brought the Holy Grail to Glastonbury, remember. Now supposedly he originally stuck the staff into Wearyman's Hill, which is just passed the Tor, but the wind picked up three splinters and dropped them into different parts of the garden."

"That would connect them to Avalon, all right," Hayden agreed. "And do they bare white flowers?"

"It's the Easter Hols, so yeah," Cedric said. "Interestingly, these trees only blossom around Christmas and Easter, the two holidays central to Christian religion."

"So, then," Tristan said slowly, her fingers toying with a leather thong wrapped around Cedric's wrist. "At sunset, something happens with these three trees. What's the last part again?"

"The flower dropping into the water," Hayden said.

"That's easy, too," Cedric said. "This riddle is telling us to drop a flower from each tree into the well's source at sunset."

"Are you sure?" Tristan asked, eyeing him doubtfully. "It could be more – I dunno – metaphorical than that."

"Why should it be?" Cedric asked, not unkindly. "If someone's giving us clues to get into Avalon, then whoever it is isn't going to muck around and be complicated – just cautious. They don't want just anyone getting in."

"Well, then," Hayden said after a moment's pause. "What do we do till sunset?" He glanced at the sky. "Hell, it isn't even noon yet!"

"Like I said, relax!" Cedric said, rolling his eyes. "We've an excellent view of anyone entering the gardens from here, so we'll know if Red Robes comes along. Take a nap, I'll keep watch. Miss Tristan, I think you were whining about how early we had to leave Bath."

"Sure was," Tristan said, feeling an overwhelming sensation of safety as she cuddled in her brother's strong arms. Her earlier doubts vanished as she rested her head on his shoulder. He wouldn't do anything to hurt her – or Hayden, his blood brother.

Tristan peeped at the blonde from under her fringe. He was staring right back at her. She grinned wickedly.

"If you're lonely, Den, I'm sure Cedric wouldn't mind you joining us," she said sweetly.

She squealed as her brother pinched her side.

()

"There's really nothing up here, Potter!"

Blaise was fast losing patience. They'd been up on the Tor for well over an hour, poking around and trying to find something to indicate that they were close to finding Avalon.

But as Blaise had just asserted, there wasn't anything up there except the tower, which was really just a pile of useless stone, and a flat, circular stone with a silver plate atop it. This interesting navigational tool pointed out the directions of major Muggle settlements and towns in every direction and after realizing what it was for (and getting a blinding headache from the blazing sun reflecting off of it) she had ignored it, figuring that it wasn't all that old and could therefore have little to do with Avalon.

Harry seemed to have other ideas. His eyes kept trailing back to it and more than once Blaise had caught him shielding his eyes to try and read it.

"Well, there's nothing evidently important about the tower," he pointed out as she joined him beside the rock again. "So there must be something here. Like Cedric said, there're only really three major, Arthur-related areas of Glastonbury. Except . . . "

His voice trailed off as he stared down at the rock again. Then he suddenly shifted around it so that his body was casting a shadow over the rock. With some effort, he managed to position himself so that the entire rock and metal sheet of directions were shaded.

Blaise was about to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing, when from out of nowhere came another blinding flash of light against the metal.

"I thought so," Harry said. "It's not just my eyes or the sun. See how I'm blocking the light?"

"And yet there's still light reflecting on it," Blaise murmured. "But what does it mean?"

They both shielded their eyes from another flash of light.

"That flashing is pretty deliberate," Harry pointed out. "Can you tell where on here it's flashing?"

Blaise waited patiently for another flash. When it came, she didn't shield her eyes but instead tried to get a look at the source of the light. To her surprise, it seemed to be coming from inside the metal. When she'd blinked the tears from her eyes that the bright light had caused, she leaned forward.

"Here it is," she murmured, staring down at the words that were still very faintly illuminated by the strange light. "It's a location outlined on this map. It looks like its back down that side of the Tor – a place called Wearyman's Hill."

She was nearly blinded again, as Harry chose to discontinue shading the rock right as another flash of light illuminated the metal. Winking furiously and trying to glare simultaneously (no easy trick), Blaise squinted and saw Harry nose-deep in his brochure.

"Ha! Here it is!" he said triumphantly. "Evidently, Wearyman's Hill is where Joseph of Arimathea struck his staff into the earth after he and his companions successfully carried the Holy Grail to its resting place." He paused upon seeing her blank look and sighed. "The Holy Grail is the cup that, according to a Muggle religion called Christianity, bares the blood of their savior, Jesus Christ, and is said to have eternal healing powers. Joseph of Arimathea, Jesus' great uncle, bore the cup to its resting place, supposedly the source of the Chalice Well here in Glastonbury. Muggles think it's buried there, but if Avalon is here, too, it's probably being protected there."

"Right." Blaise hated it when he knew more than she did. "And you found this out . . . how?"

"My Muggle aunt and uncle are Christian, of course," Harry said, looking mildly disgusted at having to bring them up again. "And the only stories Dudley ever liked when we were kids was anything to do with Arthur." He smirked. "Naturally, my aunt always left out the bits involving Merlin and stressed the stuff relating to Christianity, which she considers 'normal.'"

"So, then," Blaise said, deciding that it would be best to keep him occupied with more immediate concerns than his cracked Muggle relations, "should we go check out this Wearyman's Hill?"

"Why not?" Harry shrugged. He led the way back through the tower to the other side of the Tor. Pointing to the next, considerably smaller hill over from it, he said, "I reckon that's it."

Blaise's sharp eyes caught the hill as well as the single small tree that stood atop it, seemingly at its center.

"Well, if there's nothing there we can easily hike back here, can't we?" she said with a shrug.

The hike was, however, longer than it looked. Going back down the Tor was easy enough. Going up the side of Wearyman's Hill, however, was harder than it had appeared.

"Got any food left over in your pack?" Harry panted as, forty-five minutes later they at last crested the top of the hill.

"Water and biscuits," Blaise said apologetically, hitching her pack off and dropping it unceremoniously to the ground. It felt wonderful to have the heavy burden off and she felt a bit of a spring in her step as she walked across the empty, flat top of the hill to the single tree.

"It's beautiful," she murmured, gazing at the crooked branches that were just blooming with stunningly white narcissi-like flowers. Glancing over her shoulder, she rolled her eyes at Harry, who was guzzling all her water. "Oy! Save a bit for me, you prat!"

()

"Well," Dorian said, clicking his felly-tone off and sitting back in his chair. "It appears everyone's hitting gold today. Ced says they've found what appears to be a deliberately placed clue in the Chalice Well and Uncle Harry says that he and Aunt Blaise have found the original Holy Thorn Tree sprouted from Joseph of Arimathea's staff. Apparently, they were led there by a blinding flash of light that didn't come from the sun. I'm still a bit unclear about what happened."

"So what's our next move?" Ginny asked, popping a crisp into her mouth.

"Ced says he thinks we should all hang around our particular findings until sunset, since both his clue and ours say something'll happen round that time – oy, couldja fetch me another mutton and lettus on rye, love?" he called to a passing waitress.

"Where do you put it all?" Draco demanded.

"Hollow leg," Ginny suggested, smiling affectionately at her nephew, who didn't seem to have stopped eating since they'd entered the little tearoom.

"So what happens if someone lands a dud – with the clues, I mean?" Draco pressed on, with a contemptuous look at his nephew. "What makes Cedric so sure someone's giving us clues?"

"He says nothing would appear unless someone inside Avalon wanted us there as well," Dorian said over a mouthful of cheese sandwich. "Someone inside has to be giving the clues to us. He also says that there are supposed to be several different ways of entering Avalon, so not to worry – we've probably each found our own way in."

"Is all this sudden knowledge about Avalon making anyone else uneasy?" Draco groused, picking at his tomato and basil spread.

"It is odd," Ginny admitted. She hated feeling suspicious again, as she'd come to quite like Harry's son over the course of this trip, but the fact remained that he seemed to know an awful lot more than he'd let on before, both about Glastonbury and Avalon.

"I'm telling you, he's Red Robes!" Draco hissed suddenly at her across the table. "We've had more than enough evidence over the course of this trip to – "

"He's not!" Dorian snapped, glaring – yes, glaring, at Draco. The blonde and Ginny both gaped at him. Dorian was the good-natured one, not one to pick a fight or get suckered into one. And here he was, bunching up his fists in defense of a friend.

Most truly the Gryffindor, Ginny thought rather proudly.

"Look, I know you don't like him," Dorian was saying menacingly to Draco. "But you hardly know the guy. I've known him since I was this big." He held his fingers an inch apart. "I grew up with him – he's my blood brother, for Merlin's sake! But I know we can trust him. He may know more than he's letting on, but who cares? He'd never, ever hurt Tris or Hayden. Never!"

And he sat back in his chair with a look of such finality that not even Draco seemed to be able to come up with any reply.

"Er – we should get some fresh air, don't you think?" Ginny said quickly, when the silence became unbearable. "Let's – let's go back to the Abbey and wander – maybe had a nap in the sun or something."

Neither boy objected – Dorian looked as though he were trying to cool down a bit and Draco was still looking shocked and highly offended at his nephew's abrupt speech.

Ginny paid for their food (the waitress kindly wrapped Dorian's last order up for him) and led the boys out of the tearoom and across the quiet street. Dorian showed the cashier their ticket stubs and she let them back in, her expression bored, rather than suspicious that they were returning so soon, especially after having stayed so long in the morning.

"Let's find somewhere secluded," Ginny suggested. "I don't fancy Red Robes stumbling on us while we're snoozing."

Dorian did crack a small smile at that rather ridiculous idea.

"How about those trees over there?" he suggested, indicating a collection of conifers on the far side of the abbey property. "There's sun and shade, so we can cook and cool as we please."

This proved a perfect spot for napping. The tree they sat beneath perfectly supported Ginny's tired back as she leaned against it tiredly. She wasn't all that surprised to feel Draco's head settle in her lap a few minutes later.

The three spent the afternoon alternately dozing and keeping watch in turn for anyone suspicious. They saw no one and by the time sunset was approaching all three were feeling more alert than they had in days.

"Good thing, too," added Dorian after Ginny pointed this out, "since we'll probably need our wits about us in a moment. Aunt, you still want to wait by the mirror?"

"Yes," she said. "Ian, you take the tomb and Draco, you take the altar. And stay hidden, if you can. I imagine this place closes at dusk and it would suck be caught skulking about after hours by the curator."

This agreed to, the three slipped out from under their tree, skirting the park and trying to stay inconspicuously in the shade of the trees until they were hidden from the ticket office by the Abbot's Kitchen.

"Good luck," Dorian whispered as Ginny stole inside.

It was mercifully deserted, and once this was confirmed by a more thorough search, Ginny hurried back to the door and peered cautiously out over the ruins. From her vantage point she could see the window into the Lady Chapel and could see Draco's blonde hair flash in the setting sun. She couldn't see Dorian, but assumed he was keeping out of sight behind the ruins beside King Arthur's tomb.

Well, that was that, then. Ginny glanced around once more for any signs of a groundskeeper. Seeing no one, she returned to the mirror inside the Abbot's Kitchen to wait for sunset.

()

"About time," Hayden muttered tensely from where he sat beside one of the three Holy Thorn Trees. His tree of choice stood just above a spout of water from the Chalice Well, which came through the mouth of a lion, which was carved into the path of the creek from the well's source. Hayden had been sitting here for almost an hour since the sun had begun to sink across the western side of the blue sky, and seen several Muggles go through bizarre prayer rituals before cupping their hands to catch the water and drink it. When they gave him suspicious or annoyed looks, he began chanting under his breath and to his amazement, they accepted this and moved away.

For the last twenty minutes, however, he'd seen no one. Good thing, too, as he was about to commit what he assumed they'd consider sacrilege by plucking one of the white flowers from the tree above him.

Up the path, he saw Tristy basking in the last rays of the sun and seated beside the second Thorn Tree that stood near the well's source. Her eyes were closed and her glasses were settled in her lap. Her head rested against the bottom of the tree and she looked lovely with her dark hair blowing in the wind and a small smile upon her dark lips.

Hayden tore his gaze away from his comely nemesis to gaze up at her brother, who sat in the grassy meadow in which they'd all rested earlier. His long fingers toyed with one of the flowers on the third Thorn Tree, and Hayden though what a queer contrast Cedric's dark hand made against the oddly bright white flower.

()

"Wake up, love – the sun's setting."

Blaise's startlingly bright blue eyes opened and gazed up at Harry, in whose lap her head had been resting for about an hour. She sat up, gazing about sharply and not looking as though she'd slept at all. She gazed toward the hazy horizon, where the sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon.

"What do you think we should do now?" she asked uncertainly.

"Let's stand by the tree," Harry suggested, at the same time feeling silly for saying so. "Cedric was right – if it's connected with Joseph of Arimathea it's probably connected to Avalon."

The two stood together and crossed to the lone tree, both struck by how brightly white the flowers seemed in the dying light of day.

()

Draco stood behind the altar, commanding a view of the fading light through the tiny window without standing in front of it. He likewise kept his back to the wall and faced the vast openness of the remains of the Nave that opened out in front of him.

The altar.

Something about it seemed different than when he and Ginny had been examining it earlier. Had the stone really been so light of color? Perhaps it was the beam of departing sunlight coming through the window and spilling across its surface that gave it such light texture now. And hadn't there been offerings of those strange white flowers atop it? Draco was sure he'd seen a bouquet of them here before. But the altar lay empty and smooth before him.

()

Tristan jerked awake, blinking in confusion as everything went from blackness to blurry. Blinking, she realized her glasses were clutched in her hand and she quickly pushed them back onto her face, got to her feet. Away down the path she could see Hayden, his pale hair illuminated ethereally by the dying sun, toying restlessly with one of the brilliantly white flowers on his thorn tree.

"It's time, I think." Cedric's voice from the meadow above made Tristan jump. She glanced around the garden, but it seemed deserted. They'd notice most of the other wanders leave as the sun began to sink through the azure sky.

Tristan watched Cedric pluck one of the flowers – were they glowing? – from the tree. She did the same, trying to avoid the thorns along the stem. A moment later, both Cedric and Hayden had joined her and the three stepped onto the dais beside the well's source.

"There it goes," Hayden said softly, nodding toward the sun as it dipped at last, ever to slowly, behind the distant trees.

"Now!" Cedric ordered, dropping his flower into the well through the grate. Tristan and Hayden did the same and as they did, the aurora of sunset seemed to flash across the sky in an arch of light.

The three knelt beside the grate, staring at their flowers, which seemed to sit motionless in the water.

For a long, tense moment, nothing happened. Then –

With a soft grating noise that was not at all the screech Tristan might have expected, the grate covering the well lifted up and swung open, revealing the dark waters of the well uncovered.

From somewhere in the depths of the water, Tristan heard a strangely familiar voice call out,

"Enter."

()

The sun flashed as it sunk below the horizon and Dorian stared hard at the black slab of stone before him. Was he supposed to do something?

His question was answered a second later when the black stone gave a sudden, silent shudder. All at once it began to ripple, as though turned liquid. Dorian took a hasty step back as the once solid marble undulated and twisted. Abruptly it gathered together at the center and spewed up into the air before collapsing down into a long, black set of steps that descended into darkness and out of sight. From somewhere within that darkness came a gentle, vaguely familiar voice.

"Enter."

()

Ginny clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle a shriek as the mirror abruptly spun around to face her of it's own volition, just as the sun gave its final setting flash of light.

Something within Ginny impelled her forward and she leaned over to gaze into the mirror. Her own face gazed momentarily back at her, before it was replaced with one achingly familiar. A crooked smile and twinkling eyes kept Ginny's surprised shriek at bay. The face and the surface of the mirror gave a sudden ripple, as though turned to liquid.

The ancient man offered her his hand.

"Enter."

()

Draco swore he'd only looked away from the altar for a split second as the sun sank from view behind distant hills. But when he glanced back at the altar it was littered with the brilliant white flowers he'd seen earlier. Or rather, the petals of those flowers. It was as though someone had ripped them from the flowers and thrown them with joyous abandon over the altar and most of the Lady Chapel.

Suddenly, a gust of wind swept the chapel and the petals took to the air, flashing and dancing wildly about. They swept up in a great stream of wind and then settled across the surface of the altar. Not a single petal dropped to the floor. Abruptly, the wind died, ending as suddenly as it had begun. Draco stepped forward, an odd sense of curiosity seeming to drive his otherwise reluctant feet forward.

The second he stepped up to the altar, the petals melted into a pure white puddle exactly the surface area of the top of the altar. They white was so white that it seemed as eternal as the blue sky outside had been. It twinkled and flashed at him for a moment, and then a strangely distant, oddly familiar voice echoed to him through the altar, likewise extending a hand toward him out of the whiteness.

"Enter."

()

"Blaise – Blaise, look!"

Blaise tore her gaze from the spectacular green flash that had accompanied the setting sun to see Harry staring at the Holy Thorn Tree. Blaise looked, too – and gasped.

The entire tree was writhing, its many crooked branches shifting and twisting themselves into a new shape.

Blaise stepped back, pulling Harry with her. The tree continued to twist and wiggle until at last it had formed itself into a high, arching entryway. Attached to it was a door made of the white flowers that had so lately adorned it. The flowers seemed to glow brightly in the darkening evening, and even as Blaise opened her mouth to ask what they should do next, a disturbingly familiar voice echoed through the flowers, as though the flowers themselves her speaking.

"Enter."

()

"Enter?" Hayden stared dubiously down at the exposed chamber of the well.

"Come on, we didn't come this far to back out now," Cedric said. He sat down at the edge of the basin, threw his legs over, and dropped into the water below.

"Ced!" Tristy shrieked, but too late. There was a spout of water that shot up above five feet through the mouth of the well, and then a great sound rather like an old toilet being flushed.

Then silence.

"Oh, Merlin, he's been drowned!" Tristy wailed, but already was dropping down to sit on the edge of the well.

"Hold up!" Hayden snapped, dropping down beside her. "You're not going in there."

"Try and stop me!" Tristy snapped. "Move, Malfoy!"

With both their feet hanging down into the well, Tristy couldn't fit through the mouth.

"We'll go together," Hayden made the executive decision quickly. "If we squish up, we'll both fit."

"Squish up?" Tristy repeated, as though he were mad.

Hayden leaned across the well mouth and wrapped his arms tightly around her.

"We'll both fit if we stay close," he explained, and he was vastly annoyed to notice that even in a time of mortal peril his hormones were still capable of driving him to distraction wherever Tristy Potter was concerned.

"I see," said her voice in his ear, her arms wrapping tightly around him even as her small hand tangled in his hair and forced his head into the gentle curve between her neck and shoulder.

"Jump on three," Hayden breathed, letting his lips brush her pale skin.

"One," Tristy breathed, her own face buried in his shoulder. "Two – three!"

As one, they pushed themselves off the edge, automatically pulling each other as close as possible so they'd fit through the opening.

Hayden felt the splash as they hit the water and distantly thought he heard the clang of the grate slamming down above them.

Next second, the world dropped out from under him.

()

Ginny hesitated, and then grasped the wrinkled hand. A flash of silvery light – and she was gone.

()

Dorian had taken four steps down the dark stairwell when the stair he was standing on abruptly dropped out from under him and suddenly he was sliding through the inky blackness on his back.

()

Draco stared doubtfully and almost fearfully at the hand extending out of the white petals. Slowly, he reached out and grasped the warm hand. With a sudden jerk not dissimilar to a Portkey, the Lady Chapel vanished and he was surrounded by white.

()

Naturally, it took Harry only a moment to respond to the voice. Gripping Blaise's cold hand firmly, Harry stepped back in front of the flower-door. The instant Blaise stepped up beside him, they were engulfed in a sea of stars of white light.

()

Stars.

Stars pock marking a dark sky.

Waves.

Waves lapping gently at a rocky shore.

"Oh, my god!" shrieked seven equally high-pitched voices.

"What a trip!" moaned the eighth.

"Are we dead?" groaned one of the shriekers.

"We should be," grimaced another.

"I feel sort of – of spongy," came another, deeper voice.

"You look it," agreed his neighbor.

"Nark off, Potter!"

"He's right, Draco!"

"Shut up, Blaise!"

"We must be alive," chimed in another voice smarmily. "This sort of riffraff, bickering crap would never be allowed in my afterlife."

"Oh, my head," yet another voice murmured shakily.

"Ow – Tris, you're strangling me."

"Sorry, I can't let go."

"Malfoy, get off my sister!"

"I can't – she won't let go of me!"

"Sorry, Ced, I can't help it. And he does smell awfully nice - "

Another round of shrieks cut off this effusion as a particularly large wave splashed over them.

"I wasn't aware there was a shore front in Glastonbury," sputtered a rather sarcastic voice.

"There isn't," Cedric Potter said, his voice tight with some emotion. "Welcome to Avalon, gang."

()

TBC