AN: The Harry Potter universe belongs to J.K. Rowling. The Brackenwood critters, in particular Bitey, belong to Adam Phillips. The idea for mashing them up and adjusting Dashkin society to what it is in this (complete with bastardised Cornish) belongs to me. It's about the only thing that does.

The Forest Symphony, Adagio for Tin Whistle and Bodhran

THE TREE KINGDOMS

The Boy-Who-Lived was drifting in and out of a pain-filled consciousness as his skin knitted itself back together. Dashkin, Dashkin… he tried to dredge the memory of what they were up from the recesses of half-remembered conversations with Hermione in the tent. All those days spent speaking either of nothings or not even speaking at all, they had blurred and merged. He'd tried to forget everything about his hunt for the Horcruxes and the final battle with Voldemort. The man's soul – if that was what he'd seen in King's Cross when he had died – deserved its place in eternal, fractured misery, and to remember him would only be to give those who followed his ways more power and influence. So he reasoned, anyway.

As his mind wandered, sounds seeped into him. It was a strange kind of conversation in a strange mode of speech, lilting and fey, in a language he vaguely felt he knew from somewhere. A sleep-crusted eye opened with what seemed to him like an impossibly loud crack, and he saw his rescuer sat upon a Reducto-blasted tree stump, still black and smelling of burnt sap. Another Dashkin, with his long horns covered in woven grass and flowers, sat beside him.

"Kynsa…"

"Arendil, please…"

"My apologies. Larieth, when he said not again, did he mean…"

"Yes. This is the Kynsa-an-Hosruth, the First of the Phoenix Peoples of the Slow. You remember when the snake creature came into our lands, eight years ago? He was a human, but tainted, his spirit shattered and placed in objects scattered hither and yon in the world of the Slow."

"He broke his…" What Harry could see of this new Dashkin – Arundell or something – had hunched over and was in the process of being violently ill.

"Indeed, Arendil. The snake creature came to me in secret to request an alliance, when the harshest snows covered the ground last. He tried to bribe me with Slow magicks, trinkets and children's toys. And when I cast him out…"

"Where was this, Larieth? Which of the lands of England were you in?"

Larieth's voice hoarsened, as if begging for atonement. "Cos-an-Epping."

"… You condemned them to slaughter. You condemned an entire Kynsailund to fire and death. What if your wife had been there? What if it had been Thessalin? You… you murderer! Larieth, what have you done?"

"What have I done? I saved my people from an eternity of enslavement to the Slow's darkest Kynsas! I placed my faith in the Phoenixes of the Slow. I placed my faith in him! And I was proved correct in my judgement."

"But it was proved at the cost of a thousand lives and the destruction of our greatest stronghold in the south! Larieth, please, tell me you did not know the Dark One would do this… for the sake of Isha, tell me…"

The hoarseness returned. "I did not know what he was capable of. Arendil… I beg you, as a father to another, do not tell Thessalin of this. Her condition is too precarious."

"I agree. But a part of me wants you to know how much the people of Cos-an-Epping suffered. Once she is well, you should tell her, that she know your shame. Perhaps you should get your beloved Slow Kynsa there to heal her, as he has been watching and listening for what I assume to be the entire time we have been speaking."

Larieth spun round to face Harry, who got unsteadily to his feet and scrabbled around for his wand. A muttered Lumos let him see the two Dashkin's expressions, one of anger and the other of compassion.

"Look… Larieth, um… did I get that right?" The Dashkin leader nodded. "Right. Good. Um. Listen, I fought Voldemort and killed him. And it damn near killed me, lots of times… and I don't even know what it is you want me to do this time around, and I don't know how to fight it, and I'm barely able to so much as walk without it hurting like hell. Why do you want me?"

"You've answered your own question, Slowling," muttered Arendil. "Come. If you are to be the saviour of the Dashkin, you must walk with us to our city. If you cannot walk, Larieth will bear you."

It was at roughly this point Harry noticed a trickling sensation around his knees. Looking down, he saw blood pooling on the floor around his battered trainers.

"I might take you up on that offer… also, ouch."

Larieth blurred, and Harry was carried off to the kingdom under the leaves.

[[SCREEN BREAK]]

"I… I don't understand…" Hermione said. "He only went to visit Hagrid, and now it's after midnight… oh, Ginny, I'm just so worried about him!"

"And you think I'm not? You don't have a monopoly on him, Hermione. He's my friend too." Harry and Ginny had tried dating after the Battle of Hogwarts for a little while. The sex had been fantastic – Ginny had suggested changing his nickname to the Boy who Loved, which had spread through the school like butter on hot toast and was on the front cover of Witch Weekly a day later – but the spark of love hadn't been there. They'd agreed it was probably for the best if they separated and remained friends. Besides, when Ginny's face had been splashed across the front covers of various witch magazines Molly Weasley had gone a shade of puce usually reserved for finding one of Fred's sweets lying around the house. It had almost been as bad as the time Luna had, shall we say… dressed down for the front cover of Wizard Nuts.

"You reckon we should go and have a look for him? He can't have got far… besides, it'll be nice to see Hagrid again."

"I'm coming too," yawned Ron, appearing from the stairs as gracefully as a shambling ginger walrus. "I saw him first."

"Ooooh, brother of mine, we don't want Hermione getting jealous, now do we?" Ginny's smirk covered most of her face and Ron's ears went bright red. After coming out as bisexual in a review given to the Daily Prophet, Ronald Weasley had become a slightly unlikely poster boy for gay rights campaigners across the Wizarding World. Strangely, this was about the one overtly sexual action of her children that Molly had actually approved of. No-one was completely sure why, and even less people wanted to ask.

"I have nothing to fear from Harry," said Hermione primly. "He's our friend, and in any event Ronald has already selected a male lover who is amenable to both of us. We had him around for tea during the holidays."

"Okay, Luna, why are you Polyjuiced as Hermione?"

The three snickered and walked off towards the grounds, giving a cheery wave to Professor Flitwick as they passed. The Deputy Headmaster smiled and waved back, then returned to his continued attempts to charm the wall back together.

Hagrid's hut was only a little walk away, and they made good time, chatting about nothing until they arrived. It retained its usual charm, a little stream of woodsmoke coming from the chimney, the huge pumpkins growing out in their patch, the scorch marks on the ground that looked like spell damage –

Wait, what?

"HAGRID!"

"'Ermione? Tha' you? Cor blimey, Oi'm glad yer alright. An' Ron an' Ginny too? Well, yer a bit late, but I reckon as you can still 'elp me look fer im-"

"Hagrid, you're bleeding! And your hair's on fire, and that arm looks dislocated, and what the hell is going on?"

"Malfoy an' 'is pals stopped over fer a cuppa an' a bit o' torturin'." Hermione squeaked and Ron wrapped an arm around her. "'Arry got two as I saw an' ran fer the woods. One of 'em got me with a Coma Hex. On'y woke up ten minutes ago. Merlin's beard, Oi 'ope the centaurs ain't got 'im. They've been 'avin' a right ol' paddy every toime a human goes inter the Forest. Course, Larieth's alright… 'e might 'ave 'im, come ter think of it. Let's go."

"Slow down… who's Larieth? And how did Death Eaters get back into Hogwarts?"

"Well, Hermione, that'd be you askin' one o' them differcult questions. If Oi knew the answer as ter why them lot can get inter the grounds after everything the 'Eadmistress bolted onter the wards over the summer, Oi wouldn't've been flat on moi arse fer Merlin knows 'ow long. As fer yer previous question… tha's not summat Oi'm completely at liberty to indulge, if yer follow me meaning. Yer'll work it out once yer see 'im, though. Speakin' o' which, it's toime we wuz makin' tracks." Hagrid slung his enormous crossbow over one shoulder and made for the Forest, the three teens yammering excitedly at him as they tried to keep step with his long, loping gait. He wasn't really listening to anything other than the general gist of it. The actual words all meant the same thing, so he decided to shut down everything at once. He loved the kids, especially Hermione and Ron, but sometimes they made him feel like his ears were beginning to bleed.

"Look, you lot, there're parts o' the forest what not even the 'Eadmistress knows about. Larieth's people… well, Oi reckon as Oi'm about the only one who knows they're 'ere. They came ter Dumbledore back in the Sixties, an' swore 'im ter secrecy about their existence. Yer had ter earn their trust, but once yeh've got it it's yours fer life. Oi reckon as they'll trust yer. Not havin' any bother keepin' up, are yeh?"

He looked around. Back up against a tree of no discernible species other than 'bloody huge', the three Gryffindors were wheezing like broken accordions. Larieth had taught the gamekeeper how to run one year, really run, run like they did. Hagrid turned to gather them back up when a voice appeared from opposite his young charges, accompanied by glowing eyes and a face-covering mop of green, braided hair.

"You never did quite master how to move silently, Hagrid of the Phoenix People. Perhaps your younglings will learn better."

"Arendil… Oi thought you'd caught a killin' fever a decade ago!"

"Nevertheless, I survive. Aren't you going to introduce me?"

"Oh, roight. Sorry. Er, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, this is Arendil Astareth. 'E's one of Larieth's council-"

"Hagrid," said Hermione, "That's a Dashkin. They don't exist. Please, tell me I'm hallucinating."

Arendil walked over and prodded the bushy-haired girl with his staff. "I assure you, I am perfectly real. Or perhaps I would say that, and reach out to touch you, for I am secretly a vision and simply seek to trick you. Perhaps I am neither, perhaps both… it rather depends on you, Slowling girl."

"Oh… You never warned me they might get all… metaphysical on me…" Hermione trailed off in a dead faint.

"Er, well, like Oi said, Arendil's a Dashkin of the Kynsailund that lives round hereabouts. Basically means kingdom in their language."

"A real Dashkin?" Said Ginny excitedly. "You're completely real, and you've been living here?"

"Me and fifteen hundred more alike."

"Bloody hell."

"That's my line," mumbled Ron, before joining Hermione on the undergrowth.