SEPTEMBER 10th, 1997

Draco tapped his quill against his desk, anxiously awaiting for the clock to hit five. The Ministry workers continued on with their pamphlet creation, but he couldn't make himself pay attention for very long. Today was the day. He just needed to make it to five o'clock.

He had called Blaise straight away when he had arrived back at Malfoy Manor two days ago, as soon as he had greeted his parents and given his mother Blaise's ring— with how the Dark Lord had made such a show of looking at it, he didn't want to risk not giving it to her. She had been surprised but excited to receive a gift, which had bought Draco enough goodwill to slip away again almost immediately.

He had gone out to the oak tree to call Blaise, filled with ecstatic, nervous energy at the thought of hopefully finally getting some information to help Ginny, and while he had had no trouble getting the jewelry box open, he had been dismayed to read in the spell's text that it needed to be performed when the moon was exactly at its first quarter. He had ranted at Blaise for several minutes about not warning him of such things, and they had argued. It was a stupid fight, really, and the cost wasn't as high as it could have been— the moon would hit its first quarter today, only two days after Draco had received the brooch. If they had gone to Hogwarts any later, they might have had to wait almost a month to perform the spell— entirely too long.

He would apologize to Blaise later. The truth was, the prolonged stress of this whole thing was starting to get to him. He had spent a year working on various projects for the Dark Lord all while evading detection at Hogwarts, had spent the summer living a tumultuous double-life that had damn near killed him, and nowhe was involved in things that were entirely bigger than himself… things that, if all went to plan, would take down Lord Voldemort for good.

Nope, nothing to be stressed about. Nothing at all…

He sighed and put his quill down. He would have to apologize to Blaise. He wouldn't have survived the summer without him— he knew that— and he certainly wouldn't know anything about Morgana's brooch or this spell without Blaise's help. Hopefully Blaise would be understanding… he was usually good about that sort of thing, wasn't he?

"Excuse me, Mr. Malfoy."

He looked up and saw one of the workers standing at his desk, looking nervous. Maggie, he thought her name was.

"Yes?"

"I… I was hoping to take tomorrow off. My husband's in St. Mungo's, you see, and they have limited visiting hours, and I know there's a lot of work to be done here, but I really would like to see him…"

She trailed off, looking more nervous than ever, and it took Draco a moment to realize why she was telling him in the first place. He had forgotten that Umbridge had officially given him supervisory duties.

"That's fine," he said, and she broke out into a watery smile. "You'll be here the day after though?"

"Yes, absolutely! Thank you sir!"

He nodded at her, a little disconcerted, and she hurried off back to her desk.

Only five minutes till five,he thought as he glanced at the clock on the wall across from him. Soon, so soon, he would be running out of here, running right to his room to grab the hidden brooch and spell, and then off to the oak tree once again.

What would he learn? Would he learn anything? He wasn't sure what would be worse— the whole thing not working, or learning bad news somehow. He tried, every time this thought came up, to remind himself that any information was better than no information, but given the stakes, it was difficult to be content with that idea.

He sighed again and looked back at the picture of him and Ginny on his desk. They smiled for Rita Skeeter, their masks firmly in place, and then right at the end… Ginny smiled at him for real. She looked at him there exactly the same way she looked at him on the bridge. He reached out and ran his finger over the glass, along her hair. What they were doing was necessary, but so, so dangerous. Would there come a day where she would be able to look at him like that without any fear of repercussion?

Not without me doing this ritual first,he thought, a frown coming across his face. He glanced at the spot where the missing painting should have been. Potter had to have taken it— that was the only explanation. He had taken Mad-Eye Moody's eye out of the door— good riddance, honestly— and he had taken Ginny's painting with him.

Potter had to have seen the pictures, too, and of course he had seen Goyle's memory of Draco's birthday "party," if you could call it that. What could he possibly be thinking?

Nothing good.

The sound of dozens of people standing up in unison broke him out of his thoughts. Five o'clock— finally! Not waiting for anyone else, he grabbed his wand and hurried out of the space, heading straight for the senior leadership's Floo connection. He nodded quickly at a couple of other officials as he passed them but didn't stop for conversation. The sooner he was out of here, the better.

"Malfoy Manor!" he called, and stepped right into the fireplace.

He arrived, as he always did, in the drawing room. Luckily, this time, it was empty— no Mother waiting to engross him in something, no Father waiting to give him a lecture. He walked as quickly as he could without actually running, heading out of the drawing room and up the stairs to his room.

The seasons were changing. The sun was already relatively low on the horizon, shining brightly through the hall windows as it approached the tree line. It would be not quite twilight when he performed this rite, but it would be close.

He shut the door to his room firmly behind him before striding over to his wardrobe, pulling open its door, and kneeling down to reach in the back. He pulled a shoebox forward, his heart pounding, and he exhaled in relief when he opened the lid and saw that the brooch and spell page were still there, along with the herbs he had grabbed from the potions room yesterday. Old magic was so strange… just like the Rite of Anam Cara, this spell was like nothing he had ever heard of before. Still though, he had gathered the herbs required, along with the knife Bellatrix had bought him several months ago, and tucked them safely away for today.

I'm getting ready to head out, he sent to Ginny. I've got everything in hand, just need to get to the tree.

Okay, she responded, and he could hear the hope mixed with trepidation in her voice. Be careful. I love you.

His heart clenched. I love you too.

He loved her so much. He wouldn't be doing any of this if he did not love her. Jane's murder, Goyle's torture… those on their own would have been enough to sour Draco on the Death Eater cause forever. But carrying out a sustained secret mission to destroy the Dark Lord? Ginny was the only sufficient motivator for that.

He pulled on the hunter green traveling cloak his mother had bought for him last year and tucked the box under his arm underneath the robe's folds. It was unlikely he would be questioned, but he didn't want to take chances. Tonight's activities would certainly not be Lucius Malfoy-approved.

He made himself slowly walk out of his room, shut the door behind him, and walk down the stairs at a normal pace. Distant piano music made his heart clench still further, reminding him of simpler times. It would be so, so nice to just walk into the music room and lay his head on his mother's lap while she played… But these were not simple times, and if Draco wanted any chance of having simple times again, he had to survive the present first.

He kept going down the stairs, his palms sweaty, and, comforting himself with the fact that his father was probably in his study, he walked out the front door and turned right, heading for the hedge that would lead to the oak tree.

A thin place, as near as they could tell. The spell didn't say anything about a thin place, but given who and what he was going to ask about, he could think of no better place to perform the ritual. The standing stones were a thin place, but he was an outsider there— tolerated, but not altogether welcome. The oak tree, by contrast, was his home, had been a safe place for him since childhood. If there was anywhere safe enough to do this, the oak tree was it.

He passed through the hedge, his palm tingling with old family magic as the plants acknowledged his claim to the land, and hurried up the slight slope to the oak tree.

It was breezy up here, like it always was. The wind whistled through the leaves, like a great hushing sound urging him to be still. He paused and took a deep inhale, allowing himself to enjoy the fresh, clean scent of the air here.

His mind flashed on his mission— Ginny, and Alys, and Morgana, and the Morrigan.

Please protect me,he wished, not entirely sure who or what he was speaking to. The wind gusted around him, and he took another deep breath as he approached the tree and knelt down.

Well, here goes nothing,he thought as he began to make a pile out of the different dried herbs the spell had required. Eleven different herbs altogether— more than many potions, although this wasn't a potion. It was almost like… an offering, of some kind? Strange magic.

Once the pile was done, and he was sure he had layered it in the proper order, he stood up, laid his wand in his palm, and whispered, "Point me." The wand spun in his hand, pointing due north. He moved so that he was facing directly west— the oak tree behind him, the pile of herbs in front of him. He knelt down again and placed the brooch on top of the herbs, nestling it in a bit. He pulled out the spell page, reread it for what felt like the millionth time, and took a deep breath. He knew what to do, and he knew what to ask. Now it was just a matter of doing it.

"Incendio," he whispered, and the herbs caught fire. The flames snaked up the pile, licking toward the brooch, and it struck Draco how very much it looked like the gem, with the light reflected on it this way. Not giving himself time to second guess it, he took out Bellatrix's knife and sliced his left palm, letting several drops of blood splash onto the brooch.

The fire sizzled and snapped, and white tendrils of… smoke? Mist? Vapor?… began to waft into the air, exactly as the spell had described. He focused on them as he said, "How does Elentiya harness the power of the Morrigan?"

His vision went white, and he forced himself not to panic as he blinked rapidly, trying to see anything other than blinding light.

Soon, his vision cleared. He was standing beside a woman who he immediately recognized as a young Morgana— she was maybe five years older than Draco here, but the dark red hair and burgundy dress were unmistakably hers. A quick glance confirmed she wasn't wearing the brooch.

"Hello?" he asked, but she didn't respond. So this was like a Pensieve memory, then— something to observe but not interact with.

They were standing on top of a hill, looking down at a great valley, and the valley was full of fighting men. Swords clashed and men screamed, and the ground was wet with blood. It seemed to stretch on forever— a sea of men so vast that they blended together in one great, grey blur down below.

Morgana wasn't alone, Draco quickly realized. A man stood near her, dressed in a dented and bloody suit of armor, his helmet tucked under one arm. He was older— at least forty— and had a very full mustache.

"What are we to do?" Morgana said, her tone dead. Draco had the immediate impression that she was speaking a language he did not understand but that the vision was translating her words for him.

"Whatever we can," the knight responded.

"They will crest the hill by sundown, and you know they're stronger in the dark."

The knight heaved a great sigh and put his helmet back on. It too was dented and seemed ill-fitted for him. "We will fight, as we must, and aside from that… we can pray, my lady. We can pray."

He drew his sword and started walking off down the hill. Either his departure or his words or both upset Morgana, for she scowled and called after him, "Pray to whom?"

"Whatever gods will listen!" he responded, though he picked up his pace and began running toward the battlefield, sword aloft. Morgana watched him leave, her hands flexing and clenching against her skirt, before she abruptly turned around and hurried the opposite direction, over the hill. Draco, attached to her in the vision, glided along behind her; he was not altogether corporeal here, like he was a ghost.

On this side of the hill lay a large grouping of tents, haphazardly erected in uneven rows extending out to a loose grouping of trees beyond. At first Draco assumed they were tents for the soldiers, and perhaps some of them were, but he quickly realized there were children here— families huddled around simmering pots over fires, families talking in small clusters… families streaked with dirt and hunched in defeat.

Alright, think, Draco admonished himself as he floated along behind Morgana, who walked ahead with firm purpose. Morgana was the first person to be gifted the gem, by the Morrigan. She was supposed to use it to protect her people from evil… but she doesn't seem to know any gods here. Maybe this battle is where she meets the Morrigan?

Morgana hurried through the rows of tents, ignoring people's glances toward her, and burst into the nicest looking one.

"We can't stay here any longer," she said, slightly out of breath as she stood in the tent's doorway. "They'll reach this place by nightfall."

Inside the tent was a large table covered in rudimentary maps, with little stones placed intermittently… a battle strategy, perhaps. No one was inside the tent, save a woman around Morgana's age, sitting in a chair next to the table. She wore a fine, pale green dress, and a golden circlet upon her red hair.

Guinevere?

"You know we can't leave, Anne," the woman said. "Our people have already lost their homes and nearly all of their belongings. They've barely survived the journey thus far— we can't keep leading them down a road to nowhere, not with our enemy's army at their backs."

Morgana pulled on her face in frustration— a most undignified gesture that her stoic Chocolate Frog card would certainly never have done in Draco's time. She strode forward and knelt down so that she was eye-level with the other woman.

"I know you want to stay, Guin, but we can't," she said, clasping Guinevere's hands in hers. "We can't fight them. Our warriors can hold them off, but—"

"But for how long?" Guinevere finished, pulling her hands away. "And then the slaughter begins anew, just maybe a few miles from here. It cannot go on this way."

"I agree."

"So what would you suggest?"

Morgana heaved a mighty sigh as she stood up again. "Sir Michael said to pray."

"Do you think that would work?"

Morgana scoffed. "Why would it? You think the widows outside aren't praying?"

"The widows outside aren't you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Guinevere said, rising to her feet, "that you're learned in the magical arts. It might be different with you."

"I already told you my magic isn't effective against the invaders—"

"I'm not asking you to cast a spell on them. I'm asking you to use your magic and pray for deliverance."

Guinevere reached out and grabbed Morgana's hands in hers.

"Please," she continued, her eyes filling with tears. "If there's even a chance—"

"I don't see how it would work."

"Would you deny me even this? After everything?"

The air between them grew thick with tension, and Morgana's harsh gaze softened.

"Of course not," she whispered.

"You promised to love me forever," Guinevere said, and Morgana looked down. "Love me by loving my people, Anne. Deliver us."

"What if it doesn't work?" Morgana whispered, her voice growing thick with emotion.

"Then we know we'll have tried everything. If we are to die, then we will die having fought to the bitter end. But we will not leave this world with regrets."

Morgana looked up, and Draco knew with certainty that she would have regrets if she died in this moment— what exactly they were, he wasn't sure, but the devastation on her face was plain enough to see.

"I will do as you will, my lady," she said, and, after a moment of hesitation, reached out and kissed Guinevere on the cheek before abruptly turning around and rushing out of the tent.

Well this certainly wasn't how the legends of Morgana he knew had gone. But then again, none of those legends mentioned anything about the Morrigan, or this gem. The Morgana on the Chocolate Frog card was older than she was here— maybe her later tales survived the test of time, and this hadn't?

Because Alys's people— her descendants— died out,he mused as he followed her. This was all very interesting history, but he couldn't help but be impatient. Was this how Ginny felt in her Alys dreams, like she was trying to find a needle in a haystack? When would he see something actually relevant?

Morgana walked past Guinevere's tent, her cheeks flushed, and continued on toward the trees. She withdrew a wand from within her sleeve and held it tightly as she picked up her pace, practically running by the time they reached the tree line. Draco looked up at the sky— it was heading toward twilight. The sky was streaked with oranges and reds; it would be nightfall soon. His heart rate quickened as he imagined that horde of an army coming over the hill.

Morgana had said her magic didn't work on their enemy… why? Did they have magic too? Even if Morgana was the only witch among her people, surely she could destroy dozens, if not hundreds, of Muggles with a well-placed spell. Why didn't she?

They walked on through the sparse forest; this was not the land around Malfoy Manor, Draco was sure. The trees looked different, but he also vaguely remembered Ginny saying that Alys's people had come from somewhere else before arriving in modern-day Wiltshire. This forest was younger, the trees more sparsely populated, and he soon discovered that a river ran through this forest. The water rushed and burbled along, like a group of people whispering, as Morgana knelt down at the edge of the riverbank, looking uncomfortable.

She huffed and then said, "I come to petition for aid."

Nothing happened. Morgana huffed again.

"I come to petition for aid. My people are suffering, dying at the hand of an unkillable enemy. I have tried to save them, but I… cannot. My power is not enough. I come to petition for aid."

A gust of wind kicked up, blowing straight at Morgana from deeper in the woods, and a voice seemed to whisper, "What will you give us?"

Morgana's eyes widened, and her hand grew shaky as she gripped her wand. "What would you ask for? Our people have little and less to give, but I would gladly give anything of mine to save them."

The wind gusted again. "Would you fight?"

"I have already fought—"

"Would you fight?"

"… yes. I would fight."

"Can we trust you… with a most precious gift?"

Morgana gulped. "Yes. I would treasure it, whatever it is."

A now-familiar blue-green light coalesced into shape above the river, and Morgana gasped, rising to her feet, wand halfway extended in case of threat. Draco's palms were sweaty as the portal opened, revealing the same landscape he had seen Ginny access twice before.

A cloaked figure walked through the portal, and a terrible chill ran down Draco's spine as he realized it was Death. Unlike with Ginny, however, the portal closed behind the figure, and when Death removed its hood, she had the face of a woman, not unlike Morgana's own face.

Morgana gasped again. "You… you look like me."

Death— the Morrigan?— floated down and landed along the edge of the riverbank, next to Morgana. "I look like all things," she said in a voice that seemed to echo around them. "I appear in the way that's most comfortable for you."

"I'm most comfortable seeing myself?"

"You would, at your heart, like to rely solely on yourself, if such a thing were possible."

Morgana flushed. "Well, it is not."

"No," Death agreed. "It is not— not now, nor shall it ever be. Something your kind struggles to learn."

"Well, I'm learning it now," Morgana said in a way that strongly reminded Draco of Ginny. Seeming to remember that she was apparently talking to a god, Morgana bowed her head before dropping to her knees. "I would know the name of my potential savior."

"I am called many names."

"What name should I call you?"

"You may call me… the Morrigan."

"The Morrigan," Morgana repeated slowly— the name was unfamiliar to her.

The Morrigan swept past Morgana and looked out through the trees, toward the battle. "You fight against an unkillable enemy."

"Yes," Morgana said in a shaky breath, still on her knees. "I do not understand it, but yes."

"They too sought aid, though it was not I who gave it."

"Another god?"

The Morrigan stayed silent, though her beautiful face wrinkled in distaste. "No. The worlds are not split into mortals and gods, human woman."

"The worlds?"

The Morrigan turned to face Morgana again. "It does not matter now. Will you fight?"

Morgana rose to her feet. "If I have any chance of winning, yes."

The Morrigan let out a dry chuckle before striding forward. "I will give you a gift, mortal woman, and if you wield it well, if you deliver your people from destruction, I will bless them for generations to come. You will fight this enemy, and if you win, your people will always hold the power to defend themselves from that which is ancient and cruel."

Morgana inclined her head. "I will wield it to the best of my ability, Great Queen."

The Morrigan smirked— gods actually smirked?— and held her hand to her chest. After the briefest moment, her chest began to glow, deep inside, illuminating her rib cage, and with a gasp, she withdrew a golden ball of shimmering light. Morgana's eyes widened, as did Draco's— this was the same light as in the gem, but not in any solid form.

"I suppose a corporeal world requires a corporeal vessel," the Morrigan mused, and she waved her hands in a circular motion around the ball of light, which coalesced into the gem Draco was familiar with.

"You will be able to see clearly now," the Morrigan said, "and when you reach inside, the depths of the light will be waiting for you, ready for you to give them shape."

Then, in an echo of an event that would happen at least twice in the future, she tossed the gem toward Morgana. It arced through the air, and time seemed to slow with its passing, until it hit Morgana's chest and exploded in light. Draco squinted, trying to keep his eyes open for fear of missing something, but it was blindingly bright; spots flashed across his vision, obscuring the world for a moment. He blinked a few times in quick succession, and soon, he was able to see again. Morgana stood across from the Morrigan, panting and looking mildly alarmed.

"What… what is this? Some kind of magic?"

"Of a different kind, yes." The Morrigan closed the distance between them and reached out her hand. "But in order for you to use it, I need to give you the second sight." She waved her hand across Morgana's face, over her eyes, causing them to momentarily glow silver. Morgana gasped and rubbed her eyes, blinking.

"This is… very overwhelming," she said breathlessly.

"It will be an adjustment for mortal eyes," the Morrigan agreed, "but a necessary one. The enemy's nature will not deceive you now. Look inside and find the light."

Morgana furrowed her brow, and Draco took a step closer, watching desperately for any hint of what was about to happen.

"I see it," Morgana said, and there was awe in her voice.

"Then use it, and save your people from destruction."

Morgana's eyes fluttered closed, and a smile broke out across her face as she extended her arms out to her sides and began to glow.

How was she doing it? What was she looking at? Draco walked still closer and reached for her, but of course his hand went right through her.

She lifted up her right hand over her head, and a glowing, spectral sword appeared in it. Lightning cracked, and then in a great flash, Draco was back in his own body.

"What?" he demanded. "That can't be it!"

The fire had burned out, leaving a pile of smoldering ash beneath the brooch. The spell was over.

What had he learned? It seemed the second sight was indeed required in order to access the gem's power— the Morrigan had had to gift it to Morgana. Look inside and find the light.But Ginny couldn't just randomly summon a god to get this vision. That couldn't be the only way.

He needed more information. He seized the brooch, grabbed his wand, muttered a hasty, "Evanesco," clearing away the burnt herbs, and began again, building the pile. His stomach tightened as he remembered the spell's warning against repeat castings, but he pushed the feeling down— he couldn't worry about the consequences now. They needed more information, and this was the only way he knew to get it.

Once the pile was remade, he replaced the brooch, took a deep breath, and cast, "Incendio." The pile sparked to life, flames licking up the sides, and he took the knife, slicing his hand once again and dripping blood down onto the brooch. His stomach uncomfortably tight, he spoke a slightly altered version of his second question: "How does someone permanently gain the second sight?"

White smoke rose in tendrils from the pile, more rapidly this time, and Draco's vision flashed again as he was transported into a vision.

He was in a village, and he knew within the first moment of arriving there that this was the same village that Alys had lived in, the same village that occupied Malfoy lands. He marveled for a moment to see the houses intact; he was standing on what appeared to be the main roadway, and a little ways down from it he could see a well. Chickens wandered freely through the streets, and children laughed as they ran from house to house. It was a night and day difference from the people in his last vision.

But where was Morgana? This vision had to be connected to her somehow.

He looked around, momentarily lost, before he spotted her, standing near one edge of the village, maybe forty feet away from him. She was much older here, much more like the images he had grown up with, and even from this distance he could see the brooch glinting at her neck— she must have had it made to commemorate the gem. She wasn't alone; she stood talking with a younger woman, with dark brown hair and a deep green dress.

Draco hurried over, afraid to miss even a second of the memory, and it was good timing, for Morgana linked arms with the younger woman and began walking away, toward the forest. They walked in silence, and Draco floated along behind them, trying to observe anything he could in case it was relevant.

"Are you sure that this is the right decision?" the younger woman asked.

"Yes," Morgana replied. "You and I have carried this burden alone for long enough. This legacy belongs to our people, even if we are the ones ultimately who must carry it."

"If you say so, Mother."

So this was Morgana's daughter— someone else he had never heard of. Alys's ancestor? It must be. He hurried past them and turned to face them as they walked, moving backwards ahead of them. Morgana's eyes didn't look any different here; they had only flashed silver for that one moment in time. But was her second sight permanent, like Alys had seemed to imply? It must be… but how, and how was it passed down?

They eventually reached a clearing in the trees, a clearing that Draco recognized. This place would one day hold the standing stones, though they were absent now. Draco marveled at how open the space looked without them— the stones were massive. How had they gotten here?

"This is the place," Morgana said, and came to a stop. "When I am gone, it will be up to you to lead, but it is not enough for one person to hold our legacy. We must teach the others to see that which cannot be seen." She pulled out her wand and pointed it at the earth before saying, "Figura terrae."

The ground below her rumbled and shook before, one at a time, giant stones began to grow out of the earth— thirteen in total, forming the same circle that Draco would visit over a thousand years in the future. Morgana's daughter looked on, wide-eyed, as her mother cast her spell, weaving magic through the air as she brought the stones into place, and then carved the runes to spell ELENTIYAon one of them.

"The Morrigan guided me to this place, decades ago," she said. "It is here where she showed me how our people will grow, how we will stand against destruction in this land. This is a thin place— can you see it? Where you could reach through, if you tried?"

"Yes," her daughter said with a nod, eyes fixated on a point in the middle of the stones. "But our people can't."

"We will teach them."

"How?"

Morgana stepped into the standing stones and tilted her head back to look up at the sky. "Many tales of the Morrigan focus on her purview over death— and rightly so— but she also holds its opposite. Neither can exist without the other, just as no one human can exist alone. If the intention is set beforehand, and the place is thin enough, two moving as one can learn to see that which cannot be seen, can transcend the limitations of these mortal bodies and protect those who are most vulnerable. Do you understand?"

"The opposite of death," her daughter responded slowly. "Life?"

"The embodiment of life, together— in praise of the gods. Yes."

"A ritual, then. A ritual of two who move as one."

Morgana nodded. "Not all will want the power to see, but enough will— and those will be the ones we can depend on if and when another danger comes to pass. Our sight will be passed down our line, but for the others… it is a call they can choose to take up in the name of the Great Queen, or not. Those that do choose to see will carry a great honor, and a great burden."

"As it was, as it is, as it ever shall be."

Draco's vision flashed white, and he was back in his body, and his nose was gushing blood.

"No!" he yelled, slamming his fist on the ground. "I was so close. It's not enough."

A variation of what Alys had said— that was really all he had learned there. A ritual done in a thin place would grant the second sight… but what wasthe ritual?

The opposite of death. The embodiment of life. Two moving as one.

Blaise's smirking face rose in Draco's mind, but he shook his head, splattering blood on the ground. Innuendo and stupid riddles weren't enough— he needed to know.

"Episkey," he said after he picked up his wand. The bleeding slowed some but did not stop. It took two more castings before it dried up completely, after which point Draco was breathing hard.

He had to cast it again. He was limited by the fact that the spell could only show him Morgana's memories rather than some objective answer, but he had to try. He had come up with three questions, and he had hoped to have a clear enough answer before now, but he should have known better than to get his hopes up. He picked up the brooch, which glinted in the fading sunlight, and once again Vanished the burnt pile of herbs before rebuilding it, ignoring the fact that he felt vaguely lightheaded after such a pronounced nosebleed. Consequences be damned— they needed this information no matter what.

He replaced the brooch, set fire to the herbs, and sliced his hand once more over the pile.

"What is the ritual of the two who move as one?"

His vision flashed white, and he returned to the clearing with the standing stones. It was night now, and the nearly full moon shone brightly overhead. Draco could see traces of the Milky Way arched across the sky.

There was a bonfire in the middle of the standing stones, a massive one which crackled and sparked, sending embers shooting up into the night and casting long shadows on the outside of the circle, where a couple dozen people were gathered. It was difficult to see their faces, and Draco looked for Morgana for a moment but quickly gave up as a couple holding hands entered through a gap in the stones. They looked nervous but determined as they approached the fire, their hands clasped tightly.

Draco moved closer, though instinct told him to stay out of the circle. He got as close as he could to the edge, lingering in the gap between two stones. This vision did not give him the sense memory of the fire, but he knew just by its size that it had to be swelteringly hot.

"We ask for the blessing of the Great Queen," they said in unison, bowing their heads toward the fire. "We celebrate life tonight, and seek to guard against destruction. Accept our offering, oh mighty Morrigan, and grant us the second sight to ward against the ancient enemy."

Draco's heart sank into his stomach as he watched the couple turn to each other, smiles on their faces, before embracing in a passionate kiss. They began tugging at each others' clothes, and Draco turned away, covering his face.

"Alright, I've seen enough! You've made your bloody point. I—"

"Have they?" came a smirking, cold voice that chilled Draco's blood. He had only heard that voice once before… in Ginny's nightmare.

Feeling not altogether in control of himself, Draco removed his hands from his face and turned back around. Young, handsome Tom Riddle stood in the middle of the standing stones, the bonfire casting odd shadows behind him, and Ginny stood at his side.

"Ginny!" he called, and started to run forward, but it was like his legs were stuck in molasses— he could barely move.

Repeated use of this spell can cause hallucinations, repeated bleeding from the nose, and premature whitening of the hair,one part of him recited, but it was like that part was very far away, drowned out by the echoing boom of Draco's own heartbeat, loud as thunder in his ears.

"I should have figured you'd like to watch," Riddle said as he turned to Ginny. Draco struggled forward, but he barely moved an inch. "Seeing as you missed your… golden opportunity." He laughed as Draco struggled, and then he did the worst thing. Draco entirely forgotten, he leaned down, pushed Ginny's hair out of her face, and kissed her deeply, cupping her face in his hands.

"No! Stop! Ginny, run!"

Ginny did not run. She stood there, frozen, and Riddle's hands reached lower, grabbing the top of her robes and tearing them open with a loud rip.

"No! Stupefy! Flipendo! Avada Kedavra! AVADA KEDAVRA!"

His vision flashed white, and he awoke back in his own body, drenched in sweat and blood and tears. He was breathing like he had been running for miles; his whole body was shaking.

It wasn't real. The spell showed him Morgana's memories, and she obviously didn't have memories of Ginny or Tom Riddle. The spell warned of hallucinations with repeat usage. It wasn't real.

His body didn't believe that, though. Filled with nervous energy, he yelled across the bridge.

"Ginny! Ginny!"

"Merlin's beard, what's wrong? Are you alright? What happened?"she responded immediately, her voice full of concern.

Draco sobbed in relief. Not real. Not real.

"Come to the bridge. We have… a lot to talk about."

SEPTEMBER 10th, 1997

Ginny gasped in alarm as Draco embraced her tightly enough to knock the wind out of her, squeezing her close to him and lifting her slightly off the bridge with his force.

"What's wrong?" she squeaked, but he shushed her, putting her down but keeping her close to him, stroking her hair with one hand as he shook slightly against her.

What the hell had happened during the spell with the brooch? What had he seen? Something awful, obviously… That made Ginny's stomach twist in dread. That couldn't mean anything good for their mission.

"You're scaring me a little bit," she said after a long moment. "Please tell me what's wrong?"

Draco let out a shuddering breath before nodding against her and letting her go. He wordlessly stumbled over to the bench and sat down, and she followed, doing her best not to jump to the immediate worst conclusion.

"What happened?" she asked.

He took several more breaths before responding, and then, like he was giving a report for school, he launched into his story, telling her all about his visions of Morgana, previously called Anne, and the Morrigan, and the battle, and the peace found in the village in the forest that now belonged to Draco's family.

"The Morrigan gave Morgana the second sight just with a wave of her hand," Draco said dully, "and it sounded like it became hereditary for her line, but obviously that wasn't going to work in your situation. So I asked about how someone could permanently gain the second sight."

He described Morgana's daughter, and the creation of the standing stones, and their discussion about life and death and two moving together.

He grew tenser the longer he talked, and flinched when Ginny put her hand on his knee.

"And they didn't really explain what that was, so I cast it again," he continued. "And I saw… a couple. In the center of the stones. They said some kind of vow in front of a bonfire, and then…" He trailed off and looked away.

Oh. Why hadn't she thought of that until now? It seemed so obvious when he laid it out like this. Not what she would have expected, but not entirely out of character, she mused as she recalled the array of dancing, naked women under the moonlight in Alys's time.

"Is this what you were so upset about?" she asked gently.

He whipped his head toward her. "Aren't you upset about it?"

"No? Why would I be?"

"What do you mean?" He stood up, his face cold. "Do you understand what I'm saying? I—"

"I'm not an idiot," she snapped, rising to her feet. "You won't just come right out and say it for whatever reason, so I will: they had sex in the standing stones— a thin place, in other words— and gained the second sight that way."

"For whatever reason," he muttered. He looked down briefly, and when he looked back up again, he was furious. "I cast this stupid bloody spell three times to learn information we need in order to defeat Lord Voldemort, the greatest Dark wizard of all time, and I knew I was going to have to ask you to do something with whatever I learned, I even knew that it might be challenging or dangerous or something I wouldn't want to ask you to do. But for it to be this…"

Old patterns had her wanting to snap back at his tone, to react in kind to his anger, but instead, she reached out and took his hand.

"Tell me what's really wrong."

His face stayed cold for a moment, but soon his lip quivered. "After everything I've put you through, how can I be expected to ask this of you now?"

Ginny's heart twisted, her mind flashing on their first couple of weeks together and all of the weight and misery that had colored the experience of his lips on hers. "Draco, this isn't anything like the summer—"

"Is it not?" he snapped, his anger back in an instant as he pulled his hand away. "You can honestly say this is what you would have chosen, in another life?"

"I would have chosen you, yes."

He stopped, eyes widening, and she took a step forward.

"The circumstances are… unusual, I'll give you that," she said. "And maybe the timing of it all feels artificial, with these external forces at play. But I know you, deep, deep down, in a way I've never known anyone else, and I choose you, Draco. I choose you with or without all of this stupid weird magic and the pressure to save the world. I choose you for you, not for any of what's going on outside of this bridge. And, for as awful as everything has been these past few months… without it, I would never have gotten to know you this way. Maybe this can be something good that comes out of all the bad?"

His lip was definitely quivering now, but before he could start crying, Ginny stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him, gentle and firm. She was telling the truth— she would choose him. Had chosen him. Maybe was meant to choose him, all along. They were here, together, and nothing was ever going to rip them apart.

After a few moments, she pulled away from the kiss. Draco was breathing hard.

"Do you choose me?" she asked.

"Always," he responded instantly. "But—"

"But then there's nothing to be upset about, right?"

"What if you change your mind?" he whispered, his eyes growing wide again. "Later, after all of this is over. What if—"

"I'm not going to change my mind."

"How can you be sure?"

"You've said that you're sure you're not going to change your mind about me. How are you sure about that?"

"Because I just… feel it. And my feelings for you started way before any of this mess anyway."

"You had a crush on me— you thought I was cute, and funny, and you wanted to be around me. But you didn't love me then. That came after."

"I suppose," he said, looking disconcerted.

"So maybe it's not as different as you think," she said, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. "You grew to love me as you got to know me better, got to see my character and my values and what I'm really like, deep down at my core. And the same thing happened for me with you— you just couldn't be fully yourself, for a while. And you had some growing to do, and— here's the biggest sign of your character, if you're looking for it— you chose to do it, even though it would have been so easy for you to just keep things the same. I never forget that even for a moment, and thatis why I choose you."

He embraced her, and she wrapped her arms around him, inhaling the scent of pine trees along the sea. Being here, like this, with him… it was right. He was safe. He was home.

And maybe he was right— the idea to have sex today wouldn't have crossed her mind if he hadn't found out about the ritual. But was it really such a bad thing that the idea started from something external? She held him tighter, breathing in his scent, and lightly ran her fingers over his muscled back. Yes— she wanted this. Wanted him.

"You know," she said after a few moments, her face still pressed into his chest. "This is probably a thin place. We've talked about it before."

"I know." He stiffened, and Ginny bit back a sigh. How could she get him to believe her?

"What would help you feel more comfortable with this whole thing?"

"Mefeel more comfortable?" he sputtered. "It's you who—"

"So knowing that I feel comfortable? That would help make you feel more comfortable?"

"… yes."

She pulled back so that she could look at him. His jaw was tight, but he wasn't looking away. Good— he was willing to be vulnerable, even if it scared him.

"What if I told you that, if you had asked me today, without all of the ritual talk… that I still would have said yes?" she said.

He sucked in a breath.

"I know we can't just forget the early part of the summer," she said, bringing her hands forward to rest on his chest; she could feel his beating heart under her hand. "But I don't want to carry it with me here. This place is ours, Draco— yours, and mine. Why should the damage Voldemort has done be allowed to intrude here? I want to take this back— this belongs to you and me, not anyone or anything else."

Draco's eyes brightened and, without hesitating, he kissed her, and Ginny smiled against his mouth, relishing once again in their connection that allowed them to be together even when they were miles apart. The kiss was soft at first, but after a moment it was like a dam breaking open— all of the passion, all of the feeling, all of the desirethat had had to be tucked away out in the physical world came barreling out of them, and their kissing grew frantic.

"Wait," Draco panted as Ginny began unbuttoning his robes. "We have to build a fire first."

"What?"

"A fire. For the ritual."

"Oh. Right."

Ginny had, for the briefest moment, forgotten all about any rituals. Flushing faintly, she broke away from Draco and looked out at the misty grey expanse of their connection.

"Doesn't really look like a great place to start a fire," she said, wrinkling her nose.

"It made the bench for us. Maybe it'll let us modify something else." He walked closer to the middle of the bridge, looked around, and said, "We need a fire. Can you make one for us?"

Nothing happened for a moment, but then the middle of the bridge changed shape— it expanded outward, almost like it was creating a viewing deck for the water, and out of that deck rose a stone fire pit, flames crackling cheerfully within it, undeterred by the mist.

"Closed mouths don't get fed, as Mum would say," Ginny muttered, amazed that it had actually worked. Draco raised an eyebrow at her, apparently unfamiliar with the phrase, but quickly turned back to the fire.

"What about… a bed?" he asked, his cheeks turning red.

The bridge obliged— a simple, frameless bed appeared between Draco and Ginny, with crisp, white sheets… just like his bed back at Malfoy Manor.

"It apparently takes our preferences into account," Ginny said as she walked toward the fire, coming to stand by Draco's side. "Alright, lead the way. What do we say?"

"They said it at the same time. Maybe I should write it down." The bridge granted him a parchment and quill, and he quickly scribbled a couple of sentences down.

"Okay, we're going to read it at the same time, alright?" he asked. "On the count of three." He took a deep breath, and Ginny followed suit almost unconsciously. She reached out to hold his hand, and he took it, lacing his fingers with hers.

"One," he said. "Two. Three."

"We ask for the blessing of the Great Queen," they said in unison, bowing their heads toward the fire. "We celebrate life tonight, and seek to guard against destruction. Accept our offering, oh mighty Morrigan, and grant us the second sight to ward against the ancient enemy."

Nothing happened. Ginny's heart beat quickened in anticipation as he turned to face her.

"What happens now?" she asked.

"Now," he said, reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ear, "I kiss you."

He leaned down and kissed her, and this time when her fingers reached for his buttons, he didn't stop her.

It was freedom, she realized, as they began pulling each other's clothes off, lips locked the whole time— freedom to be with the person she loved, in the way that she wanted, in a place where nothing and no one could stop her. She would have to return to the outside world soon enough, where forces sought to make her smaller and smaller, but here… all of her could be here.

They backed towards the bed, Ginny running her fingers over Draco's Sectumsemprascars, and, acting on instinct, she spun them around so that he hit the bed first. He gasped into her mouth as his legs hit the mattress and she pushed him down, making him sit and breaking the kiss.

"We've never gotten to do this as equals," she said. "Not really. But that changes now."

And, without giving herself time to second guess it, she reached up and unhooked her bra, letting it drop off of her shoulders. Draco's eyes widened only for a moment, but then he leaned forward and took her breast in his mouth, making her breathing hitch. They were officially in unfamiliar territory.

He ran his tongue over her nipple and she shivered at the intense sensation. There was definite warmth in her belly now, and she twined her fingers in his hair as he moved from one breast to the other, eyes closed in blissful concentration.

He was so beautiful this way— open and vulnerable and entirely hers. His hair glinted like starlight, and though she knew he was ashamed of his scars… all they told her was that he was brave, that he was willing to fight back… and that was the most attractive thing in the world.

Growing impatient, she pushed against his shoulders, and he fell back against the mattress.

"Scoot up," she whispered, and he did, his eyes now dark with arousal.

"You're like a dream," he said as she crawled up onto the bed, straddling him. "How can you even be real?"

"You're not dreaming," she said, hooking her thumbs in the waistband of his underwear. "I'm real— this is real— and it's all for you."

She pulled down, revealing all of him, and he couldn't stop himself from gasping as she did so. Pushing away her own insecurity about her inexperience, she took him in her mouth, and he moaned loudly, his hand twisting into her hair.

She found a rhythm after a little bit, and though she didn't feel like she really knew what she was doing, Draco was well-pleased if his repeated moans were any indication. Wetness pooled between her thighs, and she clenched her legs together, anticipating what was to come.

"Get up here," he gasped. "If you keep going like that, I…"

She released him before slipping her own knickers off and crawling up above him. He watched her, looking at her like she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

"I love you," he whispered reverently. "I'll always love you."

"I love you too," she said before leaning down to kiss him. "Now and always."

She straddled him more firmly, and he tensed for the briefest second.

"It's alright," she whispered. "I love you. I want this. I want you."

He nodded. "We'll go slow, yeah? This first time."

She nodded, mostly to reassure him, as she lined herself up with him, and began to lower herself down. She gasped at the unfamiliar feeling, a little tightness but pleasure too, and she rocked her hips in a hesitant rhythm, unsure of herself.

"Oh my god," he said, his eyes momentarily rolling up toward the back of his head. "Oh my god."

She expanded around him as they went, and soon enough, their hips were touching. More confident now, she began to move, and he moved with her, one hand reaching forward toward her center, and together they moved as one, pleasure turning to joy turning to ecstasy as Ginny felt a wave building and building inside of her, growing and growing until it reached an impossible peak and crested through her, making her cry out. Draco cried out with her, his fingers digging into her back as his hips bucked upward.

Her vision flashed white, and for a brief moment she lost sight of everything, even Draco underneath her, and then a breeze gusted past her, blowing her hair back, and when she blinked, she could see.

She could see everything.

The mist was gone, like it had never been. They were on the bridge still, but it was sunny here, and down below, she could hear the dull roar of the ocean as it crashed against the expanse of golden sandy beach that stretched on far as the eye could see. Their doors were here, floating up in the sky at either end of the bridge, and down below them was an endless landscape of ocean and beach.

"Draco, it's amazing!" she said, grinning from ear to ear. "I can see—"

"The beach!" he finished, a huge smile on his face. "And the water… listen to the water…"

"You can see too?" Ginny said, flabbergasted.

"If this is what they mean by seeing, then yes, I can," he said, and then started laughing. After one startled moment, she laughed too, and collapsed against his chest, with him still buried inside her.

"It worked," she said, hardly able to believe it. "It actually worked."

"This place…" he said in wonder, once he was able to breathe again. "It's like a mix of your and my mindscapes, do you see? The sky and the sea together."

"Just like you and me together," she said with a grin before she kissed him.

"That's right," he said once she broke away. "Just like you and me together."

She gently pushed herself off of him, ignoring the mild ache between her legs, and sat up next to him.

"Draco, do you realize what this means?" she said, her mind racing. "I can finally talk to Alys again. It's been months now… but I finally did what she asked for. If she keeps her word, she'll tell me how to use the gem, and then…"

"And then you kick Voldemort's sorry arse," Draco said, startling her enough that she laughed again.

"Yes. Then wekick his sorry arse, together."

Draco looked relieved at that thought.

"Yes. Together."

"That… probably means I should go," Ginny said, disappointment sinking into her chest. "I can't contact Alys from here, or at least I don't think I can."

"Don't be sad," he said, sitting up next to her. "This place isn't going anywhere. I'm not going anywhere. You'll contact Alys, and then come right back here, and no matter what she says, whether she's helpful or not, you and I will get through it together. You have the power of a god inside you, Ginny— nothing is going to stand in your way."

That last part was not as comforting as he probably intended it to be, but she smiled anyway and kissed him before standing up.

"Alright, then I guess I'll go. What are you going to do?"

"I think," he said with a smile, "I'm going to wander around on the beach and wait for you to get back."

"That sounds lovely." She looked around; her clothes were scattered everywhere. How annoying to go gather them up—

She didn't have to. She became clothed as soon as she thought it, and let out a sigh of relief. Perhaps this was place was more like the Room of Requirement than they had initially realized. She walked down the bridge, and once she got to her door, she looked over her shoulder at Draco. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring out over the bridge's edge… staring at the point where the sky met the sea.

She smiled, though it felt a little bittersweet, and she opened the cherrywood door.

She gasped back to consciousness, stifling the noise as much as she could, and tucked in under the lap blanket she was using in the window seat. She hesitantly reached up and touched her own cheeks, trying to come back to reality. Going to the bridge was always vivid, but this time… this time had been beyond anything she had ever experienced before. And it seemed that that vividness had come back with her. It wasn't quite like it had been after drinking the potion in the ballroom, but the world around her certainly felt more layered, like she could plunge her hand into water at any moment. Nothing looked remarkably different other than that, but, she recalled, the biggest difference with the potion had been how other living beings looked, not just her general surroundings.

She wrapped her arms around herself, taking it all in. If she focused on it, she could feel the memory of Draco's hands on her skin, of his body pressed against hers. It was so strange that they had shared their first time together but it wasn't in their physical bodies.

So does that make me still a virgin, or no?she mused before stifling a laugh. What a silly thing to wonder about.

Especially when she had bigger worries right in front of her. She looked out the window, out onto the back garden of this house. The sun had nearly fully set— maybe in another half hour or so, it would be fully nightfall. It looked like there were rather more stars out than normal for this time of night. Was that because the sky had changed, or Ginny had changed?

She gulped, her mind drifting to Alys. This was what she had been working toward, or trying to work toward, for months now. But every time she thought about reaching for Alys, her stomach clenched.

I'm afraid of the disappointment,she thought. If she doesn't respond, or otherwise won't help me. If that happens, it'll feel like this was all for nothing, and Draco and I will be out of leads.

She made herself take a deep breath. That was unlikely to happen. She had done everything Alys had asked for, though it had taken her longer than she had expected. She would help her— she had to.

She couldn't speak her name aloud, for fear of being overhead. Mental pleas would have to do.

Ginny closed her eyes, making herself relax into the window seat, and mentally repeated, Alys. I've done what you asked. Please show yourself to me. Alys, it's Ginny Weasley. Please help me.

…

At some point, Ginny drifted off to sleep, and when she came to awareness, she was standing on a hill… a hill with a giant oak tree behind her. But this wasn't the tree that lived on Malfoy Manor grounds…

She gasped. She was standing on the hill she had seen in the other world— the same hill Death and the three brothers had stood on when she had received the gem.

It was a deep, deep dusk here, just as it had been the other times she had seen it. Was it possibly that way permanently? She wasn't even quite sure how she could see, with how dark it was— a deeper night than was possible in her own world, she was sure. Was that part of the second sight, maybe?

The only source of light in this place came from the millions and millions of stars up above her, striations of unfamiliar galaxies streaked across the sky and glinting down on the world below. She looked around, determined to learn more about this place now that she was here. This hill was by far the largest in the area, though off in the distance she could see a glittering castle peeking out over the edge of a forest. That was further off, though— immediately down below her was just open fields, scattered intermittently with wildflowers, though it was too dark to see the color of the blooms. She didn't see any other signs of life— no animals scurrying around, no people or any ghostly shadow figures… nothing.

She started to walk down the hill, not really certain where she was going, when a voice stopped her.

"Ginny Weasley. You've come back."

Ginny whirled around and saw Alys standing underneath the boughs of the oak tree. For perhaps the first time in their interactions together, she was smiling.

"Alys!" Ginny hurried back up the hill and fought the urge to embrace her. "I'm so happy to see you."

"Can you see, now?"

"Yes! It took me a little while— longer than I thought it would— but yes, I can see. I gained the second sight, just like you asked." She paused and looked behind her, marveling at the landscape once again. "What is this place? Another world?"

"I suppose you could call it that, yes," Alys said, striding to stand beside her. "You could think of it as… an in-between place. Do you know what a wheel is?"

Ginny bit back a laugh, reminding herself that she and Alys had grown up in entirely different worlds, and their knowledge bases were certainly not the same. "Yes."

"Your world— our world— is like one spoke on a wheel, and this place could be like the center. It exists only to connect everything else."

"So there are more worlds, then?" Ginny said, her mind uncomfortably flashing on Voldemort and his desire to go 'exploring'.

"Yes."

"How many?"

"I do not know. I have never left this place."

Ginny turned to look at Alys, whose eyes were focused on the land below.

"You've been here a very long time then."

Alys shrugged. "Perhaps. I think time likely passes differently here— you said it took you longer than you thought to gain the second sight, but it did not feel so very long for me."

Ginny nodded and took a deep breath. "Now that I have returned, though… will you help me as you promised? Will you show me how to use the gem's power so I can protect my people?"

Alys's dark eyes flashed at those words, but it was over almost as quickly as it had begun. She smiled tightly.

"Right to business, I see. You won't be deterred, then?"

"No," Ginny said in a rush, her heartbeat quickening. "My people need my help, and I've come this far. I can't leave without it."

Alys nodded. "Good. Your determination will serve you well. I must say, I do wonder where to begin. This is not a position I ever expected myself to be in. Once my life was over… I did not anticipate ever speaking of this power again, let alone to an outsider."

"Did… did using the gem cost you your life?" Ginny asked, vaguely nauseous.

Alys let out a humorless laugh. "No. At least not in the way that you mean. When you summon the Great Queen's power— when the gem is gifted to you, as it was to me in my time and you in yours— you must summon it with a specific purpose, a purpose that the Morrigan deems worthy. If she does, you are granted the gem, and you may use it only once, only to complete that which you summoned the power for in the first place. That is its' only cost— that you follow through on what you wished."

So stopping Voldemort from using the Deathly Hallows to take over the wizarding world, in her situation. That didn't sound so bad— that was, after all, exactly what she wanted it for.

Alys's jaw was very tight.

"I've… seen enough of your memories that I think I know the answer already," Ginny started hesitantly, "but what did you wish for, when you summoned the gem?"

Alys grimaced. "You have not seen the worst one."

"Something with Nicholas Malfoy?"

Alys scowled.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to—"

"Why don't I show you?"

Ginny paused. "Are… are you sure you want to? You said rewatching these memories was tormenting you—"

"I have strength enough for this," Alys said, turning to face her. "Let me show you my people's devastation, Ginny Weasley."

She reached out and cupped Ginny's cheek in her hand, her dark brown eyes locked on Ginny's, and Ginny's vision flashed white.

She was back in Alys's house; the family was gathered around the kitchen table, eating some kind of soup— perhaps a midday meal, judging by the light streaming in through the window. Alys was wearing the same green dress she had been wearing when she had visited Malfoy Manor.

"Well, I for one am glad that it's over with now," Merilda said, trying and failing to get Isaac to sit still. "You returned home, safe and sound, and that is all that matters."

"I suppose so," Alys said, stirring her soup and glaring down at it in a way that told Ginny she didn't agree with Merilda at all. "He's vile, Mer. He does not care for our people or their wellbeing at all— why should he be allowed to rule us?"

"Mostly because no one has power to push him out," Merilda's husband replied. Ginny rarely saw him in these visions, as he was often out in the fields, but he was home today. "That's the honest truth of it. If we could get rid of him, we would, but we can't."

"Do not say such things!" Merilda hissed, smacking her husband's hand and making him choke on his soup. "Do you want to bring more trouble down on all of our heads?"

"I think I have brought down all the trouble we can take," Alys said with a rueful smile. The three of them laughed, a little uncomfortably, and carried on with their meal.

"Speaking of trouble," Alys said, rising to her feet. "I am going out to the forest."

"Is that really wise, after yesterday?"

"I will not allow him to control me, Mer. If I was going to do that, I would end up stuck at his manor house for good, and you would never see me again, probably. He has no power over me that I do not yield to him first, and I will not yield a drop of it."

Merilda sighed, though she couldn't entirely hide the smile on her face. "You sound like Mother when you say that."

Alys's expression grew wistful. "Perhaps I will wear her dress today. That is a better way to honor her memory than wearing it to Malfoy Manor anyway. I can take her to the forest with me, and I will harvest herbs just like she taught us."

Merilda smiled for real now. "I wish I could go with you. But someone has to stay here," she said with a deep sigh.

"That's alright," Alys said, turning and heading for the room she shared with their grandmother. "I'll be back before you know it. Maybe we can tell some tales to Isaac tonight, like when we were girls?"

"I'd like that."

Grinning from ear to ear, Alys hurried into the bedroom, where their grandmother dozed fitfully. She changed quietly out of her green dress and into a white one. Ginny's breath hitched; this was the dress Alys had died in.

"Alys," her grandmother whispered.

"It's alright, Grandmother," Alys said, hurrying over and kneeling down to clasp her hand. "Rest now. I have returned from the lord's manor— all is well."

"I love you, my Alys," her grandmother said as she reached up to cup her cheek, and Ginny was startled to realize she had tears in her eyes.

"I love you too, Grandmother," Alys said, equally startled. She placed her free hand over her grandmother's. "No tears now. I am going out to the forest for a couple of hours, but I'll be back in time for supper. Perhaps we can teach the tale of the Morrigan to Isaac tonight. He's getting old enough now."

"You were always so strong, my Alys," her grandmother continued as though Alys hadn't spoken. "So strong. But I fear I did not teach you enough."

"What do you mean, Grandmother? What haven't you taught me?"

Alys's grandmother closed her eyes, and for a horrible moment Ginny thought she was dead, but she was apparently just asleep; her chest rose and fell in an even rhythm, but she did not open her eyes again.

Alys frowned, but then kissed her grandmother's hand and stood up again. She hurried out of the room, stopping only long enough to grab a wicker basket by the front door… very much an echo of the dream where Ginny had first encountered Nicholas Malfoy.

They hurried out to the forest, and Ginny wondered if it had looked the same when Draco went to visit the standing stones, or if it had changed substantially in the centuries that had passed.

Nothing of note seemed to happen for quite a while after that. Alys gathered herbs, and some mushrooms along the way, and the sun sank lower and lower in the sky. The sky glowed a deep orange-red— a riotous sunset protesting the beginning of night.

Alys finally rose to her feet, her basket full, and stretched her arms over her head, yawning. She had worked hard for what was probably a few hours in reality, though Ginny mused that she had been right to say time passed differently here. It had been a while for Ginny, but it didn't feel like as long as it probably had been in the physical world.

Alys started walking back toward the village, humming under her breath, and a sickening wave of fear hit Ginny's stomach as they moved closer to the village. The sky was an unnatural shade of red— that wasn't from the sun.

It took Alys a little longer to realize something was wrong, but not much longer. She started running, lifting up her skirt as she went, her basket bouncing wildly at her side. There was smoke in the air.

Ginny screamed when they reached the village. Not a single building had been left untouched— absolutely everything was consumed by a blaze that Ginny instinctively knew had been magically created. It roared and moved like a living thing, soaring to greater and greater heights as the village was destroyed.

But that wasn't why Ginny was screaming. The flames apparently were there only to add insult to injury, for everywhere she looked, the ground was littered was massacred bodies. She gagged as she saw Henry— he had been cut in half, his entrails spilled out all over the ground.

Such was the state of all of the villagers— missing limbs, entrails expelled, bloody bodies or bits of bodies strewn about everywhere. Some had even apparently been displayed, as one man hung from a burning roof at an impossible angle— someone had to have placed him there.

Ginny couldn't stop screaming, but Alys was too shocked to scream. She stood, frozen and shaking, her wide eyes darting back and forth, before she stumble-ran to Henry. She knelt down next to him, bloodying her dress, and reached her hand out to him.

She knew he was dead. There was no way she didn't. But it was like touching his cheek made it real for Alys. In a sudden frenzy, Alys howled and took off at a sprint, racing toward her own house.

"Oh no," Ginny whispered, clasping her hands over her mouth as the vision effortlessly pulled her along behind Alys. "Oh no." Could they have survived somehow?

Ginny was terrified of the answer she already knew deep in her gut.

Alys screamed again when she saw her own house being consumed by the flames, and, without a thought for her own safety, stumbled through the door, coughing from the smoke.

Merilda's head was mounted above the fireplace, her blank eyes unseeing, her mouth open in a silent scream. Her body was strewn around the cabin floor, partially charred by the flames. Her husband's death appeared to have been quick— he clearly wasn't alive, but he appeared relatively intact. Alys glanced quickly toward the bedrooms, but the doorway was entirely engulfed by flames. She would not be able to save her grandmother, if she was even still alive.

A burbling, coughing sound caught Alys's attention, and when she turned around, she screamed again, and Ginny thought she might faint, if such a thing were possible in this vision. Isaac was sitting propped up against the far wall, his intestines pulled out of his stomach and blood burbling up out of his mouth.

Alys bolted toward him, sobbing and stumbling over her words, cupping his face with one hand and hesitantly reaching for his wound with the other.

"I have to get you out—" she said, and moved to pick him up.

"Auntie… Alys…" he murmured, and the light left his eyes.

Alys howled like a wounded animal, throwing her head back as she clutched Isaac's body to her, further bloodying her dress, and when she stood up, glowing runes appeared in the air before her, like someone had written them with a wand.

Ginny had a lot of practice reading runes at this point. She didn't need to translate them as her stomach roiled.

If I am to be alone, then so too will you be.

Alys's eyes went impossibly wide and her lip curled back in a snarl as she swiped at the runes, trying to wipe them away, and they soon dissipated.

Alys looked around the house once more, and in that moment one of the ceiling rafters fell, caving in where the bedrooms had been. With a last desperate cry, she turned and ran out of the house, biting back a cough.

Ginny knew where they were going. She followed along behind Alys as she raced back to the forest, to the standing stones, and watched once again as Alys swore her vows of vengeance and Death appeared to her, granting her the gem.

The gem hit her chest, and Alys was momentarily consumed by light, and once the light subsided, Death and the portal were gone. There was only Alys, covered in blood, face hardened in righteous fury.

She walked with calm, cold purpose back toward the village, her body outlined in the faintest golden glow, and once she reached the edge of town, she lifted her hand. The flames subsided all at once, like they had never been. The charred ruins and desecrated bodies were all that remained.

"This will not stand," she repeated, and closed her eyes. Ginny blinked, almost involuntarily, and when she opened her eyes again, they were standing at the outskirts of Malfoy Manor. Most of the windows were dark, but a few lights glowed on the second floor, and one on the first floor that Ginny thought was probably the large dining hall they had visited before.

Alys closed her eyes again, and the golden outline around her body subsided. Other than the fact that she was covered in blood, she looked normal. She opened her eyes again and walked at a steady, even pace toward the manor's front door. Ginny followed, rage simmering in her stomach. Nicholas Malfoy was a monster. He deserved everything that was coming to him, and some cold part of Ginny was glad that she would get to watch him suffer— perhaps the same part of her that had enjoyed seeing the Cruciatus cast on Rookwood, whatever her conscience tried to deny.

Alys walked right up to the front door and went inside; it wasn't locked, apparently, and Bobbin wasn't standing guard by the entrance hall this time. She walked with purpose, quickening her steps as she retraced the path she had walked the evening before, heading for the dining hall. Ginny's stomach tightened with nausea— whatever was about to happen wouldn't be pretty.

Alys pushed the door to the dining hall open. Just like the night before, Nicholas Malfoy lounged casually in a chair at the far end of the table, his feet kicked up and the chair tilted back. A fire roared in the massive fireplace, just like before.

"Ah," he said, slurring a little as he lifted his wine glass in a mocking toast. "You're here already. Good. I didn't expect to see you so soon."

He dropped his chair down to all fours with a clatter and rose to his feet. "We've already had quite the night, you and I," he said as he took a few steps toward her. "Come here and let me clean the blood off of you. Magic works wonders for such things."

Ginny scowled as she noted that his clothes were indeed spotless.

"I would rather keep it, Lord Malfoy," she said, though she did start walking into the room toward him.

He smirked— clearly drunk. "A bit morbid, don't you think?"

"It is a reminder," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. "A reminder of what you've done."

They were soon standing face to face.

"I know you're angry, but you must understand, I had to punish you for yesterday," he said, having the audacity to reach out and cup her face in his hands. "You defied a direct order, and horribly insulted me while you were at it. But you've learned your lesson now, haven't you? Nobody for you to take care of now. Nobody to take care of you now."

Ginny realized, in that moment, how absolutely destitute Alys would have been in this situation were it not for the gem. She was miles, maybe hundreds of miles, away from any other settlements, and without any magic of her own… she would starve. And Nicholas Malfoy knew that too. He thought she was here to give in to his demands now that he had removed any other option, or thought he had.

"What lesson is that, Lord Malfoy?" she asked in a monotone, the flames from the fire reflecting in her eyes.

"That those who lack power must yield to those who wield it, or else suffer," he said.

Ginny's eyes widened— a variation of what Alys had told her long ago, in their very first meeting.

"Yes," she agreed. "I have learned that lesson."

"And now you see who has power here, don't you?" he asked, his smirk widened.

Alys smirked back. "Yes. I do."

Nicholas Malfoy screamed as the bones in his right hand snapped, one by one. He looked at his own hand in horror, pulling it back from Alys's face, and then looked at her.

"What is—"

He didn't get a chance to keep going. Without lifting a finger, Alys broke his other hand, the snapping of the bones echoing off the walls and blending in with the crackling of the fireplace. He stumbled backward, and tried to reach into his sleeve— for his wand, probably— but he was thrown back, tossed closer to the center of the room.

"My people lacked power, Lord Malfoy," Alys said, glowing now as she walked toward him and he continued to stumble away from her. "You were right about that. And they suffered for it— you made sure of it. Tell me, did you enjoy cutting off my sister's head? Ripping out my nephew's entrails? Leaving my grandmother to be burned alive?"

"Not as much as I enjoyed cutting your lover in half," he spat, and he waved his hand, sending a chair flying toward Alys.

Wandless magic, Ginny thought with alarm. That's right— I've seen him use it once before.

Alys didn't even flinch, didn't even look toward the chair careening toward her. It stopped abruptly a couple feet away from her, dangling in midair, and then shattered into a million tiny splinters.

"You taught me this lesson well," she said, "but I am not sure you have learned it yourself, so I will teach it to you now. Maybe the same method might be best?"

She did wave her hand then, toward the fireplace, and the fire roared, racing out of the grate and soaring over the stone floor, impossibly hot. It moved like it was sentient, racing to devour the manor whole.

"Aguamenti!" he yelled. "Aguamenti!" Nothing happened. He scrabbled again for his wand, crying out as he jostled his shattered hand.

"Are you looking for something?" she asked, and his wand slid out of his sleeve. "Surely such a powerful man as yourself doesn't need a flimsy bit of wood."

The wand incinerated itself in midair, and Nicholas Malfoy bellowed.

"I'll kill you—"

"Do you think so? Still?"

His back arched unnaturally as he screamed again, his bones snapping louder this time. Alys lifted him up off the floor, and he flailed around, useless.

"You're afraid to fight me on fair terms—" he choked out.

Alys barked a laugh. "Fair terms? What are those? Did you slaughter my people today under fair terms? Did you threaten me yesterday under fair terms, trying to trap me here to warm your bed in this cold, empty house? No, I think my terms are quite fair, Lord Malfoy. Say goodbye to your manor."

At first Ginny thought she would land the killing blow here, but Alys wasn't done yet. Nicholas Malfoy screamed without ceasing as first one eye and then the other slowly melted out of his face.

Ginny gagged, her stomach roiling, but Alys didn't look like she cared at all.

"You cannot see in the way that truly matters, so what use are your eyes?" she asked.

With a wave of her hand, he dropped to the floor with a sickening crunch. The fire was raging all around them now, just like Ginny had seen the very first time she had encountered Alys.

"Have mercy," he whimpered, and Alys knelt down next to him.

"What mercy did you ever show my people? With the people you carelessly cursed if they displeased you, with your ridiculous demands on our labor, with the slaughter you carried out with all the viciousness of a demon? No, there is no mercy— for either of us. You were right about that too."

His back arched up off the floor, and Ginny was sure he was going to die this time, but no— Alys ripped his right arm off instead.

Ginny turned away, as much as she could without really having a body here. "Please, enough. I've seen enough."

Her vision flashed, and she was back standing next to Alys, breathing hard. Alys's jaw was tight.

"I… I'm so sorry," Ginny panted. "Truly. What you've gone through— no one should have to go through that."

Alys jerked her head in what might have been a small nod. "You see its power now. You can do anything, anything at all, as long as it is in service to the reason the power was granted in the first place. I sought revenge for the massacre of my people, and so I made their murderer feel their pain. Feel my pain. Then I ended his wretched life."

Would Ginny do the same to Voldemort, if given the chance? She somehow thought not.

"I'm sorry," Ginny said again, unsure of what else to say.

"It is… long over, now."

They were silent for a minute, then Ginny said, "I don't fully understand how you accessed the power though, once you had the gem. It was like you just did it, but I don't know how."

Alys smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Then let me show you. You have the sight now. Look inside yourself, Ginny Weasley, and find the light."

Ginny bit back a frown, but did as Alys bade, looking in the same way that she did for the cherrywood door. At first, that was all she saw— darkness, and the door, waiting for her. But then she looked deeper, like she was looking into a well, and deep, deep down… she saw a small ball of golden light.

"I see it!" she cried.

"Very good!" Alys said, moving to stand closer to her. "Very good. Now reach down and pull it forward. Let it come to the surface."

Ginny reached down, butterflies in her stomach as she anticipated what this would mean, and she gasped in wonder as she touched the light— it was wonderfully warm, like coming home. But she couldn't lift it. No matter how she tried, it stayed in place.

"It… won't come out," she said through gritted teeth, trying again.

"What?" Alys snapped. "What do you mean, it won't come out?"

"I mean exactly what I said," Ginny replied, a little irritated. "I can reach it, I can touch it, but I can't pull it forward."

Alys's eyes narrowed. "What wish did you make for this power, Ginny Weasley?"

"I need to stop this… man… this wizard, he calls himself Lord Voldemort, from taking over my world and destroying it," Ginny said. "I begged for help in order to stop him, and Death— the Morrigan— gave me the gem."

"Hmm," Alys said, frowning. "Show me this man."

"Umm. How?"

"Just will it and it will be so," she snapped, waving her hand to hurry Ginny along.

Biting back her own irritation, Ginny focused on her memories of Voldemort, on her memory of him sitting on his throne like a would-be king. Soon, an image of him appeared in the air in front of her and Alys, but it looked horribly warped somehow.

Alys gasped. "A monster!"

He looked… like himself, but shrouded in black energy, and in the energy were… holes? That was the only way Ginny could describe them. Six— no, seven— holes altogether. Five of them pulsed in rhythm, almost like a heartbeat. The other two holes were stagnant— no energy in them at all.

"You need to kill this creature?" Alys asked.

Ginny nodded, and Alys sighed dramatically.

"Well, that poses a problem for you, Ginny Weasley. Parts of his soul are missing."

Ginny's eyes widened. "What?"

"You see the holes, do you not? He ripped them out," Alys shuddered. "I do not know how it is possible, but these soul fragments are alive— the five out of the seven, anyway. Two have been destroyed, but the others… they are alive, but not in this body."

Ginny dropped to her knees. "How is this possible?" she murmured.

"I do not know," Alys said, irritation laced through her voice. "But you will have to seek out these soul pieces and destroy them first, then the body."

"Can the gem's magic help me?"

"Apparently not, if you cannot pull it out. It must only be able to be accessed when you are ready to destroy the man himself."

Ginny covered her face with her hands, fighting back despair.

"All is not lost, Ginny Weasley," Alys said, taking a deep breath and sitting down beside her. "You have the second sight now. I do not know where these soul pieces are, but you will know them when you find them. You will see the fragment of soul in the object, and then you can destroy it that way."

"But they could be anywhere," Ginny said, panic rising up in her chest. "Anywhere at all—"

"You must look!" Alys commanded. "Look, look anywhere you can think of. Destroy these fragments, and only then will you be able to use the Great Queen's gift."

Ginny opened her mouth to argue, but Alys said, "Go now, Ginny Weasley— you have work to do," and then Ginny woke up.

She was panting, drenched in sweat, but she wasted no time in racing for the cherrywood door, racing for the bridge, needing desperately to talk to Draco, to hear him tell her that it was going to be alright.

It was still sunny here. The waves of the ocean crashed against the shore, and the sun shone brightly down on the beach. Draco, she saw, was sitting out on the sand, watching the waves. He waved at her, and she hurried down the stairs the bridge had conjured, taking them two at a time.

He stood up and hurried over to meet her. "Well? How did it go?"

It took her a while to explain everything, long enough that they sat down on the beach as they were talking, the sand deliciously warm beneath Ginny's fingers. When she was done, Draco looked pensive, but not hopeless, which Ginny held onto desperately. Maybe he would have an idea?

"Seven holes," he said, looking out at the water. "I've never heard of anything like it."

"Neither have I."

"Hmm." He tucked his knees into his chest, wrapping his arm around them. "Seven… wait. How many objects did he give you in your dream, Ginny? Objects to hold."

"Six," she said, brow furrowing as her thoughts started racing. "Nagini, the diary, the ring, the locket, the diadem, and the cup."

"And he called them his precious things, remember? He had to give you a different locket because the other one was precious to him.He didn't trust you with it even with all the security you're under."

"You think he could have put his soul in those objects?" Ginny asked, her mouth falling open.

"It's possible, I suppose," he said, frowning. "I've never heard of anything like that before, but that doesn't mean it doesn't exist. He's studied more Dark magic than anyone else alive, probably. If anyone could split his soul like that, he could."

"But there were only six, and there were seven holes," Ginny said. Panic seized her. "Draco. What about the black spot— the one with the dreams—"

He looked up at her, squinting a bit. "No, it doesn't look like what you described at all. Now that I can see, as they say, I think it's a… thought? I know that sounds strange. It's connected to him, but it's not him, if that makes sense."

Ginny nodded, only slightly reassured. "So that means one is missing."

"It makes sense," Draco said, nodding to himself. "The diary is destroyed, and as for the other one… well, he told you Dumbledore had the ring before him, right? He said Dumbledore stole it from him, when he had it first but hadn't known it was a Hallow? What if Dumbledore destroyed the soul fragment in the ring?"

Could Dumbledore have known about this, all the way back then? Did that mean Harryknew about this? He had said he was learning about Voldemort's past… could this be what he had meant?

"So we have to find the five, and destroy them," Ginny said, her heart heavy. "Then I can access the gem for real and put an end to this whole mess."

"Sounds about right." Draco slung his arm over her shoulder. "We can do this. I know you're tired, I know this wasn't exactly the news we were hoping for. But it wasn't for nothing— we did learn a lot, way more than we knew before."

Ginny sighed and leaned her head against him. "Well, I guess where I'm going to focus my attention in my next Tom Riddle dream."