The Healers

Chapter One: The Healers

The young man tossed in his bed, his long legs tangling in elegant cotton sheets. A sheen of sweat covered his half naked body: evidence of the turmoil he suffered in his sleep. A cry escaped his lips and his arms thrashed in the air. Suddenly, he sat upright, his eyes sweeping his dark bedroom, searching for an unspecified menace. Moments later, he came fully to his senses, and with a moan he raised his hand to his pale silvery hair.

For the fifth consecutive night, Draco Malfoy realised he had only been having a dream. Well, a nightmare really.

It was not just any dream, he knew. It was real, a part of his past that was inexplicably returning to haunt him. He sighed and made a lazy attempt to straighten out his sheets, mentally considering the dream. He knew the events of his dream had taken place when he was young - his parents had told him as much. His true memory of the event was somewhat hazy and vague, but the dream was clear and very real. He wondered how true to the real event his night time recollections were.

Throwing an arm over his eyes, he replayed the dream - and his own vague memories - over in his mind. A cloudless, warm day on the prestigious Malfoy Estate, sitting beside a clear shimmering lake, facing his stern yet proud Father ...

: : :

August, 1981

Lucius Malfoy watched his small pale son, a sardonic smile playing at his lips. Young Draco Malfoy, not yet two years of age, had just cast a weak, yet nevertheless successful version of the Crucio spell for the first time, and a small sparrow now lay twitching at his feet. With the delighted squeal of "Look, Papa!", he grabbed his Father's robes and pointed at the bird with his wand.

Lucius smiled indulgently and ruffled his son's hair. "Well done, Draco. Keep practicing that and you'll make a fine servant to the Dark Lord one day." Draco giggled happily and watched the bird in fascination as the twitches slowly subsided.

Untangling his son's fingers from his robes, Lucius turned to stare at his beautiful wife, marvelling at her vanity. The woman is a peacock, he mused to himself as she held a mirror before her face, tilting her face and the mirror at different angles.

Shaking his silvery head over the antics of his vain wife, Lucius turned back to his son. "Watch me carefully, Draco. It is of vital importance that you keep your arm steady when performing the Dark Arts. Never waver! And with a little practice, you'll even be able to combine spells for greater effect." Lucius pointed his wand at the small bird, and clearly enunciated his next spell. "Crucio Incendio!" The bird screeched in agony as it was engulfed by a ball of flame. Draco gurgled with childish delight, and promptly stuck the end of his own wand in his mouth, slobbering over the end.

Lucius looked around for a new target, but was distracted once more by the site of his wife, now blowing kisses at her reflection. He rolled his eyes and continued looking for a new target to practice his dark arts upon. His eyes settled upon a stray garden gnome, and with a huff of annoyance he wondered how on earth the offensive little creature had entered the Malfoy Estate. "Watch me closely, Draco," he murmured, directing his wand at the ugly little gnome, who was rather boldly stalking straight towards Draco.

His wand aligned proudly before his body, Lucius barely noticed his wife's gaze falling upon the potato-like form of the garden gnome. As he took a deep breath, he was unaware of Narcissa raising her elegant form and moving up behind him. His lips articulated the words for the spell, his wand trembled with repressed magic. The moment he finally cried Crucio Incendio, his wife's hand clamped down upon his shoulder, her voice shrilly demanding what the repulsive little garden gnome was doing here in the Malfoy gardens. Lucius's arm, jerked off path by his wife's clamp upon his shoulder, altered the path of the wand's spell, and he watched in horror as the combined spell of torture and incineration hit his small son.

With a shrill scream, Draco hit the ground, his entire body quivering in agony from the effects of the Crucio and inferno spells. The smell of burning skin and hair filled the air as Lucius approached the boy's burning body, but was repelled by the heat generated by the fireball surrounding Draco. Hissing "Finite Incantatum", Lucius threw himself down beside his son as the inferno died down. Narcissa was at his side almost immediately, screaming hysterically and grabbing for her son.

"Control yourself, woman!" he growled, and with a sense of detachment wondered that she'd been able to draw herself away from her precious mirror. With a clinical eye he gazed at his sons seemingly melted body, noting that he'd apparently succumbed to oblivion and thinking it a small blessing. "Blake! Bring dressings to Draco's room," he calmly called to his manservant, the only human amongst the hundreds of house-elves who manned the estate. Equipping himself with notable aplomb, the manservant nodded "Immediately, my Lord", and disappeared.

Muttering "Mobilicorpus", Lucius raised his son and apparated to Draco's bedroom, followed immediately by Narcissa, still in hysterics. "He ought not to have had a wand, never mind you teaching him dark magic! What have you done to our son, Lucius?!" she screamed, slapping at his shoulders. "We must take him to St. Mungos, Lucius! We can not hope to mend this sort of damage!"

Lucius angrily shook his head and said "We dare not", eliciting more screams, this time of disbelief, from Narcissa.

"What do you mean we dare not? This is our son you're talking about! He needs help, immediately!"

With a roar, Lucius turned on his wife. "Do you think I don't realise he needs help? Think, you stupid woman! Think of the questions that will be asked if we take in a boy afflicted by a double spell, one of which is an unforgivable curse! It's dark magic, Narcissa! I can no more admit that I cast the spell than admit I was teaching him the spell - we would both be thrown in Azkaban for practicing Dark Magic around the boy, never mind having taught him to use it."

Narcissa gave an outraged cry and moved to slap her husband once more. With a scowl, Lucius pointed his wand at her and calmly murmured "Stupefy". Her screams subsided and she slid to the floor unconscious. Savouring the silence, Lucius turned his eye back to his son, noting that his breathing was becoming shallow. Cringing at the thought of losing his only son, Lucius paced, trying to recall a spell that might somehow prolong the life of his son until he could think of what to do. None sprang to mind; the vast majority of what he knew was used for inflicting pain, destruction and death, not prolonging nor helping life. Savagely kicking a chair, he let out a bellow of "Blake!" and glared at the man servant as he apparated with a tray of dressings and salves.

"Attend my son. I can think of only one who might be able to help just now." And with that, Lucius stormed from his dying son's bedroom.

: : :

The distorted head of Lucius Malfoy's master floated in the fireplace.

"I am sorry to summon you when you are thus occupied, Master, but I know not who to turn to." His Master's hand gave a vague wave, the lipless mouth flexed in a grimace, and his Master spoke.

"Understand that ordinarily I would not have heeded your call, but the boy must live. He will have a vital role to play in the future. For now, you must listen carefully. I am busy making arrangements for another attack, and can attend to you for only a few minutes. I do not have the time nor the healing skills to help your boy, though I know of some who might." He paused to gather breath, and Lucius nodded his understanding. "In the Forbidden Forest of Hogwarts, you will find a grove with a serpentine carving upon a pillar of stone. Find the stone and summon the gens micans. They will know how to heal the boy. Use the Postulo Clamo and they will come."

Lucius frowned. "Master ... the gens micans?" In the fireplace, the face of his Lord faded briefly as if distracted by something, before flickering back into view.

"That is what they call themselves, and were commonly called in their own time. They were remembered after as simply The Healers." Lucius opened his mouth to speak, but anticipating what he was going to say, his Master cut him off impatiently. "They are no more myths than I am, Malfoy. They exist, though I imagine they are no longer as they once were. Go to the serpentine pillar and summon them as I have instructed you."

Nodding his acquiescence, Lucius stood and started to thank his Master, but was again quickly curtailed by his Master's speech. "Don't thank me just yet, Malfoy. The Healers were never ones to do favours without first demanding a settlement. And I imagine that today that settlement would be quite high. Quite high indeed ... they bear no love for our kind, Malfoy. They will demand a price from you, a high price. And I warn you now, do not allow your pride and arrogance to interfere."

: : :

Autumn, Late Ninth Century

The temple was inexplicably surrounded by a chill mist. The shrouded man shuddered; he found the temple repellent and somewhat creepy, and once more wondered why his people allowed the presence of the Gens Micans here, in what many deemed to be the heart of the Wizarding world. The tallest point of the temple rose out of the forest, the eerie chants of those within echoed in every direction; the sound one of deep sorrow and melancholy, and yet somehow beautiful. He hated the sound almost as much as he hated and despised the arrogant Gens Micans.

As he drew closer to the temple, his eyes narrowed on the Central Precinct. Pulling his cloak forward over his face, he slowed his walk and tried to imitate the effortlessly elegant walk of the Gens Micans.

Gens Micans ... the glowing people. Like his own people, the wizards, the Gens Micans were a people innately magic, yet their magic was different from that of the wizarding people. Where wizards used magic almost as a life style choice, the Gens Micans used it for one purpose, and one purpose only. To give or take health as they saw fit. It was generally accepted that they were the Healers of this world. Their methods of healing weren't crude and improvised, as those of Wizards and muggles often were. No potions nor spells for them. Unlike wizards, who must use wands and incantations, the Healers could heal with a touch. Some, it was rumoured, could heal with but a glance and a few choice words. Despite their great healing powers, their magic could be used for little else. Theirs were the twin powers of peace and healing, or death and pestilence.

The differences between the two races did not end here. Wizards looked much like muggles. More often than not, the physical characteristics were indistinguishable between them. The Gens Micans, however, were a breed apart. Though rarely seen without their heavy cloaks covering their features, it was widely known that the Gens Micans were possessed of an inner power that manifested itself as silver glow that radiated from their bodies; thus their name. The people of the Gens Micans were possessed of hair the colour of the moon, their skin a similar tone. Their eyes were shades of violet and turquoise. And, perhaps the most startling aspect of their physical features, was the unusual shape of their ears, dramatically pointed and curved at the tips. Many found this clipping of the ears alarming ... most overlooked it in the face of the innate elegance of the Gens Micans.

The man sneered as he entered the gates of the Inner Precinct without being questioned. Arrogant fools, he thought to himself. So confident of their own powers, so self secured that they think none would dare go against them. The sneer abruptly left his face as the song of the Inner Precinct filled his ears, surrounding him. It was different from the song of the outer Healing Precincts. The Outer Precinct's song was a chorus of voices, mysterious, moving high and low in tune. But the Inner Precinct's song was led by one voice, with only an occasional echoing chorus. A song of mourning. It befuddled the minds of those who heard it, instilling a sense of sanctity ... for a moment he forgot what he was doing and stood in reverence to the sound of the Erus Medicus.

The sound of hissing shook him out of his reverie and reminded him of his task. Within the Chamber he even now walked towards, lay a silken nest. In that silken nest lay a single, large egg; the last of its kind. The egg of a Greater Basilisk; the patron beast of the Gens Micans. He would have it for his own, to tame and command. Unlike its close relation, the Basilisk, the egg of the Greater Basilisk was nurtured only by the Gens Micans, and the beast itself could live for over one thousand years, possessed with a magic infinitely greater than Gens Micans and Wizards combined.

He entered the Chamber without drawing attention to himself. Glancing around, he noted with satisfaction that, as anticipated for this early in the morning, there were few of the Gens Micans present. Moving to the centre of the room, he gazed with satisfaction upon the egg he'd come for. Slowly, casually, he drew his wand. Raising it above his head, he suddenly cried "stupefy Cunctus!". A shower of light flew from his wand, and all within the room dropped quietly to the floor. A malicious smile played about his lips. Healers of great power and destruction indeed ... they succumb to spells as easily as the rest of us though. Gently lifting the egg, he stashed it under the bulk of his robes and with a calm he didn't truly feel, exited the Chamber. Tugging the cloak tightly about his face, he quickly withdrew from the Inner Precinct.

Minutes later he found himself outside the Temple complex, having faced no challenge whatsoever. Apparating once he was safely out of sight, he found himself in a secret chamber, deep beneath the construct that was soon to be known as Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Taking the egg out from under his robes, and staring at it in a kind of stupefied wonder, Salazar Slytherin smiled. He had his Greater Basilisk.

: : :

Within the Inner Precinct, snakes and basilisks hissed and seethed in fury, sensing unbalance. A day and a night passed before the mournful song of the Erus Medicus. - the head healer - came to a slow halt. She had hoped, in all honesty, that somehow the disappearance of the egg of the Greater Basilisk might be explained, justified. But the serpents surrounding her were becoming more volatile, more forceful in their protests and demands. It was time for her to recognise that the disappearance of the egg was not through some mischance, but blatant theft. She knew the perpetrator was not of her own kind; none of the Gens Micans would have risked such a feat, knowing the wrath of the Serpent, and even if one had, the serpents would know. No, the theft could only have been orchestrated by a wizard or witch. She sent delegations ahead of her to the Wizard council, and prepared to follow shortly after.

Within the Wizard Council, Salazar Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor conversed quietly to each other, Gryffindor occasionally throwing testy looks at the representative for the Gens Micans. The representative had thrown back the hood of his cloak, and a faint silver glow emanated from his pale skin. Beyond him, Helga Hufflepuff was ringing her hands and looking thoroughly distressed, Rowena Ravenclaw seemed to be trying her best to comfort her. The representative - Belenus, son of Iaso - stood calmly, waiting for the Wizards and Witches around him to gather their wits and approach him. Finally, Gryffindor broke away from Slytherin and raised his voice to the assembly.

"As you all surely know by now, this assembly has been called to address the theft of the last egg of the Greater Basilisk. We now await the arrival of her Ladyship, Erus Medicus. Panacea. Upon her arrival, we - the Founders - will decide upon an appropriate line of action." Turning to Belenus with a faint scowl upon his face, Gryffindor loosely gestured to the representative to speak. "Belenus? Have you anything to say?"

"Nothing that cannot wait for the arrival of the Erus Medicus., Godric." Belenus then lowered his voice so that only Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw could hear him. "Though I warn you now, if you have no information that will lead to the immediate recovery of the Greater Basilisk Egg, it will not go well for you. The source of our power lies within the Serpents, and they will not take well to the loss of their unborn master. Neither is my Lady likely to take this well."

Hufflepuff swayed slightly on her feet and let forth a distressed sob, Gryffindor paled then turned a shade of red. "Do you threaten us, Belenus? I warn you, have a care, lest it seem you are blaming my people for the loss of your precious egg!" He took a menacing step towards Belenus, and immediately Ravenclaw followed him, snatching at his wrist and pulling him backwards with a sharp rebuke. "Gryffindor! Do not make matters worse with hasty words!" She looked to Belenus and nodded politely. "We thank you for your warning, Belenus, though I must admit that we have no clues as to why, nor who, perpetrated this theft. However, I assure you we will not rest until the egg is recovered. We recognise its importance to your people, and its subsequent importance to our own."

Belenus gave a curt nod but said nothing, though his lips thinned perceptibly. Silence fell upon the small group, though the rest of the wizards and witches that formed the Wizard council whispered nervously. Suddenly from the main entrance came the announcement that "Her Ladyship, Erus Medicus. Panacea, and her retinue, have arrived". Sure enough, in the doorway stood several tall, slim and elegant figures. Five wore white robes, though like Belenus, their heads were bare. Subsequently, a strong silver glow surrounded the group. One of their number, however, wore a robe of darkest green, and the hood of her robe remained securely upon her head. The small group seemed to glide forth until they stood before Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Belenus. All bowed before the elegant figure of Panacea, yet no one spoke immediately. The silence dragged on, until Ravenclaw straightened and looked directly within the folds of Panacea's cloak.

"Greetings, my Lady. I wish we could welcome you within our midst with more positive tidings, yet it is not to be."

Panacea inclined her head slightly, then sunk in a regal curtsy before the group, before speaking. "What news of the Greater Basilisk Egg?"

"Oh my ... oh dear my ... " Hufflepuff twittered nervously. "Quiet Helga!" Slytherin hissed impatiently, before looking to Gryffindor.

Gryffindor gestured to the seats set up upon the raised dais, and all made their way there, before speaking again. Almost immediately after sitting down, Gryffindor was once more upon his feet, pacing back and forth in agitation. "Allow me to be frank. The egg is no closer to having been recovered. We have no clue as to who took it, nor why. Given the nature of the theft - and the obvious stupification spell used to commit the theft - we must presume that the thief was a being of great magic."

"Do not suggest that the thief was anything but one of your own people, Gryffindor!" Belenus snapped impatiently. "None but a witch or wizard, and one of great skill, could have performed a mass stupification, and you damn well know it!"

Slytherin angrily jumped to his feet, jerking his arm free of Ravenclaw's attempts to hold him back. "How do we know it was not one of your own, Belenus? Why are you so sure your own people are pure and honest? You are mighty quick to cast the blame away from your own people! Some might find this suspicious!"

Belenus looked outraged and immediately jumped to his own feet, pointing one long, glowing finger directly at Slytherin. "Because my people have nothing to achieve from such a theft! Nor has it ever been in the nature of the Gens Micans to commit deception and theft - can this be said of your own kind? You are renowned throughout the known world for your acts of greed and your desire for power. Even now, muggles seek to persecute your kind due to your power hungry ways. Can you deny it?"

Both Slytherin and Gryffindor wore ugly scowls upon their faces. Gryffindor, his face suffused with a red rage, leapt to Slytherin's defence. "And your people are known for your arrogance and self-righteousness, Healer! We did not request your presence amongst us, yet here you are, with all your fine pretension," he yelled angrily. "How dare you integrate yourselves amongst my kind, then directly blame us for the loss of your damn egg? Tell me, why should we even help you with the recovery of it? You have no evidence that it was any of our kind who stole it! How do you know some great bloody mountain troll didn't waltz in and stun your people with the help of some goblins? You do not!"

Rage crackled in the tense silence that followed this. Rowena Ravenclaw stood and grabbed Gryffindor and Slytherin by the elbows, then dragged them away from the rest of the group. Keeping her voice low but forceful, she quickly delivered what she hoped was a stern reprimand to both wizards. "What is it you are trying to achieve, you fools? Why do you antagonise the Healers? You know as well as the rest of this assembly that only a wizard or witch of substantial power could have stolen that Basilisk egg!" She spun on Gryffindor and directed her next tirade at him. "Mountain trolls and goblins? You are grasping at straws there, my friend, and you know it perfectly well! If you follow the path you are taking, you will push the Healers from our midst - is this what you want? Well?!" she demanded, glaring first at Gryffindor, then Slytherin. Neither man moved. "You can not drive them from our midst. We need them, not only for their Healing powers, but for the boost they provide ! to our core magic. Now more than ever, when muggles persecute all those possessed of magic, we must maintain the friendship between all magical creatures. The combined forces of our magic protect us - if they were to leave us, we would all suffer a depletion in the strength of our magic, and we would have none to heal us as efficiently as they heal us. Think about it!"

Turning her back on them, Ravenclaw returned to her seat, closely followed by Gryffindor. Slytherin remained where he stood, unknown to any but himself, fighting an inner battle. He would not return the Basilisk egg under any circumstances. It was his, and he had his own reasons for keeping it. But should he at least pretend to care about the return of the egg, or should he continue down the path that might eventually sever ties between the Gens Micans and Wizarding peoples? Dare he risk a depletion in magical strength if the Gens Micans retreated from the Wizarding world? The answer, frankly, was yes. With the Greater Basilisk under his own command, he was unlikely to suffer any great depletion in his own magical strengths. In the end, whilst the rest of the magical community suffered the loss of the Healers from their midst, his own powers would be tripled by the presence of the Greater Basilisk under his command.

Belenus was right, there. He, at least, had lusted for nought but power for as long as he could remember. With the Basilisk safely hidden in the secret chamber beneath Hogwarts, his dream for power would become a reality. This could only be exacerbated by the retreat of the Gens Micans.

Slytherin returned to the circle, and within minutes, under his manipulative guidance, all hell broke loose.

: : :

1981

The Master paused in retelling the story of the Gens Micans, his face faded briefly in the fireplace before reappearing. He was obviously increasingly distracted.

"Master?" Lucius prompted.

"I am here, though I haven't much time. The Gens Micans disappeared back to the core realm after the Greater Basilisk Egg disappeared, Slytherin made sure of that."

"'Core realm', Master?"

"The source of all magic. The Gens Micans were never completely mortal, like us. Though they were not immortal, either. Muggles talk about being made in the image of their God ... they have a spiritual hierarchy. Though largely misguided in their interpretations, in some ways they have come close to the truth. We, as wizards and magical folk, are closer in that hierarchy to the higher power than muggles. The Gens Micans are closer still. They never truly belonged in this realm, and thus returned to their patria - an otherworld, of sorts, that exists parallel to our own. This is the core realm. They can travel easily between the two. When they returned to the core realm, they took a great deal of magic with them ... thus our own strength of magic depleted." The floating head made a grimace of annoyance, then spoke quickly. "I must go and attend my plans. Go now, and hurry, before your son dies."

Malfoy gave a curt bow to the head in the fireplace. As he neared the door, his Master's voice rang out clearly behind him. "Malfoy! Be sure the boy lives - he has a greater destiny than yours, and until he comes of age, I shall hold you personally responsible for ensuring the boy survives to fulfill it. And remember what I said - do not allow your pride to interfere with your dealings with the Gens Micans."

: : :

Lucius Malfoy stood amidst the dense growth of the Forbidden Forest, feeling like a fool, and wondering, not for the first time, if this was his Master's idea of a cruel joke. Before him stood the Serpentine Pillar, beyond it what appeared to be the ruins of an old stone complex. It had crossed his mind that these ruins could very well be the ruins of the Temples of the Gens Micans, but he immediately dismissed the thought as juvenile conjecture. Thrice now, he had cast the summoning spell that bridged the gap between the mortal world and the Core Realm, yet nothing seemed to happen. He swore in frustration, and a faint breeze ruffled through his fine silvery hair.

"A fine way to greet one of the Gens Micans, Lucius Malfoy," an arrogant voice drawled from behind him. With a savage oath, Lucius spun on his toe and glared at the cloaked figure standing behind him. The figure raised his arms to the hood covering his head, and spoke again, his voice soft and faintly amused. "I apologise for the delay in my appearance. It has been many a long year since any of your kind summoned one of the Gens Micans, and indeed, we tend to ignore the calls of Wizarding folk. Though I shall confess to a certain curiosity upon having heard your call. Tell me, Lucius Malfoy - why do you summon a folk gone from your world for over one thousand years?" Having said this, he dropped the hood of his cloak over his shoulder, and immediately a soft silver glow illuminated the glen where he and Lucius stood.

For a moment, Lucius stood stunned and speechless, his jaw slack with disbelief at the site of the glowing man before him. The man chuckled softly. "Come come, Lucius. Let us not waste time whilst you gape like a stunned mullet. Speak, man!"

Lucius shook himself from his startled reverie. "I ... we ... that is to say, my son ... " For the first time in his life, Lucius Malfoy was at a loss for words, and found his composure altogether lacking any finesse.

The figure raised a sardonic, arrogant eyebrow. "Your son ... ?" he prompted, utterly condescending.

"My son is injured beyond my powers to heal." He said simply. Frowning slightly, he turned a discerning eye on the glowing figure before him. "You are truly one of the Gens Micans?"

"I am Nuada, son of Belenus. And yes, I am truly one of the Gens Micans. Tell me, why do you summon me?"

"I have told you! My son is hurt beyond my powers to heal."

"I realise your son is hurt, Lucius Malfoy. But I asked why you summon me, one of the Gens Micans. You do not truly expect me to believe that your own kind are incapable of healing, no?" Nuada's voice held a hint of scorn and disbelief.

Lucius was unsure how to proceed. Dare he admit the truth - that he was a meddler in the Dark Arts, and could not possibly face the 'good' wizards and witches of St. Mungos? Or could he somehow skirt the truth? Nuada was watching him closely, and he decided on a compromise of sorts, lest the Healer become suspicious of his motives. "The injuries are severe, Nuada. I dare not face the questions of my people -" He stopped as Nuada gave an impatient gesture with his hand.

"I care not for the comings and goings of your people. For many years now, my people have forsaken you of the mortal world. But I will heal your child - " Lucius immediately started to thank him, but Nuada talked over his thanks "- for a cost! I have no compassion for the interests of your kind, I will not lie. My services will leave you indebted to my people. Are you willing to bear this cost, Lucius Malfoy?"

The Malfoy fortune had not been accumulated by recklessly agreeing to undefined contracts. With the shrewd decisiveness peculiar to his family line, Lucius bluntly replied, "I enter no contract before knowing the terms. State your price, Nuada, son of Belenus."

A faint smile of appreciation touched Nuada's lips. "Well met, Malfoy. I, also, can be blunt. My people are a weakening people. Our numbers dwindle; we were never many to begin with, and we are fewer now. Though many of my people would deny it - even fight it - it is time for us to realise that we must rejoin the ranks of the mortal world, else fade from existence forever." He paused, casting an assessing look at Lucius, who said nothing. "I will heal your son. In return, you will give your son to one of our number in marriage."

Lucius Malfoy's face registered no signs of surprise. Indeed, he carefully masked all emotions, though inside his mind was an inferno. The Malfoy family were amongst the most pure-blooded wizarding families within Britain, if not the world. He instinctively cringed from the idea of sullying this purity with the blood of a non-wizard or witch - even if it were in the form of otherworldly denizens. Even as these thoughts flitted through his mind, the menacing voice of his master filled his head. Do not allow your pride to interfere with your dealings with the Gens Micans. He had the distinct impression that his master may have anticipated this.

Keeping his voice as neutral as possible, given the circumstances, Lucius Malfoy carefully worded his reply. "It is no small thing you ask of me, Nuada son of Belenus. It would seem that I either lose my son to death, or to the Gens Micans. Understand if I am hesitant to immediately acquiesce."

Nuada gave a slow nod of understanding, before Lucius continued. "I would ask that you allow me time to consider this proposal, though not too long, else I fear my son shall succumb to death."

Nuada held up a hand, gesturing for Malfoy to stop. "I would not see you lose your son whilst you consider my terms." His hand disappeared briefly within the folds of his cloak, and reappeared holding a small crimson pouch. He tossed the pouch to Malfoy, who caught it with considerable ease and a wordless gesture of thanks. "Add the contents to boiled water. When the mixture cools to a crimson colour, have your son drink it. It will prolong your son's life, and ease his suffering, though only temporarily. Meet me here, midday tomorrow." With that, he turned and gracefully strode away, disappearing into the surrounding trees.

Malfoy clutched the pouch to his chest. Suddenly Nuada's disembodied voice filled the clearing. Feel not so repelled by the idea of intermarriage between our people, Lucius Malfoy. Have you never before wondered about the persistently unusual silver colouring of your male ancestors?

The voice disappeared, and Lucius was left standing before the Serpentine pillar, stroking a hand through his pale, silvery hair.

: : :

Once more, Lucius Malfoy's Master made a detached appearance within his fire place. This time, he barely paid attention to Malfoy, constantly twisting and turning, bellowing instructions to minions unseen in the fireplace.

"You knew. You knew what he would request, yet you did not tell me!" Lucius stormed.

"Remember who it is you talk with, Malfoy!" His master hissed from the fireplace. "And have a care. You requested aid, I provided it. There is no shame in what the Gens Micans have requested of you - indeed, it is a fine honour, if you could but see it!"

Lucius stood stiffly. "The Malfoy family do not intermarry with non wizarding folk. We are pure-blooded, and arguably one of the most upstanding wizarding families of all Europe."

His master made a sound that could have been a choke or a laugh. "And yet Nuada's parting words addressed your fair colouring, Malfoy." Malfoy gave a start and sent a suspicious look at his Master. "Oh yes, Malfoy. I know what happened in the grove. I know that your mind is full of questions, wondering if it could be true. Is there already a trace of the Gens Micans in your blood? I do not know, nor do you. But I urge you to consider the benefits of this proposal. Think of how much power there is to be gained from such a union, Lucius. Imagine the strength of any child born from the union of a pure-blooded wizard and one of the Gens Micans. Imagine the favour of the Gens Micans at your disposal, Malfoy." He paused, before adding softly, "they could be used in our war, Lucius. Imagine ... an indestructible force, courtesy of the healing powers of the Gens Micans."

Lucius remained silent for a while, thinking, before finally saying, "To achieve all this, the girl would need to be raised in our care, Master. Nuada wanted Draco handed into his care."

His Master gave a sharp bark of laughter. "He merely stated that he wanted a union between Draco and one of his own. Nothing is decided. You must reason with him, Malfoy. He craves the restoration of his people - there is no harm in this union taking place in the mortal world ... "

: : :

Nuada looked sternly upon Lucius. "What you suggest makes sense, Malfoy, though I loathe to see my daughter leave her family. Besides, her own education is far from complete. She must first learn the arts of healing, before she joins your world." Nuada paced, obviously thinking over Lucius Malfoy's proposal that the union between Draco and one of the Gens Micans take place in the mortal world. "She will join Draco when her basic education as a healer is complete. Then she will attend this ... Hogwarts ... in her final years, though there is little that will be achieved. My people's talents do not lie in the use of wands, charms and spells, though I feel she should at least have exposure to what it is your people are capable of."

Lucius nodded. His Master, not surprisingly, was right. Nuada sought only a bond between the Wizarding world and his own, a way in which to perhaps breach the divide between the two.

The agreement was made, Draco was restored to full health, and the wizarding world was none the wiser to the fact that young Draco Malfoy, despite all wizarding conventions and regulations, was not only in possession of a wand, but also learning to cast unforgivable curses. He was also all but betrothed to one of the long forgotten Gens Micans.

: : :

The present

Recalling the dream and his own vague memories of being healed by a man with colouring much the same as his own, Draco's mind fished out other similar strange memories, so long forgotten. A strange, silver haired girl with violet eyes who seemed to only appear to him when he was alone outdoors.

His memory alighting upon the girl, Draco concentrated, casting back to the first time he had seen her, wondering if she was truly real, or merely some fantasy from his childhood. The first time he could remember seeing her, he'd been six years old, playing unattended under some trees on the Malfoy estate. The family crup, Beast, had given him a friendly nip that had torn through his delicate soft skin. He had wailed in pain, then abruptly fallen quiet as a shadow had fallen across his injured hand. With a whimper, the crup - notorious for behaving savagely towards all but pure-blooded wizards - had fallen to his legs in what could only be described as a submissive, bowing gesture, and a young girl of Draco's own age had dropped to her knees before him. With a reassuring smile, she had looked into Draco's tear filled eyes, run a gentle finger over his bloodied hand, and with a giggle, disappeared. When he'd looked down at his hand, the bite marks had disappeared, leaving behind traces of his own blood.

The next time, he must have been eight years old. Having taken one of his Father's impressive winged abraxan on an illicit ride, he had fallen hard upon his shoulder. Too proud - and frankly, too frightened, to confront his Father, he had seated himself as comfortably as possible, mulling over his options in his mind and trying his best not to cry. Her appearance was once more preceded by her shadow falling across him. Wordlessly, she had gently pressed him down onto his back, all the while watching his face, as if memorising his features. "Who are you?" He had softly whispered, and she had smiled. "I am Niamh, daughter of Nuada, Draco Malfoy." She had slipped her graceful hands over his broken collarbone - he had given a short cry of protest, but then relaxed as the pain subsided and his body filled with warmth. Then, they had talked, though he could never quite recall what it was they had discussed.

When, at age ten, he had taken a nasty fall from his broom stick and heard a nasty crack from his leg, he had patiently laid himself out, knowing intrinsically that she would come. Within moments, she was there, reaching out her healing hands and easing his pain. Again, they had talked, this time he had told her that he would soon be attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She had smiled and calmly listened to his ceaseless babble, he had reached out to her and run a curious finger over her palms.

Later, suffering some other obscure injury that he could not recall, he had told her about Hogwarts, and the frustrating Harry Potter. She had cocked her head and a slight frown had marred her features. "Why do you hate this boy?" she had asked, puzzled. He had paused, unable to provide a real answer. During the Christmas break of his third year, she had appeared to him once more - the last time he had seen her. Unwittingly, his arrogant and spiteful nature had frightened her away ... he knew she was somewhat fey, and suspected she had not been able to identify with his malice.

With a slight sense of shame at his past behaviour, Draco stood and moved from his bed to peer into the mirror. The mirror yawned at him. "You're up late, young Master Draco." Draco nodded, studying his reflection. So much had changed since his fourth year at Hogwarts. The definite return of Lord Voldemort had sent his Father over the edge, or so Draco privately thought. Dark Arts had always been a game to him until then ... a game, something that gave him an edge and a certain mystique, he thought to himself ruefully. But then Voldemort had returned, summoning the Death-Eaters to him, and Draco's life had plunged into instability and uncertainty. He was constantly on his guard, trying not to draw attention to himself nor his family. He was happy to admit to himself that he didn't like it, he didn't want it, though he would never admit it out loud, lest he find himself facing the end of Voldemort's wand, not unlike Cedric Diggory.

A warm breeze ruffled his fine silvery hair and he turned to gaze out the window. Then nearly fell to his knees in shock.