The Healers

Also, many thanks to everyone who has reviewed the last couple of chapters, particularly Delia (again!), Nan Williems and venus4280, for leaving such wonderful reviews.

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Chapter Four: Return to Hogwarts

Platform nine and three quarters was, as usual for this time of year, teeming with Hogwarts students ranging from first years to seventh years. Parents, both muggles and wizards, mingled in the crowd, some sniffling and dabbling at their eyes with damp handkerchiefs whilst their embarrassed children gently patted their shoulders. Harry stood with Ron, Hermione and Ginny as their trunks and other belongings were collected and taken onboard the Hogwarts Express.

Harry stood quietly, taking in his surroundings. The Creevey brothers walked past with their parents, and as usual, Colin made a fuss of pointing Harry out to his parents, gesturing at Harry's forehead, where his scar was hidden by his thick, messy hair. With a wry smile, Harry noticed a camera not unlike Colin's own hanging around Mr Creevey's neck. He could hear Seamus Finnigan's lilting Irish accent somewhere to his right, though as yet hadn't caught site of him. Justin Finch-Fletchley's amused laughter rose above the murmur of the crowd, and Ernie Macmillan walked past and gave him a friendly wave. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil were giggling hysterically nearby, and even Hermione smiled somewhat indulgently at the sound.

Harry found it hard to believe that this would be the last time he ever boarded the train to Hogwarts. He allowed his thoughts to drift over what he knew of the large, scarlet steam engine that was the Hogwarts Express. It was a hissing monster of a passenger locomotive, the seating carriages starting just a few compartments down from the coal tender stacked high with its polished jet-black nuggets. Every year, with two sharp blasts of the whistle, the great iron beast heaved its steel connecting rods and, squealing into movement, belched a hoarse roar of steam. Having thus asserted itself, the tamed tyrant would get down to the business of the day and clank off into the hinterland of Scotland. It was all a facade, of course; modelled on muggle technology, the locomotive itself was entirely magical in nature and needed coal as much as a fish needs a bicycle.

Harry's thoughts were interrupted by the site of two tall figures striding with elegant ease down the platform towards him. He remained still on the platform, watching warily as Draco approached with a cloaked figure. Harry's hand came to rest discreetly yet defensively on his wand and his mouth was already forming a rebuke when Draco came closer, then passed directly in front of Harry and continued along the platform, without so much as looking in Harry or Ron's direction. Ron gaped, Hermione put her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes.

"Oh come on, Ron, don't look so shocked. His life doesn't revolve around you and Harry, you know."

Recovering quickly, Ron sent a sharp look after Draco and the tall, cloaked girl walking beside him. "Right. I guess being the son of a known Death-Eater takes up all his time now." Hermione promptly hushed him.

Once on the train, they found themselves an empty compartment near the end of the last carriage. As tradition had come to dictate, Harry paid for everyone's sweets when the dimpled witch with the confectionary trolley stopped at their compartment, and they happily munched away on Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkin Pasties and other assorted treats. Ginny was showing off with Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, when the rather large bubble exploded in her face, and pieces of sticky gum flew into her wild red hair and over her robes, much to Ron's delight.

"Bugger! Hermione, would you help me get this out of my hair?" Hermione agreed, and the two girls stood up and left the compartment, leaving Ron and Harry on their own, Ron grinning like a demon.

"It'll take her for ever to get that out. George once blew a bubble as big as his head, and even magic couldn't get it all out when it popped and splattered in his hair. In the end Mum shaved his head and used a charm to make his hair grow back." Their conversation went on like this for a while, and still Hermione and Ginny didn't return. "What do you think is taking them so long?" Ron asked, but to this Harry could provide no answer.

"You know, I can't help but wonder where Malfoy is. We've been on the train for a half hour now, and he still hasn't made an appearance. Not to mention the fact that he ignored us on the platform, and I don't care what Hermione says, that's just not like him. Something's up." Harry shrugged and suggested that perhaps the girl had him preoccupied, which elicited something between a smirk and a look of disgust from Ron.

Around half-past twelve, their compartment door slid open and a red faced Neville Longbottom poked his head in. "Sorry," he said, "but have you seen a white ferret at all?"

Ron burst into laughter. "As a matter of fact-"

"You've lost a white ferret?" Harry cut in, anticipating Ron's connection between white ferrets and Draco Malfoy, and not particularly in the mood to hear it.

Neville smiled sheepishly. "Well, you know how Trevor has a habit of running away? Gran said she couldn't take another year of hearing about it, so this year Trevor's staying at home. I went to a muggle pet-shop in London and bought myself a ferret. He's white, pretty big, with little red eyes and-"

Harry nearly choked. "Trevor kept getting away, so you chose to replace him with a ferret?" he asked, incredulous.

Neville wrung his hands, and gave Harry a bewildered look. "So?"

Harry groaned. "Neville, ferrets are renowned for their ability to escape and weasel into tight spots!"

"But I thought ferrets were like muggles, and had no magic?"

"It's just their bodies, Neville, they don't use magic-"

Neville looked even more confused. "Then how do they escape?"

Harry looked as confounded as Neville, and sent Ron a pleading look.

Ron's shoulders were rolling with suppressed laughter. "Never mind, Neville. What's his name?"

The sheepish expression returned to Neville's face, and he entered the compartment, taking a seat beside Harry. "Actually . . . his name is . . ." Neville lowered his voice conspiratorially. "His name is Draco."

Ron's loud bellow of laughter echoed down the train, and Harry couldn't help but join in. Neville smiled nervously, gesturing for them to keep the noise down. "Shhh. You'll draw attention to us with all this noise," he said, but chuckled softly despite himself.

"Lost your toad again, Longbottom?"

Neville froze, and a strained, constipated expression crossed his face as Draco Malfoy, wearing his typical smug expression, entered the compartment. Ron wore an expression of orgasmic delight.

"Well actually, Malfoy, poor Nev' here has lost his ferret," Ron piped up happily. "Don't suppose you've seen it, have you? Hard to miss - white, fluffy, . . . pointy features? You'd know what I mean, wouldn't you, Malfoy?" He finished sweetly.

Draco stiffened, and a pink flush appeared across his pale features. Ron grinned triumphantly. At just that moment, Hermione stepped into the compartment, clasping a struggling white ferret. "Oh, Neville, I found Draco . . . " her voice trailed off as her eyes fell on the pale haired figure, standing stiffly within the carriage. "Oh dear," she whispered softly, and stuffed the squirming ferret into Neville's hands.

Draco looked impotent with fury, staring from Ron's broadly grinning face to the offensive creature writhing in Neville's tense hands. Before anyone knew what he was doing, he'd grabbed his wand and was pointing it directly at Ron's smirking face.

"Draco, no," a clear, soft voice said from the doorway, and Draco's female companion - now uncloaked - haughtily entered the already overcrowded compartment. One long-fingered hand fell gently upon Draco's shoulder, and she fixed a passive gaze upon Draco's face. An unspoken message passed between the two, and finally Draco tucked his wand back into the right sleeve of his elegant robe. The girl's pale hand was still resting lightly on his shoulder, and in a gesture of defiance Draco roughly shrugged her hand away and stalked angrily from the compartment.

The girl slowly turned, and for the first time Harry was afforded an unobscured view of her face. What he saw sent a chill down his spine. Voldemort's eyes, was his immediate thought, though he promptly discarded the thought as unworthy of him. The look she was giving not just him, but everyone in the compartment, was no where near as evil nor threatening as the look of the Dark Lord. It was simply a look of curiosity, if somewhat cool and aloof. With a start Harry realised that her eyes weren't lingering on his forehead; the look she gave him was no different from the look she'd given Neville and Ron. She doesn't know who I am.

When she was done, she drifted carelessly from the compartment, and followed in the direction Draco had gone, without a word to any of them.

: : :

Hermione gazed out the compartment door with a curiously puzzled look on her face. When she noticed everyone staring at her with expectant expressions, she frowned. "What?" she demanded.

"Well?" Ron prodded.

"Well what?"

"Well, what's the deal with the snake-eyed girl?"

"What makes you think I know? Why don't one of you figure it out for yourselves?"

Ron snorted. "Why bother when we know you've already got the answer?"

"You don't know that I've got the answer at all! You're just presuming that!"

Ron looked slightly abashed and apologetic. "You're right. I'm sorry Hermione. It's wrong of me to presume that you've always got the answers."

Nodding with satisfaction, Hermione missed the amused glance exchanged between Harry and Ron. "Good."

"So what is she, then?" Ron asked with a grin.

With a grumpy sigh, Hermione folded her arms. "I'm not really sure. Though she looks like one of the Gens Micans-"

"One of The Healers? But she can't be, they're just myths!"

"Ron!" Hermione cried, clearly annoyed. "Honestly, you demanded my opinion, I offered you the chance to form one of your own, you still insisted that I provide an answer, and then you just throw it back in my face. If that's the way you're going to be, from now on you can just think for yourself. I quit."

Ron scowled, and Hermione pulled a nasty face. Neville suddenly found something on his ferret that was apparently highly fascinating.

"Uh . . . so who or what are these Gens Micans, then?" Harry asked, more to dispel the tension between his two best friends than out of any genuine curiosity.

"Myths," Ron said.

"Legends," Hermione included at the same time.

Harry cringed, waiting for the two to attack each other.

Hermione sighed impatiently. "Apparently they came from the Otherworld to live amongst wizards to stop the persecution of our kind. Our magic is supposed to have reached its pinnacle when the Gens Micans lived with us," Hermione explained.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Why would they need to do that? Didn't they realise we could use flame-freezing charms to stop ourselves from burning?"

"Well, according to the legend, it was the Gens Micans who taught us how to create charms like that. Wizard magic was relatively primitive until the Gens Micans lived among us, but the combined power of two magical societies living together was so great that a sort of magical 'peak' was reached - that's when Hogwarts was founded. But then the two societies fought and the Gens Micans retreated back to their Patria. When they left, our magic was decreased, but we were left with the skills they'd introduced . . . like potions and Herbology, and simple protection charms."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Potions . . . I wish they'd kept those to themselves."

Moving his attention from his ferret, Neville focussed on Hermione. "How do you know all of this, Hermione?" he asked.

Hermione looked faintly surprised. "Haven't you read this years set texts for Advanced Defence Against Dark Arts?"

Ron dramatically rolled his eyes, Neville shook his head.

"It's all there in the book. Honestly, if any of you would actually read the assigned text books, you'd know all of this."

"What do the Gens Micans have to do with Advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts?" Ron asked impatiently.

"Don't get snippy with me, Ronald Weasley! If you'd read the-"

Harry groaned loudly.

"Oh all right," Hermione snapped. "Although I really do hope you'll be doing more reading over the year. If you'd read Aminta Aldon's History of Defence Against Dark Arts, which is on the set reading list for this year, you wouldn't need to be asking me all of this!" Several sets of glaring eyes settled upon her face, and she briskly continued. "The book outlines the known history of many of the spells and charms we'll be learning this year, in particular the Patronus charm. The Patronus charm was apparently taught to wizarding kind by the Gens Micans."

"What do the Gens Micans have to do with defence against Dark Arts? Aren't they primarily healers?" Harry asked.

"Well, take Dementors. Dementors unbalance the humours of the body, and that's what the Gens Micans are adept at - balancing the humours of the body. So in theory, they taught us the Patronus spell. Patronus protects against disruption of the humours. The Gens Micans didn't just heal, but protected from harm, too. Hence the flame freezing charms and so on. You really ought to read the book . . ."

"But none of that is true, is it? Isn't it just a myth?" Neville asked. "Gran used to talk about them when I was younger, all these stories about how they lived in the Forbidden Forest, and how they brought unicorns and centaurs into our world . . . but they're all just fairy tales, really, aren't they?"

Hermione shrugged. "Myths are normally introduced into a culture to explain the unexplainable."

And with that cryptic remark, they all fell into their own silent reveries.

: : :

Draco stood in the middle of his compartment, his arms folded elegantly across his chest. To the casual observer, he looked perfectly relaxed. Those who knew him better would have noted that his lips were pinched at the corners, that his arms were rigidly straight, and that a vein was throbbing quickly on his temple.

Niamh noticed none of these things when she entered the compartment, but rather felt the electric crackle of fury like a stone wall immediately upon entry. Before she could open her mouth, Draco's words lashed out at her like a whip.

"Never, ever undermine my authority like that. You really have no idea, do you, Niamh?" he sneered, his eyes ablaze with fury.

Niamh tilted her head to the side, her eyes widening at the unfamiliar tone in Draco's voice. "What have I done that angers you so, Draco?"

Draco's eyes narrowed. "You made an ass out of me in front of Weasel and Potter, that's what! What the hell did you think you were doing, charging in there and telling me what to do?"

Niamh's expression didn't change, except for a slight furrowing of her brow. "My intention was not to embarrass you, Draco. I simply sought to diffuse the tension between you and . . . Weasel?"

"By making a fool of me, is that it? By making them all laugh at me? I bet Potter nearly wet his little muggle knickers laughing, thanks to your performance."

"Nobody was laughing, Draco. Who was this Potter? The boy holding the ferret?"

Draco tensed at the mention of the ferret. "That was Longbottom. Potter was the dark haired boy."

"Potter said nothing. This Weasel-boy was the one who was doing all the talking, and the ferret belonged to Bonglottom-"

"Longbottom," Draco corrected, his lip quirking.

"Longbottom, then. Why are you so angry with this Potter, when he did nothing? It seems to me that your anger should be directed at Weasel and Longbottom, not this Potter."

Draco unfolded his arms and stalked over to a seat, angrily throwing himself down and gesturing abruptly for Niamh to do the same. Once she was seated, he sent her a cold, hard look. "You don't understand, Niamh."

Niamh nodded in agreement. "No, I don't understand. There is much about your world that I don't understand. I want to, but you must help me. Why were you so angry with Potter, when he clearly had nothing to do with what Weasel and Longbottom were discussing?"

Draco frowned and turned, looking out the window briefly before looking back at her, at a loss for an answer. "Because he's Harry Potter," he finally said, painfully aware of how lame his answer was.

In a gesture that was reminiscent of Draco's own facial expressions, Niamh arched an eyebrow in question. She's learning from me already, Draco thought to himself, and his frown deepened at this realisation. Did he really want Niamh to learn from his own behaviour? These past few days with Niamh had heightened his awareness of his own behaviour; all her questions, the way she was starting to adopt his mannerisms. She was becoming a mirror of himself, and he wasn't so sure he liked what was being reflected back at him.

"Because he's Harry Potter," he repeated softly, and looked across at the pale face staring back at him in confusion. He felt his anger melting away, being replaced by a feeling of abstract foolishness, and for a moment all the hatred he felt was focussed at himself. I hate Potter because of a childish grudge. What sort of a fool hates someone out of spite?. Without consciously realising it, he raised a hand to his head and began slowly rubbing his temple, a deep frown darkening his features. And like a child, I finally realise my own folly and instead of facing it or accepting it, I lash out at someone else, shifting the blame the way I've done all my life.

"Draco? Draco."

With a start, he realised Niamh was talking to him. "Sorry?"

"In the Patria, we often call melancholy the Wizards' Ailment. Your kind are so introspective that you make yourself ill." Without warning she stood and crossed the compartment, perching herself beside Draco and raising her hands to his head. He instinctively pulled away, eliciting a kind smile from Niamh.

"Relax, I've healed greater aches than this in your body. Don't you remember?"

He eyed her cautiously and nodded, and once more Niamh reached out, the index and middle finger of each hand settling lightly upon his temples. "Close your eyes," she said softly, and for once in his life he obeyed without question or hesitation. The feel of her gentle fingers melted away, replaced by the feel of a cool breeze that seemed to surround his head. A silver light seemed to rise before his closed eyelids, and he felt his mind clear. When finally the light dissipated and only the feel of Niamh's touch remained, Draco felt refreshed and light headed, as if all his concerns were gone. Opening his eyes, he turned to Niamh, but before he could say a word, she gestured for silence.

"Things are not always as complicated as they seem, Draco Malfoy," she said softly. And in his present state of mind, he was content with that.

: : :

"I still think she must have been one of the Gens Micans," Hermione muttered, then sniffled pointedly.

"She can't have been, Hermione," Ron said through gritted teeth. "They're just some stupid fairytale, and even if they were real, why would one of them be friends with Malfoy? You said yourself, they're supposed to protect wizarding kind."

"Who says she's a friend of Malfoy? Maybe she's keeping an eye on him! You saw the way he brushed past her before - it wasn't exactly friendly."

"Oh give it up, Hermione! What has gotten into you? First you were defending Malfoy on the platform, now you're insisting on this stupid legend . . . I mean, honestly! Talk to her, Harry!"

Harry looked stricken, but before he could say a thing, Hermione attempted to sway him to her own defence.

"Well whatever she is, she isn't familiar with the wizarding world. She didn't even give Harry a second look when she was in here," Hermione pointed out. Suddenly everyone's eyes settled on Harry in surprise, bar Ginny, whose eyes glanced suspiciously at Hermione.

Ron quirked an eyebrow upwards. "She didn't look for your scar, Harry?"

Harry shrugged in admittance. "I didn't see her looking for it. She just looked at me the way she looked at the rest of you, then walked out. And I have no idea what she is, so I'll thank you both to leave me out of this."

Ron and Hermione shot him identical looks of disappointment. Before either could say a thing, Neville gave a cry of dismay.

"I've lost Draco again!"

: : :

"Honestly, he shouldn't be allowed to own pets, magic or not," Hermione mumbled from her hands and knees. Having realised Draco the ferret was no longer in sight, Ginny and Neville had departed the compartment to look for the white weasel elsewhere on the Hogwarts Express. Harry, Hermione and Ron had remained behind to search through their belongings, and just in case someone happened to return with the escapee ferret. Hermione was on her hands and knees, searching beneath cushions, discarded coats, and curtains, whilst Harry emptied bags. Ron had his hands stuffed in the overhead compartments, despite Hermione caustically pointing out that whilst the ferret was quite clever at escaping, it could hardly fly.

"Can you imagine what's going to happen if Malfoy finds the ferret before we do?" Ron asked, stretching his arms to the back of the overhead compartment.

Harry groaned. "Don't even think about it. If Malfoy finds that ferret, it's toast, and it'll be another year of searching for Trevor all over Hogwarts."

"How is that different from a year of searching for a lost ferret?" Hermione asked, blowing strands of hair out of her face.

"At least we know Trevor's hiding spots now," Ron pointed out, then turned at the sound of the compartment door sliding open. Blythe Channing and Shannon Grady - both seventh year Ravenclaws - stood in the doorway. Blythe was holding a desperately squirming white ferret within her hands, whilst Shannon looked on, wearing a look of mild distaste.

Grinning, Blythe proffered the ferret. "I don't suppose this belongs to any of you?" she asked.

Ron groaned. "I don't know whether to be pleased or disappointed."

"I'll take that as a yes, then," Blythe quipped, and handed the ever-struggling ferret to Ron, who took it with an obvious look of trepidation.

Rising to her feet, Hermione tucked a strand of hair behind her ears. "He wasn't too much trouble, was he? Neville only just got him, and he's escaped several times already."

Blythe shrugged. "Not a problem, we've got a couple of ferrets at home. Ferrets are wonderful."

Beside her, Shannon pointedly pulled a face. "The term 'wonderful' in that context is clearly subjective."

Blythe rolled her eyes. "You're just peeved that Bandit bit you. I don't know why you're still upset about that . . . I think you looked really cute with those little bite marks on the tip of your nose."

"Thanks, Blythe. We're all refreshed and challenged by your unique point of view."

"So what classes are you two taking this year?" Harry interrupted, recognising the familiar quipping patterns that existed between Ron and Hermione.

"Oh, we're both taking Defence Against Dark Arts of course, I'm taking History of Medieval Muggles, Classical Wizarding History: From Mesopotamia to the Fall of Rome, a History of Muggle-Wizard interactions, Modern Magical History-"

"You like history, huh?" Ron interjected dryly.

Blythe nodded enthusiastically. "Oh yes, it's fascinating, don't you think? Are you taking any?"

"Uh . . . no, not really my thing. I bluffed my way through history in our first years, but didn't think it was such a good idea once it started getting serious. Are you taking that new Advanced Transfiguration class?"

"Oh yes! Shannon and I are both taking that, are you?"

Ron nodded, as did Harry and Hermione. Hermione took a seat and gestured for the others to do likewise. "Dumbledore had the final say in who could take the class, you know? He handpicked the students based on competence and suitability."

Ron, having both father and brother within the Ministry, was quick to put in his two knuts worth. "Apparently the Ministry of Magic fought tooth and nail not to have the class introduced, too. Dad said that Fudge swore black and blue that if a single thing goes wrong, he'll have Dumbledore's hide over it."

"Do you really think it's that big a deal? I mean, it's not like they're teaching us Dark Arts, it's just animagus training and greater transfiguration." Harry said.

"Yes, but the animagus spell is one of the most difficult of all magic spells to learn, and most wizards and witches never learn to do it. I guess they're just worried that they'll have a group of unregistered animagi on the loose, and at a time like this . . . I mean, what with . . ." Hermione trailed off and gave everyone a meaningful look.

Blythe stared blankly for a moment, then comprehension dawned. "Oh, you mean that whole Voldemort thing?" she blurted, then, realising what she'd said, covered her mouth with her hands. "Oh, I'm so sorry Harry, I know you must be sensitive about him, what with him murdering your parents and all, and the whole Triwizard tournament . . . oh! Oh I've done it again, haven't I? Bloody hell." Wearing a sheepish look, she turned to Shannon, then glowered fiercely at him as she realised he was smirking at her.

Shannon raised his hand to his chin in a gesture of mock thoughtfulness. "Takes her foot out of her mouth only long enough to stuff the other one right back in," he said, and received a thump for his efforts. Across from them, Harry was smiling amicably.

"So, who else is taking the class?" Blythe asked, in a blatant attempt to divert attention away from her foot-in-mouth syndrome.

"Neville Longbottom and Seamus Finnigan-" Hermione started to say, but was interrupted by Ron's cry of "Didn't you say Dumbledore handpicked us for competence?" Choosing to ignore this, Hermione continued. "Draco Malfoy, prat of all prats, is also in the class - don't say a word, Ron - and a girl called Niamh ap Nuada. I've never met her before, do you suppose she's a Hufflepuff?"

Blythe and Shannon both shrugged, indicating their own ignorance. "A couple of friends of ours, Alan Corliss and Larissa Sive, are taking the class. They're both Hufflepuffs, they might know her," Shannon suggested.

Blythe looked incredulous. "Shannon Caedmon Grady, if you don't know who this Niamh AP Nuada is, no one does." Looking to Hermione, Ron and Harry, Blythe elaborated by saying "Shannon knows everyone at Hogwarts. Don't you, Shanno?"

Shannon rolled his eyes. "That is blatantly untrue. I just have a lot of cousins."

"He's lying. He knows everyone. Niamh must be an exchange student or something like that. Niamh AP Nuada. It sounds awfully Welsh, don't you think?"

Hermione was looking at Harry with an assessing look that made him uncomfortable. "Hermione, you're giving me that look again."

Hermione blinked. "What look?"

Harry raised his hand and wiped at his nose. "Remember?"

Catching his meaning, a faint pink tinge appeared on Hermione's face. "Oh! No, it's nothing like that. I was just thinking . . . Niamh. Between the five of us, none of us has ever heard of her. And then there's Draco with his mysterious lady-friend. Don't you think there's a good chance that they're one and the same?"

Ron grinned. "See, Hermione? You always have the answers."

: : :

Hours passed. Outside the train, the sky was quickly darkening. A thin break of orange skyline marred the horizon to the west, but beyond that all was a sinister shade of pitch.

Within their compartment, Harry, Ron and Hermione sat comfortably together, sharing the cushioned seat that adorned one wall of the carriage room. Ron, sitting closest to the door, had his long legs stretched out in front of him, much to the peril of any who entered the compartment too quickly. His posture was relaxed with sleep, and a faint snore escaped his lips every so often. Beside him, Hermione was safely cocooned between her two best friends. Like Ron, she was dozing comfortably, her body slumped against Harry's. Across from them, Neville and Ginny shared a seat. Like Ron, Neville's legs struck out awkwardly. His head was thrown back, and his jaw hung slackly open. In his lap, the ferret-Draco lay sprawled upside down, his legs poking strangely upwards. Beside Neville, Ginny seemed to be fighting off sleep, her head lowering ever so often, only to jerk upwards, before once more sinking downwards as sleep overcame her.

Only Harry remained fully awake, his dark green eyes focussed somewhere outside the window as dark shapes and warped shadows rushed past.

As the train sped closer and closer to Hogwarts, the dark outline of the Forbidden Forest could be made out along the horizon; dark and foreboding yet strangely enticing, like a stern benefactor welcoming them into the sanctuary of its strong, protective arms.

: : :

The Early Ninth Century
Autumn

The forest had always possessed the reputation of being formidable, even at the best of times. But until recently the forest had only been just that - a formidable forest, so densely populated with trees as to be nigh on impenetrable. Of late, however, mothers had taken to forbidding their children from entering the forest, and hunters and trappers had chosen elsewhere to pursue their prey. It had become a well-known fact, you see, that things of an eldritch nature were gathering deep within the sanctuary of the forest, and those who were wise would do well to keep themselves to themselves, if they knew what was best for them.

By day, the forest was beset by an unnatural silence. No birds burst forth in flight, no beasts crashed through the undergrowth. If one looked closely, one might observe dark shadows and menacing wraiths moving stealthily, eerily, through the trees, though who these beings were was a secret of the forest. They could have been simply illusions, tricks of the dim light within the dark canopy of the trees, but none dared move closer to find out.

By night, the forest came alive once more, though its life was distinctly unseelie and alien. Cursed, some whispered. Bewitched. The forest was beset with foreign lights and sounds; showers of colour shot skywards, a silver nimbus was occasionally seen drifting through the trees, the sound of one thousand snakes hissing and writhing was carried upon the wind. Unearthly howls that chilled the blood echoed through the night, and a fell mist was growing, spreading its arms and encompassing more and more of the surrounding lands on a nightly basis. The soft murmur of otherworldly voices was heard by those unfortunate enough to be out after sundown.

Ermentrude, widow of the villein Bodo, tittered in a frenzy of delight from within her son's farm house, telling all who would listen what beset the forest. Day and night, her cackles filled the family home, and a steady stream of the curious, the frightened, and the outright incredulous filtered over the villein's land, all to hear the widow's words.

"Listen not to the old woman," her son, Tidulf, exclaimed anxiously. "Her mind is lost, she knows not what she speaks." Perhaps he was frightened of the truth of her words. Or perhaps he was simply frightened that she, like so many others, would eventually be hauled off to be burned, drowned or hanged, a fear that Tidulf's wife, Aethelflaed, openly expressed. It would not do to have the mad woman's sooth-saying taken too seriously, else those who housed her be tainted by the same brush.

"The Mother protects her wayward children," Ermentrude cried. "Her Healers return to the Mother's earth to ply their skill on their burning brothers. The horse-kin have turned their eyes from the great night sky, invoking their ilk to follow through to the mortal world. The horned-ones come, bearing the serpent twined round their hooven legs!"

None of it made sense. Soon enough old, mad Ermentrude, widow of the villein Bodo, met a fiery fate, cackling and laughing witlessly until the flames had consumed her. And all the while, the forest continued to cultivate a new and frightening face, oblivious to human foyle and folly.

For the forest was fostering a new life of its own.

: : :

The Present

Students teemed on the darkened platform; first year students cowering together, the majority gaping at the mouth at their first glimpse of Hogwarts. Prefects were already striding back and forth, calling for order and ushering students towards the rows of carriages that would transport students to the towering castle. At the end of the platform, the bulky form of Hagrid could clearly be seen, his affable voice calling for order amongst the bemused first year students.

"Come on, first years! Over 'ere, no need ta be frightened!" One large hand held a lantern aloft, its soft yellow glow a beacon in the darkness.

Harry found himself smiling fondly down the platform.

"It's sad, isn't it?" Hermione said softly, stopping beside him.

"What is?"

"That this is the last time we'll get to see Hagrid rounding up the first years. I'm going to miss this, you know."

Harry nodded sympathetically, then grinned as a ball of white fur rushed past him, followed immediately by Neville and Ron. Hermione giggled, then nudged Harry gently in the ribs. "Hagrid's coming over," she pointed out.

"All right, Harry?" he asked, a wide, friendly smile plastered across his face.

"All right, Hagrid," Harry replied, and stepped within the light of Hagrid's lantern.

"Well, would yer take a look at you, Harry. All grown up, you are," Hagrid said, his voice laced with awe and pride. "Seems like only yesterday I found you out on that island with those damn fool muggles . . . " Hagrid trailed off, and Harry recognised the familiar sniffle that was unique to Hagrid when he was trying to disguise his tears.

Feeling awkward, Harry plunged his hand into his robe and withdrew a large, off-white handkerchief, proffering it to Hagrid. Looking somewhat touched, Hagrid took the tattered cloth and proceeded to honk loudly within its soft folds, and with an appreciative 'thanks', offered the soggy hanky back. "Uh, you keep it, Hagrid," he said, hastily folding his hands behind his back.

"You sure?" Hagrid asked.

"Quite," Harry assured him. "I want you to have it, really."

Hagrid gave him a proud smile, then shifted his focus over Harry's shoulder. Curious, Harry casually half-turned, and noticed Draco and his female companion striding with equal elegance down the platform.

"Matching His and Her Arrogance," Ron muttered from beside Harry. Having not noticed Ron's return, Harry started in fright, and turned to softly laugh at Ron's quip. Ron's facial expression suddenly turned from one of mockery and disgust to astonishment. The sound of a deep, loud thunk met Harry's ears, and he spun around in time to see Hagrid drop to his knees, facing Draco and his companion. The girl suddenly rushed forward, much to Draco's obvious surprise. Draco's surprised expression turned to a look of thunderstruck dismay as the girl cried out with delight and wrapped her arms tightly around Hagrid's shoulders. No doubt Harry would have delighted in Draco's distress, if he hadn't been so utterly shocked himself.

"My Lady!" Hagrid could be heard mumbling, as he took one of the girl's hands and raised it reverently to his lips.

"Hagrid, beloved friend of my people," the girl replied. Though neither Hagrid nor Niamh noticed it, behind them, Draco and Harry wore identical expressions of shocked horror.