The Lion and the Unicorn

-Cat Stevens, Father and Son

*

There was no cleaner blue than in the shallow depths of the reflecting pool, yet Anya found her thoughts irrevocably clouded. Strains of music escaped the dance hall and floated their way over to her, but it did nothing to soothe her thoughts, regardless of how relaxing it was supposed to be. She couldn't relax. There had been so many signs lately that she could not, in good conscience, ignore them, but what she could do about it she had no idea. The scales were so perfectly balanced that the slightest ship could tip them either way. I'm losing my mind, Anya thought morosely. And worse, that's not all I'm losing.

There was a heavy exhalation from beside her as Sirius sat down on the bench. "These are yours, I think." He pressed the flowers into her hand.

"I'd rather they weren't," Anya replied despondently, refusing to look up at him. "They'll cause more grief than happiness, and not just for me."

Peripherally, she saw Sirius shrug. "Most things will." He tossed a pebble into the reflecting pool, warranting no ripples in the water but rather a precise hole in the ice. "What's gotten into you lately?"

She sighed, wondering if she should just tell him. Well, why not? He would find out eventually, anyway, wouldn't he? "I am going to die, Sirius."

Evidently, he hadn't been expecting her to answer just like that. The expression of confusion on his face was replaced by one of curiosity and obvious concern. "Come again?"

"You heard me."

She could practically hear him thinking. "We all have to go sometime," he began with difficulty.

Anya shook her head and pointed her bouquet at him. "Do you know what this means, Sirius?" she asked, waving it in front of his face. "Do you know what these are?"

"Er," said Sirius. "Flowers?" he ventured. "Supposedly signifying that you're going to be the next to get married, although frankly I don't see that happening anytime soon..."

"They're not just any flowers, Sirius," Anya said darkly. "They're Calla lilies."

He snorted. "Of course. How could I have missed that obvious fact. Calla lilies. So?"

"The death flower." She looked up at him. He didn't seem terribly surprised. But then, she reflected, he'd had a friend named Lily once, and look what had happened to her.

"So? It could just as easily be taken the other way-"

"There have been other signs," she interrupted.

"Besides, I thought you didn't believe in Divination," he finished.

"I don't," Anya answered morosely. "But I think it might believe in me."

A silence passed between them. A large clump of snow slid off of a tree bough not too far off, and spidery splinters of ice began closing the tiny hole Sirius had opened in the icy surface of the pond. Anya shivered, not because of the cold. Something was out there, watching. It would not stay watching for long.

"It's a horribly dry reception."

"I'm sure the guests of honor haven't noticed."

They lapsed into silence again, just losing themselves in the soft flow of the music. After a while Anya felt Sirius' hand cover her frozen fingertips. She glanced up, ready to say something, but Sirius silenced her with a look. "I know you don't like to be considered a lady," he said quietly. "Dance with me as a woman."

Well, if she were going to die anyway, why not? Her brain had chosen to ignore the unspoken connotations of Sirius' last two words but she nonetheless knew what he had been about to say and part of her was very much relieved that he had decided against the possessive pronoun. That he had almost said it was enough. So she let him take her hand and lead her back inside to the music and warmth and laughter, and she knew there was something else in the atmosphere, and she knew what it was, but that didn't mean she was going to admit it, even in her most secret of hearts. And even though she couldn't stop thinking about the less obvious meaning of nearly being decapitated by flying lilies, she didn't forget about the other possibilities.

*

"Think Molly gave up trying to convince Bill that it was proper to stay?"

Anya giggled. This was probably the combined result of too much champagne, too much excitement, and too many shocks to the system. People like Anya did not, as a rule, giggle. "Even she's not that much of a prude. Give the poor woman some credit- she does have seven children, after all."

Sirius laughed. When she put it that way... "Point taken. I suppose I should be the last one throwing stones."

"Don't worry, Sirius, you're not a prude. You're just romantically challenged."

"Thank you," he replied dryly. "That's very reassuring."

"You still haven't answered my question, by the way."

Sirius, who had been sipping on his drink, nearly choked. "I wasn't exactly planning on answering it," he confessed falsely. He had every intention of telling her all about his past lovelife. Just not in a public place, and certainly not when she was almost, but not quite, drunk. There were other things that had to happen first, anyway.

Anya wrinkled her nose at him. "Spoilsport."

"Oh, grow up." Hoping she'd forget all about it, he lifted her glass from her hand and set it on the table. "And while you're at it, you can dance with me again." He pulled her to her feet.

She rose willingly enough, but she wasn't about to let him get away with anything. "What happened to the legendary Gryffindor chivalry?" Anya asked innocently. "I thought it was only the barbaric Hufflepuff men that hit their women over the head and dragged them off into caves."

Sirius looked around. "I don't see any women or any caves," he said, "more's the pity. I like caves. Ow!" Anya had deliberately trod on his foot.

"You know, that's funny, because I seem to remember someone using a line involving women earlier and I could have sworn it was you. But come to think of it, it couldn't have been- he was much better looking."

Sirius tried to get his brain around this and failed. "Is this a win-win or a lose-lose situation?"

"I think that depends on how you reply."

"Hmm," Sirius bent his head down a little. "What if I just kiss you instead? Then do I win?" He grimaced. Anya had stomped on his toe again, all without a warning change of expression. "You know, I think Remus is more fun when he's drunk. Instead of physically trying to hurt me, he shoots off insults involving words he can't pronounce properly. Of course, getting him drunk will cost you a fortune in Irish whiskey."

"I imagine so. He does have a rather remarkable metabolism." Her eyes wandered off somewhere past his shoulder. "He seems to be having a good time without being plastered, though."

"What?" Sirius maneuvered her around so that he could see where she was looking. He was pretty sure that Remus wasn't actually flirting- Remus had damn good reasons not to do things like that, whether Sirius thought he was being excessively cautious or not- but to the untrained eye it could have been, just maybe. Sirius thought it was about damn time Remus started being just a little more normal. None of them were going to live forever anyway- they might as well enjoy life while they still could. Hallie looked like she was, at least. "Well, who would have thought. He might be part human after all."

"You know you wouldn't want Remus to hear you say that," Anya reproved mildly, "Even if I know you didn't mean it the way it sounded."

"I almost never mean anything." Which was very definitely a lie, Sirius thought. Well, depending on how you took it. He had meant a whole slew of things that he'd said to Anya and she'd thought most of them were jokes, but that was just Anya- a little too cynical, sometimes. Or maybe she just didn't want to think about possible alternatives.

This time, however, she called him on it. "I don't believe that. You mean a lot more than you let on."

Sirius looked up sharply. If she knew what she was saying... But she didn't, he reminded himself. She was half-drunk and more than a little depressed and she couldn't be held accountable for anything she might say, which was a pity, because he was having a very hard time restraining himself from saying everything that was on his mind. He wanted to tell her: he was sure he would go crazy if he had to keep it from her much longer, and it was getting harder all the time. On the other hand, he didn't want to tell her until she was ready. He hated to see her upset, it did something indescribable to his mind, but more than that, the new understanding he seemed to have made one thing excessively clear: something had happened in Anya's past that had hurt her very badly. He wouldn't push her. "That might be true," he admitted. "But you're half-plastered and have no right to be making profound observations."

"No fair," Anya said, mock-scowling at him. "If not when I'm plastered, then when am I supposed to make them?"

"I can think of at least one instance- you know, I can't imagine that the shoes you're wearing are comfortable. I mean, they're killing me and I'm not even wearing them."

"You had just better start saying things that you really mean and then maybe I won't have to remind you what kind of comments you're not supposed to make." Anya punctuated this declaration with a yawn and Sirius realized for the first time how much of what she was doing was dancing and how much was swaying from pure exhaustion.

"You should be home in bed," Sirius chided, unable to stop himself from pulling her closer. He knew Anya was too tired to resist.

"That's the kind I mean," she mumbled against his shoulder. "Though to be honest, at least part of the offer is tempting." Sirius almost froze. Was she playing with his hair? No. She wouldn't do that unless she was completely out of it. Even then he suspected she had more self-control than he imagined. Maybe she really was asleep on her feet. That might explain it...

"I think you've had enough excitement for one night," he finally ventured, mentally willing for her to stop. The hair on the back of his neck was standing straight up. "Are you ready to go home?"

Anya groaned. Sirius almost had to take a step backward to retain his dignity. "I don't have to Apparate, do I?"

"I should hope not. I promised Arabella I'd bring you back in one piece." Sirius smiled. "I'll Apparate us back, if you want; otherwise there's a fireplace in the next room."

Mercifully, Anya yawned again and stopped playing with his hair in order to cover her mouth. "If we Floo back, I'll get lost."

Sirius laughed. "I don't doubt it. Apparition it is, then. Although if we leave together, I am warning you, people will talk."

She mumbled something that might have been "I don't care."

"I gathered that much. Hold on." Although that was probably unnecessary, since she was already doing so. Still, the extra closeness was nice. Sirius pulled out his wand and they Disapparated.

A split-second later they reappeared just outside the hedge at Dromore House. Sirius tucked his wand back into his sleeve, which unfortunately meant removing his arm from around Anya. "You know, you probably should have brought a cloak." She was shivering; it was cold outside and her dress, though on most women it would have been considered modest and even conservative, obviously left a lot to be desired where warmth was concerned. Sirius pulled off his own cloak and draped it around her shoulders. It was almost comically long on her, but she didn't seem to notice.

"Probably," Anya agreed, almost casually falling back enough that Sirius could wrap an arm around her. He might have been out of practice, but he wasn't blind. He wondered how far she would take the charade and, not for the first time, how much alcohol she had actually consumed. "But-"

Whatever she had been about to say died unsaid on her lips. There, on the porch beside the guard gnome, stood an exquisite garden figure that had not been there before. Granite wings spread, poised perfectly on her two legs, stood Mada Dymphna, a bit of parchment in her stone beak.

Anya let out a strangled sound and pulled it out, unfurling it. On it were written three Gaelic words that Sirius could never mistake. 'It has begun.'

She was stock still for a moment before holding the paper at arm's length and, if such a thing can be said, widening her eyes at it. "Incendio." Sirius could see that the charm was charring her hand, but Anya didn't seem to notice. She waited until it had crumpled to a fine ash and the wind had whisked away any remaining traces, then turned to the gnome and said steadily, "Ard Aon." It nodded to her and they stepped into the foyer.

Only after he had hung up his cloak did he notice that she was shaking. Arabella, for once, was nowhere in sight, which was ironic because Sirius was starting to become very interested in some of the symptoms associated with severe shock and he was sure that she could enlighten him, and even better, had some really good remedies. The next best, or perhaps better thing, was to offer the comfort himself, and even though he knew that he wasn't very good at it, he also knew that there weren't too many other options. Well, he thought, at least the sentiment is genuine. Mada Dymphna had been a great owl, a good companion, for lack of a better word, and he knew that she had been in Anya's family for generations. Yet he knew that this was only the tip of the iceberg where weird signs were concerned, and he was beginning to get a very bad feeling about the whole messy business.

There was nothing he could do, however, and it is this that made him take Anya into his arms once again that evening. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "This really isn't your day, is it?"

Anya didn't answer right away, just buried her face in his robes. She finally asked, her voice muffled, "Do we have any more scotch?"

"No. We drank the last of it on Halloween. Not," Sirius added reprovingly, "that you need any more alcohol. I think you've had quite enough."

"But I'm still conscious," Anya complained.

"That problem is easily rectified," he said gently. "Come on, you need to sit down and drink a whole lot of water."

"Sidhe don't get hangovers."

Sirius snorted. "I suppose they don't get drunk, either. Sit," he commanded, helping her over to the sofa. "Sometimes you forget that you're not Wonderwoman. Disillusionment is never a whole lot of fun, but I know it's worse when everything starts happening at once." He conjured a glass of water and handed it to her, then sat down beside her and sighed. "I'm sure this won't be the last time I say this, but listen closely anyway- you are not a Sidhe. And I think you should be glad for that."

"Do you think there are any left?" she asked with a yawn, leaning heavily against him.

Sirius frowned. Their numbers were certainly not flourishing, but were they extinct entirely? He doubted it. It took a lot more than old age to kill a Sidhe. Still, they could just be getting old, and even Sidhe only had a certain number of decades before their childbearing years were over. "I don't know," he answered honestly. "I find it hard to believe that they've all died out. Are you sure you want to talk about this?" She was still shaking.

"No," Anya answered quietly. "But I don't know if I can handle talking about everything else I should." She sighed and drained her glass of water.

For the umpteenth time, Sirius found himself wondering what had done this to her. Something had her running scared- she jumped at shadows, she shied away from physical contact (when she wasn't drunk), and she seemed so convinced that her fate was sealed that she didn't even want to think about any possible romantic future they might have. This last bit was not too hard for Sirius to swallow, but the fact of the matter was that he did think about it, very much, and if she didn't then he wanted to know why. He also knew that it was unfair to press her in this state and anyway all it was likely to do was get her very angry with him, which was generally considered hazardous to one's health. Deciding what Anya needed most was probably just gentle encouragement, he said, "If you want to try, I've got all night to listen."

She sighed deeply and Sirius could feel all of the resistance leave her body. "Two weeks ago I saw a Grim out by the stables. Part of the Dickinson tapestry is unraveling. Wild Calla lilies are growing in the garden, not to mention the ones from the wedding." She paused and quieted, as if drawing strength for what she was about to say. "And last night I heard my clan's banshee singing. I am going to die, Sirius."

This last declaration sent a chill down Sirius' spine and he shivered, almost tempted to turn around and check if someone had left the window open. Instead, he pulled her into his arms and pressed his lips to her hair. Anya's resolve broke and a single teardrop rolled down her cheek. He wiped it away before it could drip off of her chin. "I don't want to die. I'm not ready."

"I don't want you to die, either." Sirius wondered if he should try to lighten the situation, but decided it probably wouldn't be appreciated. What could he say? The evidence was damning and self-evident.

"You don't have to say anything," she said, reading his mind. Her eyes were closed, probably to prevent further tears. "Just don't let me be alone."

"You know I could never do that, anyway." Anya nodded, or something like it. Her head bobbed up and down, but not in the controlled fashion generally associated with nodding. "I still think you should be in bed."

"I think I might agree with you." She opened her eyes again and looked up at him. Something in those eyes made him nervous, made him want to look away, but they trapped him and he couldn't move, could break the spell, couldn't do anything but stare and Merlin he fell...

As he fell so did his lips fall upon hers, softly and slowly, setting off a brilliant fireworks display behind his eyes. He felt Anya's fingers tangle in his hair once more and began to realize exactly what his hands had been doing without his leave even as they were talking. Everything was suddenly depicted in high relief, amazing, vibrant reds and blues and greens; they were snogging on the sofa in the middle of the living room and Remus would be back soon but he didn't care, couldn't care, couldn't even think...

*

Oh gods oh gods oh Aine, what was she doing? She was seducing Sirius Black on the sofa in her sitting room, yes she was! And this was probably not a good idea, for reasons she couldn't quite remember. There did seem to be a lot of reasons to go ahead with it. After all, if she was going to die anyway, why not have a little fun first? It wasn't as if Sirius was resisting; he easily wanted this as badly as she did. Which was the problem- she did want this. She hadn't realized that before. Yet at the same time, she wanted so much more than just this- what if she got what she wanted and it wasn't enough? Worse, what if it was enough? Would she be able to live without it? Would Sirius?

Did she care? she wondered as their lips met again. These were kisses like she had never known before, tangy and addictive and warm and altogether too pleasant; they set her senses on fire and made her skin tingle with anticipation. Yes, she cared, she decided. But did she care enough?

Anya never answered her question as the intoxication of everything that was Sirius combined with the influence of the alcohol. Coherent thought flew right out the window. She and Sirius existed; there was nothing else. They were there. They were alive. They were-

Moving... how had that happened? Had she initiated it? She was pretty sure she had. They were headed towards her bedroom, anyway. No, scratch that. They had already reached the door; she knew because she was pressed up against it. Goddamn it, where was the stupid doorknob?

Even as she found it, Sirius' hand closed over her own. He pulled away from her, leaving her with a feeling of something next to complete emptiness. "I can't," he said simply, averting his gaze. "I don't-"

"You don't what, Sirius? I thought you wanted this?" Her mind was swimming with possibilities. He couldn't leave her- he had promised...

She didn't realize that she had spoken aloud until he answered. "I know," he said quietly, showing absolutely no intentions of leaving. "I know. But we both know that if I go in there I am not coming out again until we both get what we want, and I'm not sure that that's the best thing for us." He sighed, looking particularly irresistible as he ran a hand through his hair. "There are so many things we need to talk about- this isn't just some simple affair..."

"And why can't it be?" Anya wanted to know, hands on her hips. "Why not? Everyone else has them, Sirius, why not us? Why are we so different? Do we deserve less? Why can't we have what other people have without thinking? Why can't we have a casual relationship?"

"Because of who we are!" Sirius practically shouted in response. "Because we aren't everyone else! Because of what we are relied upon to do! Of course we don't deserve less- we deserve so much more- and because, damnit, because I-"

"Don't you dare say it," Anya interrupted darkly. "Don't you dare- do you have any idea what this is doing to us already? Don't overcomplicate things! I am going to die, and you will go on with your life. A normal life with Harry and, you're going to help him rid the world of Voldemort and teach him all about life and how to handle women and forget all about me because if you don't, I swear I am going to haunt you."

There was a long silence. "Well," Sirius finally said quietly. "That pretty much goes without saying." He took a step backwards. "Go to bed. I won't leave you. I promise I'll still be here in the morning."

She shook herself mentally, never realizing how she was trembling, and let herself into her bedroom, giving in to the urge to simply slump against the door and stay there. She would have had lots of time to contemplate the rather drastic turn her life had just taken, but the alcohol and the hour finally took over and she fell into a very fitful sleep.

*

Sirius awoke later to light footsteps in the corridor. He could tell by the rhythm and the scuffling noises that it was a very tired Remus, who always dragged his feet after a long night out, no matter what form he took. The footsteps stopped a few meters away and in his mind's eye, Sirius saw Remus do a double take. "Padfoot? Is that you?"

"No," Sirius answered irritably. "It's bloody Chris Cringle. Who did you expect?"

"Someone in a better mood, given the events of several hours ago." Remus slid to the floor across the hall from him. "You screw up?"

Sirius scowled. "No."

"Ah," said Remus. "Right. But she's in there, isn't she?" He gestured to the door behind Sirius, who nodded. "And you're out here, right?" The scowl was called back for an encore, but Sirius nodded. "Well, there's only one thing to be concluded, then," Remus said.

"Which is?"

"Sirius, I love you like a brother, and I will say this for you: you have an extraordinary sense of honor, but no matter what I tell you, one thing remains true: you, my friend, are an idiot."

"Thank you for that astute observation," Sirius said scathingly. "May I register my complete and utter lack of surprise. Remus, everyone knows I'm an idiot- even me! Only Anya doesn't seem to understand. What am I going to do?" Besides lock her in her room and make her understand. This is fucking insane. That probably would have worked.

"Well, seeing as you're out here on your duff, I'm guessing 'tell the truth' is out of the running, right?" Remus said perceptively. "And I am certainly not in any place to give you advice on love. But if I were, I would quote you a quote from the world of Muggle writing- 'show, don't tell.'"

Sirius' eyes just about burst out of his head as he digested this. "You're mad," he said when he had finally regained his voice. "You think I should-"

"I think," interrupted Remus calmly, "that you have run fresh out of your own ideas."

Which was the truth, wasn't it? Sirius reflected. That was part of the reason he was so damned frustrated. He didn't even know what she wanted. "You know, even after I'd lived here a month, I still thought she had a thing for Charlie." And it could still be true. Was she looking for a substitute now that her best friend had found someone else?

But Remus wasn't going to let him get away with meaningless self-pity. "I think you know the truth by now. And if not, well, the cat mews and the dog shall have its day."

"Whatever that means," Sirius said dourly.

Remus chuckled. "Maybe you should sleep on it." He conjured a pillow and a blanket and tossed them across the hall. "I'm going to bed. Thank Merlin tomorrow is Sunday."

Sirius watched his friend's retreating back for a few seconds, wondering why it seemed like they had skipped over a crucial part of post-social event best friend banter. He only belatedly realized that he hadn't asked what Remus was doing out so late.

*

The day had dawned crisp and clear. Enough of the snow had melted away that the grass was easily visible and the effect was somewhat like frost. It was a good day for a Quidditch match.

Unfortunately, Harry's team would not be playing for another week. It was Ravenclaw vs. Slytherin, and they were evenly enough matched that the game would probably prove very interesting.

Also unfortunately, Hermione had insisted that they use the time to study for their History of Magic test. Ron and Harry had tried to talk her out of it, saying that they needed to observe the other teams' tactics and assess the threats posed, but Hermione had said in a matter of fact tone that this was the captain's job and they had just better think about what fun Malfoy would have if they failed the O.W.L.s It was for this reason that, while the rest of the school was out watching the first Quidditch match they'd had in a year and a half, Harry, Ron and Hermione were inside, studying.

Harry closed his book with a frustrated sigh. "There has got to be a more interesting version of all this," he said, stifling a yawn. Pathetic- it was only two in the afternoon. His dreams had been getting so much more vivid lately. "I'm going to the library." Besides, Ron and Hermione definitely needed the time alone. They still hadn't gotten the point.

"Right," said Ron. "I'll just stay here then, shall I?"

Harry fought the urge to smile. It was easier than he had anticipated. "Good idea. Keep Hermione company." The next sentence hit him upside the head and even though he knew it would irritate Ron, he just had to say it. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do." He held back a smirk at both of his friends' flushed faces until he was safely out of the common room.

The library was completely deserted, unsurprisingly. Even Madam Pince had taken a break from her constant looming and had her nose glued to the window, which had a fairly good view of the Quidditch pitch. Harry sat as far from her as possible. He wanted as much solitude as he could get, and even isolation from the game. What he needed was answers, and studying for Binns' dull class wasn't getting him anywhere.

As he leaned his head on his hands, Harry began to wonder if the tense muscles in his neck and upper back would give him a permanent hump. He was too young for chronic back problems. Instead of allowing his shoulders to hunch up uncomfortably, Harry slumped until his head rested on the table, hearing several cracks from the vicinity of his spine as he did so. He immediately felt better physically, but Harry was beginning to wonder if it was possible to crack his brain. He felt that there was something just beyond his reach that he couldn't identify, something that he should have remembered but that he couldn't place-

There was an audible pop and Madam Pince turned slightly, about to rebuke him, but probably realized that there was no real reason for absolute silence if he was the only one trying to work. She settled for giving him a dirty look, but Harry wasn't paying any attention. His History of Magic textbook had just appeared in front of him.

Can I never escape? Harry wondered, glancing down at the open tome. It was turned to the same page they had studied the day that Harry had practically run out of class to see Professor Dumbledore about the missing Order of the Phoenix members- the chapter about the days of Galahad and the different sacred places in Ireland that its old inhabitants had once used. Strangely enough, Harry had done quite well on the end-of-chapter test they had had without really knowing anything. The test had come back with his name on it and in his handwriting, but he couldn't remember having written it.

The pages, much of their own accord, were flipping slowly in front of him, as if by some insubstantial fingers. They slowed and stopped, open to a page marked 'Significance of Faery Mounds.' Harry frowned. He knew this chapter by heart. Why…? But rather than wonder further, he turned his full attention to the old legends and began to read.

*

The Care of Magical Creatures class- fourth years- were sprawled out on rough blankets on the sodden ground, lazily sending sparks after the Glo-Pixies Charlie had them working with. He had wanted to start on gryffins and sphinx, but Bill's friend's shipment hadn't come in yet and the gryffin he'd ensnared in the Forbidden Forest had magically escaped the night before.

Charlie had too much to think about to bother much with looking for magical creatures anymore. There were tests to make up and papers to grade, although admittedly few because he didn't like giving them, and other teacherly things. The predicament of the Order of the Phoenix also weighed heavily on his mind. They still didn't have any leads on what the Dark side was trying to accomplish. They were as much in the dark about how to finally defeat them as they had ever been. His relationship with Chloë, while amazingly uncomplicated, took up a lot of his time and, if he was brutally honest with himself, was unlikely to keep either of them satisfied for very long. The simple fact of the matter was that they were better off as friends than lovers.

There was a shout of laughter somewhere nearer the castle. Charlie looked up from where he was watching underneath an old tree by the lake and saw that it had come from his younger sister. She and a few of the other students in her year had chased a group of pixies up on the hill and were having a rather wild game of chasey with them. He wished he could be so lighthearted. Glo-Pixies were liable to make one happy, something in the pixy dust- Ginny was floating a few centimeters above the ground, giggling madly and shooting sparks at the cloud of playful creatures that tugged at her robes and hair. As he watched, she inhaled too much pixy dust and sneezed violently, doubling over with laughter afterwards. She flopped down on her back on the ground, apparently not caring that she was getting her robes absolutely filthy, and stared at the sky.

Charlie sighed. He didn't understand how she could be so calm. Obviously, she knew about the burdens that she carried- she spent way too much time with Potter, for one thing, and Dumbledore had already told her a bit about elementary Life Bonds. That, coupled with what he already knew about her nightmares, was a clear tip-off. Lately, Ginny had had dark circles under her eyes and there had been multiple reports of both her and Harry being inattentive in class, but he could hardly blame them. He was losing sleep, and he wasn't anywhere near as involved as they were.

This troubled him. His little sister had no business being anywhere near the sort of danger she was just from the fact that Harry Potter had saved her life. That she shared a deeper Life Bond with him was really just the icing on a cake that was all too sweet. It wasn't that Charlie wasn't grateful to Harry- quite the contrary; he had rid the world of the Dark Lord for ten years and rescued his sister on top of it- but was it too much to ask that their lives be a little less inextricable? He only had one little sister, and he couldn't help it if the overprotective big brother genes were strong in the Weasley family.

The bell rang for the end of class and the students hurried off to lunch, but Charlie sat under the old aspen for another hour trying to figure out what he was going to do.

*

"Professor Dumbledore?" Harry asked nervously, resisting the urge to fiddle with the hem on his sleeve. He had just discovered a little hole and the desire to turn it into a great big hole was driving him crazy.

The Headmaster looked up from his work with the customary twinkle in his eyes. "Yes, Harry? To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Sir, I need you to call a meeting of the Order of the Phoenix." He squirmed under Dumbledore's serious gaze.

"I see," said the old wizard at length. "Perhaps it would be best if you sat down and explained why?"

Harry sat awkwardly on the edge of one of the chairs, still only barely able to meet the Headmaster's eyes. "I know what the Drifters are trying to do and I know when and where they're going to do it. And I know how to stop them."

If Harry had ever totally thrown Dumbledore a curve, it was now. He was almost afraid the old man would have a heart attack. Instead, the Headmaster merely blinked at him. "Would you care to elaborate?"

It was Harry's turn to be surprised. "You're not even going to ask me how I knew?" he said incredulously. He was, after all, the youngest if not the least experienced member of the Order.

"Why should I?" Dumbledore asked. "You were right last time, were you not?"

Well, Harry thought, he does have a point, after all. "I guess so. I suppose I'm just not used to people taking me seriously." He sighed. "In our minds, the last attack occurred on the thirty-first of October. But that's not quite correct- it was the early morning hours of the first of November. Yet I can't help but thinking that it would have been more effective to attack during the Halloween Ball. The only reason I can think of for not attacking sooner is that they couldn't." Harry stopped here, feeling ridiculous. Here he was, asking the Professor to send people off on pure speculation and gut instinct.

Sensing his discomfort, Dumbledore prodded, "Go on."

Harry took a deep breath and continued. "What I had trouble with was why they couldn't attack earlier, so I looked up when the Drifter activity had started. Hermione has a scrapbook full of suspicious-sounding articles cut out of the Daily Prophet and Drifter activity seems to have started sometime after the twenty-second of June."

"The summer equinox?" Dumbledore hazarded.

"It looks like it," Harry confirmed. "Which left me with two dates- Samhain and June twenty-first. I remembered something from one of Professor Binns' classes and looked it up in my textbook. It turns out that there are a whole series of megaliths in the UK oriented towards events on certain dates. Stonehenge and Dowth Cairn correspond to those dates, which makes sense- the Dark Side was using Dowth as a base in October." He sighed and massaged his forehead. All of a sudden he had a splitting headache. "I don't know how, but they've been using the alignment of the sun with these megaliths as some sort of power source. The next significant date is the winter equinox, which means they'll be at Newgrange at sunrise."

To his credit, Dumbledore seemed to have absorbed everything with only minimal difficulty. In fact, he seemed rather entranced by the whole thing. "Well," he said, "I can see that Miss Granger has finally rubbed off on you. I must say, I'm surprised that someone has found a use for their History of Magic textbooks other than the impromptu pillow. But I'm afraid I can't call in the entire Order on this. It's too risky to have everyone know about it. Who do you suggest we send?"

Harry released a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. This part he could handle. "Sirius, Anya, Remus, Charlie, and Professor Sanderson," he rattled off. He had already considered all of the Phoenix members he knew, and those were the five he considered qualified- he'd chosen Sirius for his Animagus form and knowledge of Muggle weaponry, Anya for her experience with the Drifters, among other things, Remus for his enhanced strength, Charlie and the professor for their expertise and coordination in the field.

Dumbledore nodded. "I understand your logic, Harry. Thank you for coming to me with this information. I'm afraid I must ask you to remain silent about this again- absolute secrecy is required or the team could be in serious danger. I'm sure you understand."

Harry agreed readily and Dumbledore dismissed him. Walking out of the Headmaster's office, he let out a breath of relief. Dumbledore hadn't even hinted that he should stay out of the business himself. It was doubtful that he thought it was implied- Dumbledore never implied anything without making it very obvious- but Harry had to wonder whether the omission was purposeful. It didn't really matter. Harry knew, with a feeling of almost sickening certainty, that he had to go.

*

Gryffindor's first Quidditch match of the season was a much-anticipated event, and one that had been well prepared for. Over the past few weeks, Ginny had spent more time on her broom than she had sleeping, and while she considered this unfortunate, at least part of the reason was not Quidditch practice but rather a nightmare evasion tactic. The dreams had weakened somewhat after Halloween, but had been growing steadily stronger since late November. Now, early December, they had reached such a frequent intensity that she could not doze off for a length of time longer than her History of Magic classes without experiencing some sort of bizarre link to either Voldemort, the Dark forces, or a particularly twisted Irish legend. This was part of the reason why Ginny had fallen asleep in her breakfast the morning before the game.

Fortunately for both her and Harry, who seemed to be experiencing much the same thing, the pure adrenaline rush that was competitive flying leant an amazing feeling of pseudo-awakeness, meaning that they weren't going to be completely helpless in their match against Slytherin. (Hufflepuff had dropped out of the Quidditch tournament this year in respect for Cedric Diggory, which Ginny found rather touching.) Ravenclaw had absolutely flattened them in their last match, led by an amazingly driven Cho Chang. Gryffindor was to play Slytherin later in the day, and a few weeks later the winner of that match would compete with Ravenclaw for the title.

"Gin?" Harry inquired from behind a yawn. "Angelina says it's time to head out. I've got your broom."

Ginny nodded, the anxiety that had been fluttering around her stomach all day congealing into one horrible knot of nervousness, and together they left for the Quidditch pitch.

Through sheer luck, Ginny missed most of Angelina's pep talk. She was far too distracted to concentrate on anything at all except mentally reviewing ways to keep herself from falling off of her broomstick. First impressions were important- she needed to show the rest of Gryffindor that she belonged on the Quidditch team. She needed to prove that she hadn't been chosen because half of her family was on the team. But what Ginny needed most was to wipe the pitch with Draco Malfoy. His "Potter's whore" comments were starting to get extremely agitating. Ron had cursed him in the corridor the previous day and received three detentions from Snape. Revenge was going to be sweet.

The time came to meet the opposing team on the pitch, and so four Weasleys with flaming red hair, one famous bespectacled boy, a Quidditch Captain and her best friend left the change room and faced off with the Slytherins. As human beings, they were somewhat formidable- aside from Malfoy, they seemed chosen on size alone. Crabbe and Goyle, acting as beaters, looked more like trolls than wizards, and their bats just enhanced the image. The Chasers and the Keeper, male and female alike, were wearing identical looks of stony fury. To Ginny it seemed as if they would sooner bite Angie's head off than shake her hand. Still, the captains shook hands and Madam Hooch blew her whistle. Fourteen brooms rose into the air.

Ginny felt another level of awareness append itself to her consciousness the minute her feet left the ground. At the same time, a dimension was lost- her nightmares and their significance seemed completely insignificant. This was flying- so easy at first and so challenging when she wanted it to be. That was the beauty of broomsticks- they could be simple or complicated and there was no need to push oneself.

Unless it was the middle of a Quidditch game. Getting a feel for the game after only a few seconds in the air, Ginny darted in and out of the other team's players, noting with satisfaction that while the Slytherins certainly had brute strength on their side, her own team was much more agile. She intercepted a Quaffle meant for John Marriot of Slytherin and passed it back to Katie Bell, who dodged two Bludgers in order to score the first goal of the game. Ginny bit back a yell of triumph, but reminded herself that the game was hardly over.

An hour later, there was still no sign of the Snitch, at least as far as Ginny could tell. Malfoy was trailing Harry at a safe distance somewhere above her. There hadn't been so much as a single feint on either part. The current score was 60-10 for Gryffindor- Ron had let in only one goal, and even then only when faced with all three Chasers when Fred and George were occupied with aiming the Bludgers at Malfoy. Ginny herself hadn't scored yet- she had only been in a decent position once, and had missed by unfortunate combination of Bludger and Keeper.

Over by the Gryffindor hoops, the center Slytherin Chaser had the Quaffle, and was about to take aim. Angelina swooped in from above and snatched it away, passing to Katie-

Ginny caught Katie's pass and started weaving through the Slytherin team. Vincent Crabbe thwacked a Bludger at her and she jerked her broom handle up, almost running into the other Bludger which was a convenient three centimeters above her head. Suddenly, only the Keeper was left before her…

With no time to aim due to the increasing proximity of the Slytherin Chasers and unable to pass because Katie and Angelina were both dodging the Bludgers that had nearly decapitated her a moment before, Ginny arrested the forward motion of her broom and let the Chasers overshoot her. Flying under them when they turned back to see where she'd gone, Ginny cocked her arm back and let the Quaffle fly.

The Slytherin Keeper never knew what had hit him- his own Chasers were blocking his vision and he couldn't see where the shot was coming from. As a result, it sailed through a hoop a meter and a half to his left.

Someone whooped- Definitely one of my brothers, Ginny thought. She looked up habitually, searching for Harry-

And suddenly the whooping was not just from the team. Harry had gone into a steep dive, Draco Malfoy hot on his trail. The players, inexperienced, stopped what they were doing and watched with bated breath as the two Seekers jostled for the better position. Ginny had a bad moment when Malfoy pulled ahead- Harry leaned forward too far and reached- hehadtheSnitchhehadtheSnitch and oh Merlin he had leaned forward so far that he'd fallen off of his broom, hewasfallinghewasfallinghewasfalling and she'd forgotten her wand, oh Merlin there was nothing she could do…

But Harry had been in a steep dive that had only turned into a fall a few feet off of the ground. He hit the pitch rolling and came up on his feet, the winged golden Snitch clasped in his right hand and his left arm hanging at a somewhat painful-looking angle at his side. As the rest of the team- most of the school- cheered, Ginny let out a breath of relief. As always, Harry would be okay.

*

He didn't know exactly what he'd done, really. He was beginning to see the edge of something deep and dark and long-buried and he knew that it needed to be uncovered, but that was all that he knew. Excepting, of course, the fact that Anya really, really wanted to keep it hidden. For this reason, and others that were slowly starting to drive him mad, Sirius was sitting on his piano bench, running his fingers over the letters carved into the pull-down cover. Brighid, it read in fancy curly-cued letters. He pushed the cover back and let his hands fall on the keys. Women, he reflected with a sigh, were very, very difficult.

They hadn't spoken of… that night since everything had almost happened. There was a forced sort of formality between them, and the deeper bond they had once had was nowhere to be seen. Anya would say no more about her fear of commitment, the fact that she thought she was going to die, or relationships in general. Where Sirius had once been able to pick her brain with relative ease, she was now closed to him, keeping to herself as much as she could and avoiding being alone with him at all costs. He wondered if giving her the space she seemed to want was really the best thing for the situation, but he couldn't think of a better idea, and his frustration with the both of them was growing.

Without thinking, his fingers began to move over the keys, looking for a melody. He tried to ignore the burning sensation in his chest, the stinging barbs his conscience was giving him for causing her so much pain, but found himself quite unable. Sirius was very close to owling Charlie and asking him what the hell had happened, but he had the stinking Slytherin suspicion that Charlie was as clueless as he was. Damn it.

With an ironic upward quirk of his mouth, Sirius played a few slow, introductory bars, then picked up the pace to how it was supposed to be played and added in the melody.

"I bet you think that's really clever," Anya said from behind him, looking like she was trying not to give in and tell him that, in fact, it was.

"Aww," Sirius said, putting on a wounded expression. "You don't think it's appropriate? 'I know you're only protecting yourself; I know you're thinking of somebody else-'" Anya had cracked a reluctant smile, showing that she knew how the song continued, so he stopped singing. "See? I told you it was fitting." He slid over on the bench and motioned for her to sit down beside him, quickly returning his hands to the keys to keep the melody going. "Tell me about this someone who hurt you," he demanded quietly, not moving his eyes from the word scrawled across the piano.

"I don't know if that's such a good idea," she began, shifting uncomfortably. "I-" She stopped, let out all of her breath at once, and massaged her temples with one hand. "I don't know if I can," she whispered. "I- you- ooh, damn."

Anya positively glared at him. "That's not funny."

"I'm not laughing," he answered seriously, dropping all pretense of being cheerful and pulling the cover down overtop of the white ivory keys. "Tell me what happened."

She turned her head down and examined the fine wood grain of the piano top. "I want to," Anya confessed, "but it's not that easy. It's something I've been trying to forget for thirteen years and never quite managed." She swallowed hard, then closed her eyes. When she spoke again, her words were quiet and almost hoarse. "Charlie doesn't even know."

It was almost bizarre to have his suspicions confirmed like that. Although the fact in itself was not surprising, Sirius had no idea how to continue the conversation- he had never imagined getting this far, let alone progressing. Instead of pushing further, he said, "There are some things you can't talk to your best friend about."

A weak smile appeared on her face. "You're not kidding." She sniffed and wiped the back of her hand over her eyes.

Sirius realized with a start that she was fighting off tears and felt immediately guilty. Damn it. Something about this just makes my wand-hand itch. Part of that same something was twisting a red-hot poker inside of him. He drew Anya close, possessed with the sudden urge to squeeze the demons out of her, but restrained himself. "Tell me about it," he commanded softly, leaning his head on hers.

After waiting for so long, the answer finally came. "Alright," she said, and he felt her muscles tense. "But not here."

He led her to his room and shut the door as quietly as possible before sitting down across from her on the bed. "Obsidio," he locked the door and set his wand on the dresser. His eyes searched her for answers that he wasn't sure she could give him, even if she wanted to.

Anya plucked at the fabric of his coverlet and bit her lip before starting. "I was nineteen," she began at last, not looking at him. "I didn't know anything but my job and what I'd learned at school. I was young, naïve, and stupid, and I was sure that I was in love." Sirius nodded. He was sure there were a lot of stories that started out like this. "I was the acting Head of the DMLE at the time- there were still a lot of arrests for crimes committed in Voldemort's time and a surprising number of Ministry employees ended up being persecuted for their part in the war, so a lot of people who were too young to have played much part ended up in senior positions temporarily. I actually enjoyed my job, something I have trouble remembering when I think back…" She shifted restlessly, still not meeting his gaze, then stood up and exhaled loudly before continuing to talk to the wall. "We had been seeing each other for a little over six months when it… when he…" Anya looked at him helplessly, her eyes begging him to just understand- to understand that she couldn't tell him. He knew what she needed him to do.

"Left?" Sirius guessed, catching her wrist as she turned around again. He could feel her heartbeat, steady against his fingers. Not that, then. "You found out he played for the other team?" He pressed his lips to her wrist, and her pulse quickened ever so slightly, but not enough. "Okay. He cheated on you?" he asked, moving up to the inside of her elbow. The very thought of it was enough that he had to fight to keep the black haze of fury from taking over his mind. Anya was pressed up against the wall now, and Sirius could hear both her shallow breathing and her heartbeat. "No, that's not it." His thoughts grew steadily darker. "He used you?" Her pulse fluttered slightly and he raised her palm to his lips, almost losing control completely. If he ever met this man, if he found out who had done this to her… His throat closed ominously. "Hit you?" It jumped dangerously again, and he knew that even he couldn't ask the last question. He pulled her arms up above her head and pressed them against the wall behind her.

The expression on Anya's face was all he needed, this time, but there was also the tensing of her body and the erratic breathing to tip him off. Sirius was tempted to step away entirely and leave her in her misery, ashamed at himself for forcing the truth out of her, but knowing that it had had to come out, sometime. Instead, he pulled her roughly against him and tried to swallow the bile that rose in his throat. "God… I'm so sorry." He couldn't think of anything else to say. Rage threatened to consume him and he wanted to demand who had done this, who dared to hurt the woman he loved in such a way, but couldn't bring himself to force her to remember more than she already had. "I shouldn't have-"

But he could say no more. Anya's uncontrollable shaking against him was his first priority, and he knew no words could ever be enough.

*

She woke up feeling safe and warm, something that hadn't happened in a very long time. However, she doubted you could call the state she was in 'awake.' She was merely aware. She knew, for example, that she was being watched, and closely at that. She knew that she wasn't in her own bed, and noted with a cozy feeling and a sleepy smile that her pillow smelled rather like Sirius. At that point, Anya probably wouldn't have been terribly surprised if her pillow turned out to be Sirius, but fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how she looked at it) this was not the case.

"Your bed is so much more comfortable than mine," she mumbled, burying herself as deep as she could in the bedclothes.

"Does that mean you'll be spending more time in it?" Sirius' voice answered teasingly.

Anya rolled onto her back and lifted her head a bit, blinking in an attempt to make her vision return to normal. To her surprise, Sirius was sitting in a chair by the window. Apparently he had been watching her sleep. The only light came from a half-moon and a thousand twinkling stars just beyond the glass. "A definite possibility," she managed to say, smiling a bit in an effort to cover up how touching she truly found this. She wasn't about to let him think she'd suddenly gone soft. "I might have to kick you out first, though."

Sirius pouted and stood up, making his way over to the bedside. Her eyes were still laughing when they met his, a laughter that died out very quickly as his mouth descended upon hers. "Can't we share?"

"Tempting," Anya admitted with a sigh, flopping back down on the bed. "Very tempting." How very strange that everything that should have changed was exactly the same as before. She wondered idly what this meant and decided that it could only be a good thing. It was good enough that she all but forgot the grim specter hanging over her head, just waiting. She could resist the urge to curl up into a ball and shut out the world, but only barely.

"Isn't it, though," he said gently, lying down next to her. He brushed a few strands of long, dark hair away from her face before giving in to a short laugh.

"What?"

Sirius shook his head. "Nothing," he answered, still smiling ruefully. "Just that for all his inexperience, Remus knows what he's talking about, after all."

"Remus," Anya said dryly, "is often far too intelligent for his own good." Let alone that of others. She punctuated this statement with a yawn and gave in to gravity, allowing her eyelids to fall closed again. "How long was I asleep?"

"I don't know," came the response. "Lost track of time."

Anya could feel him watching her, almost as if he were trying to memorize something, the way he got sometimes after (and during) very awkward moments. Yet the sensation that nothing had really changed between them was contradicted by the fact that this didn't feel awkward at all. Different, yes; new, certainly; but more than anything it just felt right. She glanced out the window at the velvet night. It was at least three o'clock in the morning. A teasing smile danced across her face. "Why weren't you in bed?"

Sirius chuckled in the darkness; she felt his arm slip around her waist and pull her closer. "I deserved that."

"You deserve so much more," Anya corrected. A vague thought floating around in her mind took shape. She bit back her pride and instead let herself be properly grateful. "Thank you, Sirius."

His first response was to kiss her. "You're welcome." No other words were spoken until morning.

*

"Morning, Sirius," Remus said, not looking up from his paper. He purposefully refrained from making a comment about the hour. If Sirius wanted to sleep in past all reasonable hours then that was his prerogative. He would be sorry for that later, when all of his proper wizarding credentials came back from the Ministry's legal department and he could finally apply for a job- sleeping in would become a luxury that he would have little time for.

"Morning," Sirius replied, sounding exhausted and content at the same time. Remus looked up from the Daily Prophet to find his longtime friend standing by the refrigerator retrieving the orange juice and staring out the window, a bizarre expression on his face. "Beautiful day, isn't it?"

Remus almost choked on his coffee as his eyes followed Sirius' to the dreary mid-December morning. The sky was overcast and it was drizzling slightly, having stormed earlier; the ground was a murky green-brown color and covered in puddles. The incessant drip-drip of the raindrops off of the eaves was driving him to complete distraction. Sirius had obviously been influenced by something. Remus, not being especially dense but rather only a little naïve, had just realized which other person he hadn't seen that morning. "It's raining," he commented dryly, taking in Sirius' mussed hair. Were those marks on his neck what Remus thought they were?

"Beauty is only skin-deep," Sirius quipped good-naturedly.

Remus wondered if he'd been enthralled. Sirius hadn't acted like this since he'd had the opportunity to razz James about Lily's pregnancy. He hoped this wouldn't last quite so long; it really was kind of obnoxious. Of course, other people would probably find it sweet and endearing, especially considering the amount of times some of these other people had told Sirius to lighten up. "Speaking of beauty… have you seen Anya this morning? She never sleeps this late."

Sirius didn't reply. In point of fact, all that he seemed to be doing was pouring the orange juice into a nonexistent glass beside his own. "Hmm?"

"You're making a mess," Remus pointed out with a tolerant smile.

"Too late for that," his friend answered, borrowing Remus' wand to clear away the sodden muddle that was the tablecloth without disturbing anything else that was on it. He pulled out a chair and sat, finally succeeding in pouring his drink without incident.

"Just as long as you know it. Hadn't you better be getting back to bed?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Are you wearing lipstick?"

"Am I?" Sirius asked, swiping a hand across mouth distractedly. "So I am. Well, suffice it to say I didn't see that coming."

Remus snorted. "That would make you the only one. You do realize that every human being with half an IQ-point has seen this coming for months?"

"Seen what coming? Oh." Sirius managed a rueful grin. "Well, love is blind, you know."

Apparently. He resisted the temptation to think of Hallie and praised the powers be that Sirius didn't talk much about the events of over a month ago. "Yes, I can see that." He sighed and confiscated Sirius' orange juice before he could do something regrettable with it. "Get out of here, you senseless man, and find somewhere where you will be better appreciated." With a slight flush and a grin, Sirius bounded off again. Remus could do naught but hope that whatever bug had bitten his friend stayed far away from him.

*

Dromore House was quiet in the predawn darkness of the early morning of December 21^st. Harry forced his breathing to remain steady and deep, not moving. He felt the shadow creeping closer to his trunk, reaching for the latch with slender fingers and finding it locked. The mind-shape cursed and whispered, "Alohomora."

Harry sat bolt upright and caught Ginny's arm before she could extract the cloak. She jumped back, surprised, but didn't make a sound. There was either shame or guilt written on her face; it was hard to tell in the darkness, even if he was already wearing his glasses. After all, he, too, had been about to don the Invisibility Cloak and join the party assembling downstairs. "I guess you had the same idea that I did," he said quietly, releasing her. She shouldn't have been at Dromore House at all- she had gone back to the Burrow for Christmas- but apparently the calling of the task at hand was too great. He knew he shouldn't have told her what was going on. Then again, she probably would have figured it out for herself, anyway.

Ginny dropped her gaze. "How did you know?"

He shrugged helplessly. What could he say? He just knew, and that was all. Harry sighed. "I don't suppose I can convince you not to go?"

The corners of her mouth turned up, but it wasn't a genuine smile and didn't reach her eyes. "All or nothing, remember?"

He nodded. "Okay. We'd better get going, then." They crowded under the Invisibility Cloak and tiptoed down the stairs to the sitting room. The rest of the team was already assembled, wide awake and ready to go as soon as they had finished their Pepper-Up Potions. It didn't escape Harry's attention that certain people seemed to be avoiding each other- strangely, they were neither Sirius nor Anya- it was Chloë and Charlie who seemed to be giving each other the widest berths. He hoped they would still be able to cooperate with a minimum of difficulty.

Harry and Ginny moved close to the edges of the circle, careful not to get close enough for anyone to sense their presence. This meant keeping as far away as possible from Remus, whose nose was already twitching.

"All right, you two. Take off the cloak and step out where we can see you." Remus did not look at all amused.

Harry let out a deep breath he didn't know he'd been holding, about to do as his onetime Professor had asked. Ginny, however, had other ideas. He felt her reach for her wand and heard her mutter a few words.

"Harry? Ginny? I know you were there a minute ago." The rest of the team was exchanging glances. Almost as one they began to feel around blindly for the party-crashers.

Sirius was the notable exception. He crossed his arms over his chest. "This isn't funny, Harry. It's too dangerous for you to come along-"

Harry had probably never been more grateful for Anya's calming influence on his godfather. She laid a hand on his arm. "We have to go now," she said quietly. "The sun is almost up."

He chanced a glance out the window. It was true- the sky was already lightening. Under the cover of the cloak, he and Ginny moved closer to the Portkey they would be taking. The adults moved around them, temporarily oblivious, and all at once, they reached for it...

Harry felt a tug behind his navel and jerked forward into space. The sensation was so strong that it felt as if he were being pulled through a sieve at incredible speed. It stopped suddenly and he stumbled over Ginny's feet, landing roughly on the ground and pulling her down with him. They both had the sense not to cry out- if they were caught, Sirius would never trust him again. Not only that, but they would be forced to return to Dromore House posthaste, and subsequently lectured. Sirius' lectures were always uncomfortable to sit through, but Remus' were a thousand times worse. The combination of both of them would probably drive Harry to madness and/or promises he didn't intend to keep.

The cloak stayed in place after they fell, which was a lucky thing. Silently, the two of them helped each other up (which was awkward as they couldn't see where exactly they were putting their hands) and surveyed their surroundings. They were standing on an obviously man-made hill which was surrounded by about sixty large standing stones. The grass was completely covered with snow several inches thick, which was already posing a problem. Harry had just realized that he was soaked through from falling onto it and that they had left a rather large print in the snow. Luckily, the adults were too busy taking in their own surroundings to notice.

Harry desperately needed some way to communicate with Ginny, but knew they couldn't risk being discovered. Handsignals would admittedly be useless, and they couldn't read each other's minds- Harry paused. But they could read each other's minds, with the aid of a little magic, couldn't they? He took out his wand and pressed it to something that felt like Ginny's hair. "Maglius," he whispered.

It's a Link Charm, Harry thought at her, hoping she had the sense not to cry out at the sudden intrusion into her mind. Communication by thought.

Harry looked around. Sirius, Remus, and the rest of them were already descending to what was presumably the entrance to the passage cairn. Follow them.

Careful to keep to the team's footprints, they trudged as quietly as possible along behind. Harry kept glancing at the horizon, waiting for the sun to rise. They had to take considerable care coming down from the top of the mound, as it was surrounded by a tall, thick, icy stone wall. Luckily, none of the adults had bothered to take down the rope they had used on the way down, and although it was tricky getting down together under the cloak, the two of them managed. Then, feeling as if they were in some kind of bizarre dream, they started to move around to the passage's entrance.

Although the comment surprised him initially, Harry had to admit that Ginny had a point: while something about the setting, what they were doing, clicked, other things were screaming at him to be reversed.

Ginny's thought continued, oblivious to him. I thought we were going to-

Both of their trains of thought stopped when they saw the entrance to the cairn. This feels right, Harry thought, taking everything in.

The whole of the faery mound sparkled red and orange in the predawn light. A facade of glittering white quartz and granite stones bordered it. A platform at the front had two separate stairways leading around the obvious centerpiece, what looked like, and most likely was, a large stone with swirls carved into it. Behind and above it was the roof box through which the rising sun would shine in just a few minutes.

Oh, Ginny exclaimed mentally, and they both snapped out of their trances. I guess I was wrong. Together, they started towards it. This is bizarre, she finally said, and Harry could feel her glancing about. There should be people here. The waiting list to see the sunlight through the passageway reportedly got to ten years!

Maybe they got lost in the fog, Harry thought darkly. He couldn't remember a foggier day, which he thought was very suspicious. Fog didn't usually go this well with snow. And sun didn't usually pass this easily through the it. The three together were definitely fishy. Come on, let's go. The faster we get this over with, the better.

You know, I can't help but agree with you. Grasping his hand tightly, Ginny led the way into the passage.

*

The rising sun had almost cleared the horizon when Harry and Ginny caught up with the adults at the end of the stone corridor. It was still fairly dark inside, because the sun's angle wasn't allowing any natural light to get through the roof box, but Harry could make out the outline of the main antechamber in the darkness.

Oh, Ginny said within his mind. Harry could feel her amazement. We have to go… this way…

Harry wanted to point out that they were headed towards a plain stone wall, but she seemed very sure of herself and the others were headed that way anyway, lead by Anya. They stopped a few meters behind their elders.

Anya knelt on the floor and took out her wand, poking it at what looked to Harry to be a small, broken vial. It was lying in a half-dried, sticky puddle of some dark brown substance, through which there were tiny footprints. Remus wrinkled his nose. "Blood," he said succinctly as Sirius pulled her upright again. His face was pale, carefully devoid of any emotion. "Leon's blood," Remus continued, nudging the tube with the toe of his boot before stomping on it. "I smell a rat. We're close."

And then the sun rose. Harry watched with wide eyes as the brilliant rays shot through the corridor and directly across the room, bathing the room in light as it bounced off of the other stones. At last the light hit the wall where they were standing, and everything changed.

The stones that had been solidly anchored there moments earlier retreated somewhere, and a somewhat rusty old mirror that still, apparently, served its function reflected the sunbeams down onto where they had been. Harry blanched. Where there had been solid rock moments before, there was now an intricate granite statue carved in the shape of a tall, thin woman with her head thrown back and her eyes open wide. Stone arms held a granite bowl above her head. Harry didn't need to ask who it was.

Aine.

No reply was necessary. Everyone was staring at the statue with startling intensity. Finally, Anya spoke. "Peter was here," she said quietly, looking down at the glass shards. "And he was using Leon's blood, the reason for which I bet I can guess." She turned to Sirius. "Give me your pocket knife."

"Anya, I really don't think-" Sirius protested.

"Thank you," Anya said shortly, already flicking it open. "Tergo." Harry winced as she slashed the blade viciously across her own palm, but her expression did not change. She held her hand over the bowl and squeezed, this time cringing slightly, then brought it back down again. "Cén dom mullach faraman Ard Aon."

She seeks an audience with who? Harry asked, alarmed.

I should think that much is obvious, Ginny replied. She seemed as stunned as he was, but (luckily, Harry thought) nothing out of the ordinary was happening. He wondered if Anya's makeshift Gaelic spell had failed.

Until she continued her command. "Snigh fuil, súigh fuil, dúis Tuatha de Dannan."

A tremor shook the passageway and the bowl disintegrated. Anya's blood dripped slowly down the statue's fingers, thickened with the fine dust of the granite. The hands clenched, the eyes blinked, and the statue came to life, turning on them a gaze without focus. "Cén fáth tá sibh anseo?" it rumbled, looking directly past Anya. Harry shivered. It seemed to be staring right at him, which was ridiculous, of course. It had no pupils.

We don't want anything, he answered it. Just show me how I can help and I'll leave you alone.

" Cén dom mullach faraman Ard Aon," Anya repeated, and Harry's heart sank. He wanted to get on with their task as quickly as possible, but something told him he had to stay.

The statue actually appeared to be surprised, and shifted its attention to those beings that stood closer to it. Harry tried not to sag in relief. "Tá mé sí. Cad déan tú smaoineamh tá tú fiúntach?"

Feel free to jump in any time, Gin, Harry thought frantically. Aine looks about ready to eat Anya alive. I don't even know if she is worthy. What are the qualifications?

I don't know, but you can be sure that Anya doesn't qualify, Ginny said back. I'm going to… "Labhair mé do a." Speak for her, Ginny finished. Before Harry could stop her, she slipped out from under the cloak.

There was a collective expression of disbelief, but nothing hurt Harry as much as the furious look on Sirius' face. He had only seen his godfather that angry once before. "What do you think you're-"

The statue rumbled again. "You are chosen," it said, turning its stony gaze upon her.

"What!?" Charlie exploded. "Wait a minute- Ginny, you're a child- you can't possibly- you just spoke Gaelic, didn't you?" Ginny nodded. Charlie said something that would have made Ron blush.

Sirius spoke in a deadly calm voice. "You can come out now, Harry. We know you're there."

Harry didn't know if he was deliberately ignoring the fact that Ginny had just spoken Gaelic or decided that it wasn't important, and he wasn't sure he cared to find out. In point of fact he was not in the slight bit curious about what would happen if he stayed right where he was, either. It was simply not an option. He unclasped the Invisibility Cloak and stuffed it into one of his robe pockets.

"Just what do you think you are doing?" he hissed at Ginny, ignoring his godfather for the moment. Their mental link seemed to have broken, and it was no wonder. Everything resembling concentration in his brain had just leaked out his ears. "How could you just-" He realized that most of the room's occupants were staring at him.

"Harry?" Sirius said, sounding a little incredulous.

Harry felt his cheeks go warm. He already felt horrible for having spoken to Ginny that way and was about to apologize when his godfather continued. "I think you have some explaining to do."

Abashed, Harry opened his mouth to protest that there was too little time when the statue turned its flash-frozen gaze on him. All sound and motion stopped. When it finally spoke, its words were not comforting in the slightest. "I have been expecting you," it pronounced finally in Gaelic, "for a very long time. Take the blade," it told Ginny, somehow producing a wicked-looking dagger from thin air. "And take the courage to wield it well." Tentatively, Ginny reached out and took the knife and sheath from the oracle. "You, too, require your weapon," it said, once again addressing Harry. "This I cannot give you, for its touch is forbidden to me, but I can help you find it. I hope you know what you are looking for." And everything faded into gray.

*

After the abrupt change of scenery, Charlie was the first to speak. " Where are we?"

"An island, somewhere," Remus stated, looking for all the world like a hunting dog searching for the scent. "The nearest coast is that way," he pointed off through the fog to their left. "We could split up to cover more ground-"

Harry could have sworn he felt something slither over his foot, but couldn't see it through the mist. "I think I speak for everyone when I say that splitting up is not something I want to do. If we get separated in this fog, we'll never find each other again."

"On the other hand," Sirius pointed out, "staying put is pretty pointless. What did she say before she sent us here, Harry?"

He frowned slightly, feeling the residual chill of the oracle's words. "That I needed my weapon and she would help me find it." He turned to look at Ginny, who had just finished securing the strange dagger's sheath around her waist. "Any idea what she meant?"

She glanced up at him and he froze. "She meant that I'm going to help you," Ginny declared. Except that it wasn't really Ginny at all. She stood with a regal sort of fierce dignity that Harry had only glimpsed in her before. Her stance suggested training a lot more intensive and combat-oriented than a few months Quidditch practice. And her eyes had turned from a familiar deep, warm, chocolate brown to a half-crazed gray the exact shade of the fog.

No one else said a word. Harry had the feeling that they were even more shocked than he was. Finally, he managed to get a grip on his mutinous brain. As far as he could tell, Ginny was fine. So she needed an exorcist- big deal! That had happened before, right? He tried to convince himself. A worrying voice insisted, Yeah, but she almost died that time, didn't she? Harry wished fervently that it would just shut up. "Right. Lead the way." He was rather amazed at how calm his voice sounded. He could see it now. Famous Harry Potter, boy wonder and four-time survivor of the Dark Lord, paranoid that his girlfriend may be developing a case of schizophrenia. Eat your heart out, Rita Skeeter. But the six of them followed Ginny into the mist.

Harry wasn't sure how long they had been walking when he noticed the castle looming out of the fog ahead of them. Of indeterminable style, the buildings themselves seemed unstable, and would change shape if scrutinized too closely. "Ginny? Where are we going?"

In response, she turned towards the rest of the group and waved her hand in the general direction of the gate behind her. "If we are lucky, to meet with the Seven."

The Seven? Harry wondered. The Seven what? "Oh," he said, feeling he ought to say something. "Are they expecting us?" Are we late? Why only if we're lucky? A sudden wind chilled him to the bone, but the fog didn't stir. Something rotten in Denmark.

"They know we are here," she answered vaguely. "But time here isn't relative- doesn't correspond to the outside world or even anything on the island itself. It can't, or the Seven would be long dead. They're not immortal, you know. In other words, for them, we've only just arrived." Harry wondered if she was reading his mind. "Before we meet them, we have to go through the seven trials, that is, one for each of our weaknesses, our fears, our inner demons." Remus and Chloë winced perceptibly. "If one of us fails, we will be sent back. We must not fail." Allowing herself a half-smile, she turned semi-apologetically to Harry. "And I'm not reading your mind. I just know what you're thinking."

Harry's brain tried to fit itself around this and failed, so he moved on to more relevant thinking. Would he have to face a Dementor? he wondered. Was this even his greatest fear anymore? Or would he have to face his greatest weakness? What were his inner demons like, anyway? He had a mental image of miniature Draco Malfoys in red devil costumes with pointy little tridents dancing inside of him and shuddered. Anything but that.

"Well," Sirius said into the silence, "onwards, I suppose." The seven of them approached the gate.

*

Ginny turned towards the heavy wrought iron doors and raised her arms. She didn't know how exactly she was doing what she was doing, just what had to be done, but it seemed to be doing itself, really. The gates opened without a sound and a flash of light escaped from within. She found herself being drawn inside and without further ceremony, the trials began.

As the first one through the gate, she knew that she herself would be the first to be tested. Invisible, ice-cold hands pulled her forward in an unbreakable grip. Before them was a corridor of mirrors, reflections of truth and a past she would have rather forgotten. But she couldn't escape…

She stumbled over a tree root and fell to her knees on the cold, hard ground. The mist in front of her thinned, and she peered downwards. She could see herself reflected in a small lake just in front of her- she had narrowly missed tumbling right into the freezing water.

A sudden shove from behind pitched her into the frigid depths. She struggled to keep her head above the water, but it was no use, the current was pulling her down, down, down, she couldn't breathe-

There was blackness.

She was in a dark, familiar place, one she had no great love of, an observer in a time never forgotten. The Chamber of Secrets looked just as she'd remembered it, just as it had appeared years afterwards in her dreams; the statue of the basilisk leered hungrily at her and the diary just laughed. The memory of Tom Riddle was there; he had created this nightmare- all of her Voldemort-related nightmares, really, for he had given her the scar that connected her to him. The scar that connected her to Harry.

I am awake, she told herself firmly. I am awake, and I will not dream this. I am awake, I'm safe with Charlie and Harry-

But Harry was never terribly active in this particular nightmare. Sure, he played a huge part where fear factor was concerned, but he didn't actually do much- Harry spent the entire dreamspan against the wall where she had been, pale-faced and stiff-bodied. As if in death. Ginny was made to face Riddle alone, unarmed and afraid, but he was never content to just kill her and let her awake screaming. No, Riddle was a human Dementor; Riddle made her relive horrible things that she had done, things that she had never done and things he had tried to make her do; torturous episodes in which she was made to betray her family, betray her friends, betray Harry. In the end, she was always the only one left, and then Tom didn't need to kill her. Tom had, by this point, broken her.

Something made this reflection worse than all the others. The boy who would become Voldemort turned on her, red-on-green eyes blazing madly, wand drawn. But this time, she had her own wand. In fact no one was without a wand; no one has been disarmed- not even Harry, who stood between them, turned towards her so that she could see his face. It was completely devoid of emotion and looked almost exactly like she felt.

Voldemort raised his wand. The disorientation vanished, but not soon enough. "Imperio."

Oh, no. Ginny knew this curse. It was a horrible thing to do to anyone, an unforgivable thing, but she couldn't think about it further because the Dark Lord's commands were taking over her mind. Of its own accord, her wand struck Harry in the chest. Detachedly, she felt a slight pressure over her heart and knew that Harry's own wand was aimed at her. Finish it, said the voice.

NO! All of Ginny's instincts screamed against it. She could feel the words being put into her mind, polluting it, felt them building behind her tongue and vowed never to say them. I won't. I won't do it and you can't make me do it because this is my dream, buddy, my dream my dream my dream it's only a hallucination and I'm not going to do it this isn't real it's not real it's not real it's not-

"Avada Kedavra."

The rest was silence.

*

With a horrible sucking, spiraling effect that made Harry very dizzy, the first test ended. He watched anxiously as Ginny reappeared, lying facedown on a bridge that had not been there moments before, her dagger pressed to her own chest. What on earth- or elsewhere- had gone on?

He was kneeling beside her on the bridge in seconds, but by the time he got there, she was already sitting up, rubbing a hand over her eyes. He watched as chocolate brown swirled again into gray. Before he could ask if she was alright, Ginny said, "I'm fine. What we need to do right now is keep going." She stood up and they followed her to the end of the narrow bridge. The path on the moorland below was bordered on both sides by a thick hedge, and directly in the center grew a large, gnarled apple tree bearing a single fruit on its very top branch. Chloë stepped ahead of them…

*

She stopped in front of it, taking in its weathered but sturdy appearance. She was almost ready to prepare a spell to move it out of the way when it moved on its own.

For the first time, Chloë noticed how the knots and cracks in the trunk made the tree appear almost human. She realized with a start that it was in fact not a normal tree at all, but a nymph, which were nearly extinct in the United Kingdom. Of course, there was no evidence that they were even in the same dimension as the United Kingdom, let alone within it. Through the leaves, the nymph spoke to her softly. Pick the fruit and you may pass.

Oh, now that's ironic, Chloë thought to herself, looking for a good place to start climbing without offending the nymph. It wasn't that she was afraid of heights- it was the ground that scared her. She finally found a suitable branch and pulled herself up.

This proved to be a mistake. The tree itself was innocent enough to look at, but touching it had the effect of a Dementor. Chloë felt the cool bark slip under her fingers and grabbed the bough above her. The cold that had settled into her soul deepened, but she knew she had to continue. Get the apple. Worry about everything else afterwards.

It was going to be impossible. In her mind, Chloë heard the screaming of a young child. She could see her tearstained face as her parents were killed, and Chloë couldn't move, she was stuck under the Imperius and couldn't fight back, which was ridiculous. Of course she could fight back- she always had before- but no, she couldn't move, and so was forced to look on as the carnage continued-

Continue. Just keep going, and this can all stop. She reached for another grip, feeling her arms shake with her weight. The apple shone innocently up ahead of her. A little farther. You can't let them down.

Down. She risked a glance downward and swallowed hard. On a broomstick, it didn't bother her. On the eighteenth floor of a building, it didn't bother her. But here, now, between her and the ground, were several painfully thick tree branches and only her own muscles to keep her from hitting them.

The hooded figures in her mind started shooting curses towards the little girl. Chloë was still paralyzed, still imprisoned by the Unforgivable Curse and her fear- what would they do to her if she moved?- was still praying for someone else to get her out of this predicament.

Knowing that no one could help her gave her strength. She pulled herself up onto a branch from which she could reach the fruit and stretched out her arm-

As she picked it off of the silvery nymph, the tree seemed to shrink beneath her, until she was sitting cross-legged on the ground with the apple in her lap. She brushed herself off as she stood, and no further words were exchanged. They rounded a turn in the hedge and Anya was called to take up the next challenge.

*

Sphinx. The word floated through her mind unbidden. She wasn't exactly sure that that was what she was, but she seemed to be something of the same sort. She wasn't the kind of sphinx you got in Egypt, exactly- those were sand-colored and huge and had regal airs. This one was the same sort of gray stone that the statue of Aine had been and although she had a decidedly royal feel to her, Anya got the feeling that it was more because she was important than because she had deluded itself that she was.

Yet she couldn't be a proper sphinx. Here she stood before her, clearly a challenger, and the sphinx had presented her with no riddle. What was she meant to do? Would there be no clues?

She was not permitted to continue in that train of thought. The sphinx looked up at her very slowly and opened her mouth, and she was swallowed whole.

Inside, the darkness was almost complete. All that Anya could see was due to the fact that intensely magical creatures had a habit of glowing in the dark. The sphinx- the sphinx's consciousness? Spirit?- lazed idly in front of her, paws crossed, regarding her coolly. You know why you are here.

Anya snorted. "Don't tell me you're my inner demon. Not exactly my greatest fear, either." She bit her lip. What was this? She needed to get on with the trial. Although she realized that time was not especially important here- wherever here was- she still felt that something was pushing her forwards.

No, the sphinx answered mildly. But I can show you. The glow around her faded.

Behind Anya's eyes, the world exploded. Images, smells, sounds, emotions- all abstract and chaotic, floating all around her. There was the absurd yet satisfying impression of someone loving her. Then everything resolved itself into one coherent might-have-been and Anya found herself even more confused.

She was getting married. Good gods, what was she thinking? The very notion was absurd. Commitment. She scoffed. It was meaningless; pointless. The minute you gave yourself away, you were taken advantage of. She had no intention of ever trusting anyone that much.

You are afraid of living, the sphinx insisted. Anya could just see her infuriating Cheshire-cat grin.

"I am not," she said crossly. "That's ridiculous. I'm here, aren't I? I've got a challenging job and a kid to take care of- if I were afraid of living I should think I'd be insane by now."

You are afraid, the sphinx repeated, her expression not changing.

"I am not!" Anyway, this isn't really happening. It's not ever going to happen. It's just…

Prove it, demanded the sphinx.

Gods damn it, Anya thought darkly. How the hell am I going to… Something important was going on in the wedding. She wasn't really sure what it was. Or, more accurately, she didn't care. After all, it wasn't really happening. All that she had to do was prove that she wasn't afraid of living. How could anyone be afraid to live, after all? She was much more afraid of dying, when she thought about it.

Bells- wedding bells- went off inside her head. You have got to be kidding me, she thought to herself. Aw, hell. So maybe commitment wasn't so horrible. So maybe she needed to let go of her past and get on with her life. Maybe she needed to give life a chance. Maybe she needed to give Sirius a chance. Well, she'd certainly done that, hadn't she? Anya smiled in spite of herself. Alright. So maybe life wasn't so bad after all. "Alright," she said aloud. "You're right. I'm afraid of giving life a chance. I'm afraid of getting what I want and having it taken away. You know what? So's everyone else. But most people take some risks. So this will be one of mine."

The darkness evaporated. When Anya opened her eyes, the sphinx was just finishing her yawn. She got up, stretched, and moved out of the way, allowing everyone to pass her. Remus went first- straight into the fire of the fourth trial.

*

Remus was not looking forward to his trial. He had seen the faces of Chloë and Ginny when they had finished and knew that it was highly probable that he would not like whatever he was about to see.

Intangible flames surrounded him, teasing his senses and his nerves. They would not kill him- the water had not drowned Ginny and the fall from the tree nymph hadn't hurt Chloë, and although he wasn't exactly sure what the sphinx had done to Anya, he was fairly sure that she wasn't permanently damaged. Besides, how was it possible to pass the test if it killed him?

The light from the fire enveloped him suddenly, pure and bright white, making his skin tingle. So you are the Wolf, said a voice that came, impossibly, from all directions at once. Remus fought the impulse to reach for his wand.

"I am Remus Lupin," he said, feeling that his voice sounded clumsy, as if he were speaking a foreign tongue. "There is a difference."

Is there indeed? the Voice inquired, sounding intrigued. Are you not the same Remus Lupin whose Wolf ran rampant around the Hogwarts grounds just a year and a half ago?

"I didn't hurt anyone," Remus said defensively. It was a weak and possibly moot point, and he knew it. Who was this Voice, this Fire, to taunt him like this? He wasn't likely to forget what he had almost done; why did he have to be reminded of it?

Oh no? replied the Voice, sounding falsely curious. Aren't you the same Remus Lupin whose fault let Peter Pettigrew go free, resulting in much emotional pain for so many?

"Shut up. That wasn't my fault."

The same Remus Lupin whose parents asked for him to be cursed as he is? Who were instrumental in the creation of a wizard Mafia?

"You cannot blame my parents' crimes on me." Remus wanted nothing more than the end of the trial.

Gods, it knew. It knew. Remus closed his eyes against the light. How it knew, he really had no idea or desire to discover. But it did, and it was taking advantage of that fact.

You could curse her, you know, said the Voice almost conversationally. Make her your own. Have a couple of pups-

Remus growled. It was a harsh, angry sound, more like a cougar than a wolf, an almost human cry of rage.

Or maybe you'll just lose control, the Voice continued. One full moon? Real romantic setting. Think how good her flesh would taste, sliding down your throat-

Remus was very nearly sick to his stomach. How dare it? How? This was impossible- unreal- gods, he could almost see her, face contorted in agony and horror… "You bastard," he said without feeling, sinking to his knees. He was sure he had lost.

Remus raised his head defiantly. "She knows." This was only partially a lie- she knew of his lycanthropy but not what it meant for him. The conditions that had been placed on his existence. "It does not matter." He put as much conviction into his voice as he could and found that he almost believed himself.

The firewall disappeared. Remus' eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he realized that Harry and Ginny were watching him curiously. He wondered if this was because they had heard his defensive outbursts or because he was on his knees in a still-smoldering pile of ashes.

Remus got to his feet, absently brushing a hand over his patched robes in an effort to clean them. He noticed that Sirius was also watching him interestedly, but Sirius was a lot less concentrated than Ginny and Harry- he was occupied with other things, namely Anya. They were standing just a little too close for their conversation to have been perfectly innocent and Anya's gaze was lowered. Remus decided that it would probably be tactless to remind them that he could hear what they were saying no matter how quietly they spoke.

Without further comment, they continued on, rounding a bend on the path. By now the mist was so thick that Remus could barely see the rest of the group. He missed completely the gate that the seven of them walked under, proclaiming the path they were on to be the Way.

*

Charlie hardly noticed when he got separated from the group. There seemed to be a sort of magic in the air, drawing him forward like the Pied Piper drew the rats of Hamlin. Without knowing what he was doing, he stopped beneath an arch and looked up. The glass and cast-iron motto read Speculum Formido. Unconsciously, Charlie stepped closer to the mirror that was under it.

There was a deep, jagged scratch running almost vertically down the center of the mirror, bisecting Charlie's reflection. He reached up a hand to touch it and ran his hand absently down the crack.

Charlie frowned. Something about the reflection was not quite right. He leaned forwards to inspect it-

And something dragged him through the mirror, which suddenly had a surface like a sort of gel.

On the other side things were very different. He was in a clearing now, for one thing, although he didn't know where. There were dark shapes all around him, none of them close enough for him to see what they were. Driven by his curiosity and a compelling desire to discover what was going on, Charlie made his way towards the nearest shape.

It loomed out of the mist like nothing he had ever seen before. It was gray and hard and cold. Engraved upon it was a name.

Anya Dickinson.

Charlie stepped backwards quickly, almost stumbling over another low stone. It was a graveyard, and his best friend was gone. Oh gods, tell me this isn't real. A heavy, almost numbing sensation came over him and he wretched.

Morbid curiosity got the better of him, and he soon found himself reading all of the names. Chloë Sanderson. Sirius Black. Erica Yudelman. Harry Potter. Percy Weasley. Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape, Arabella Figg, Leon Dickinson, Mundungus Fletcher, Remus Lupin. George Weasley. Katherine Beard. Jonathan Chortos. Penelope Clearwater. Arthur Weasley Molly Weasley Frederick Weasley William and Anne Weasley Ronald Weasley oh gods they're all dead.

Charlie leaned heavily against the final tombstone, wondering if he should read the name. It didn't matter. He knew whose it was. Unseeingly, his fingers traced over the words. It wasn't fair, really. He was the only one left. He had failed them- had failed her. Was he doomed to live his life alone, then, without contact from anyone? The graveyard stretched out as far as he could see, which was a fair way now that the fog had lifted.

Could he just give up? he wondered. Theoretically speaking, with no one else around, was there really a point in living?

A cloud opened up overhead and it began to pour rain. It was cold and Charlie was miserable, soaked through to the bone with icy water. It ran in torrents down the tombstone, almost obscuring the delicate lettering. Time seemed to speed up as he watched it, and it seemed to him that the letters were being eroded before his very eyes. What could he do? He was imprisoned within his own nightmare.

The thing to do, then, was wake up. Charlie cast one last glance at the dissolving letters before the words Virginia Weasley were completely erased, and then walked purposefully in one direction until he came to a fence. He only turned back long enough to cast one very simple spell to a magnitude that it had probably never been cast before. "Orchiddeous."

*

'Repercussus Sceleratus,' recalled Sirius somewhat unhappily. Wonderful. He had just wanted to get a closer look at the mirror and when he had, it had fallen on its side and surrounded him. As a result, all that he could see in any direction was a reflection of himself. It wouldn't have been so bad except for the fact that none of the reflections showed him as he was now.

The first one that caught his attention was probably the earliest version of himself- just fifteen, and just about to commit his first major crime against his best friend. Sirius still didn't know why he had told Snape how to get past the Whomping Willow. What Remus might suffer through had just never occurred to him. It had been stupid, and irrational, and very nearly gotten people killed. His fault.

To the right of it was a much worse image. A young Sirius Black, convincing his friends what a good bluff it was to use Peter for a Secret-Keeper. How clever he'd thought he was; how infallible! And how that had turned out! A young Sirius Black, insisting that his friend could not be trusted. A young Sirius Black, unwittingly causing the deaths of two of his best friends because he was too blind to see past his own prejudices. His fault.

Worse still, an impression of an alley, full of people. A confrontation in a corner. An explosion, a scampering rodent, and then nothing but manic laughter… Sirius shuddered. Yes, that had been his fault, too. He should have paid more attention to Peter. Peter was always getting himself into trouble.

A shack, up on a hill, dark on a moonlit night. A broken leg, a defiant friend, a reunion with his old companion. And another old friend, one turned traitor, who went free and unpunished, fleeing back to his master. This too was Sirius' fault, but he was unrepentant. James would have wanted them to give Peter a chance. He owed James that much.

A long, nasty gash down Anya's leg, inflicted by one of Peter's cronies. Nearly getting Remus killed in Italy. Peter's kidnapping of Leon. His fault, his fault, his fault.

For what? Sirius wondered. This was a suicide mission. They were all going to get killed anyway. There could be no victory without sacrifices.

Which brought up an interesting point. For the first time, Sirius found himself wondering what would have happened if James and Lily hadn't died. It was likely that Voldemort would have even more power than he did at the moment, wasn't it? But Sirius couldn't bring himself to believe that anything good had come of their deaths. It was too gruesome to comprehend.

At least he had a chance to make amends. Not like Peter would, when he got a hold of him.

The mirrors dissipated. Was that it, then? Sirius wondered. And then he spotted Harry.

*

It wasn't the Mirror of Erised. He was sure, because the Mirror of Erised, at that moment, would have shown him meeting the Seven and getting the heck out of wherever they were. Instead, the inscription above it read 'Specularis tentationis' and instead of a single reflection it gave several faceted ones.

In one of them, he saw his parents- not quite as they had been in the Mirror of Erised, but it was a close thing. They were cooing over a little baby, one that he knew had to be him. Harry wanted desperately to reach out, to touch this picture of perfection and make himself a part of it, but dared not.

Another facet showed the apprehension of Wormtail- literally disarmed and unconscious, possibly even dead. This was tempting, too. It was Wormtail's fault that Harry had no parents to begin with. It was Wormtail who had robbed Harry's godfather of his freedom. It was Wormtail who had kidnapped Leon and Wormtail who had brought Voldemort back to power. But Harry left this temptation alone. Though he had a thirst for revenge, when he took it, it would be a just revenge. He wouldn't sully himself for Wormtail. It wasn't worth it.

The final temptation, however, nearly broke Harry's resolve. It depicted Ginny, a little older perhaps, maybe a little wiser, and more beautiful than ever before, loving him. Not in any crude physical sense of the word, but genuinely loving him, an experience he had not had before and wanted with an almost unfathomable desire. There had been moments- sometimes when Sirius was just a little too eager to hear about the latest Quidditch match, and there was always something in the atmosphere at the Burrow that made him feel cherished- but these moments were short and awkward and not enough.

Yet Harry knew that he was really not ready to commit to any relationship involving the dreaded 'l-word.' He could give a very clear definition of what it was but experiencing it himself was a different matter entirely. So Harry chose none of these reflections. "Let me pass," he commanded the mirror. Oh, he wanted to see his parents again...

The mirror moved aside. Behind it was a large rock stuck through with a sword.

You have got to be kidding me. Harry refrained from commenting aloud as he stepped up to it cautiously. Alright. So there was a sword in a stone. Big deal. It didn't mean anything, right? He probably wouldn't be able to pull it out, anyway. They were probably rusted together.

To prove this to himself, Harry reached out and gave the sword a slight tug. It came free easily, blade reflecting dim sunlight, and suddenly the courtyard they had been in vanished.

Instead, Harry found that the rock had been turned to a huge, circular table and he was now sitting at it, the sword sheathed at his side. There were thirteen other chairs, six of which the rest of the group had taken. They seemed quite as bewildered as he was. There was no more open space- instead, they occupied a room which looked as if it might have come straight from a fairy tale, or perhaps a much older version of Hogwarts. What is going on here?

He didn't have the chance to ask just then, because the door to the chamber opened and in walked several tall, lithe beings. Harry did not need to ask who they were. Without hesitation or exception, he and the other six Chosen rose to their feet.

The apparent leader of the Seven spoke. "Welcome to Avalon."

*

Charlie's mind was a whirl, trying to keep up with all of the incredible things he had just been told. The Seven still stood behind their chairs at the table, waiting for everything to be absorbed.

Unsurprisingly, his sister was the first to recover. "So what you're saying," the would-be-Ginny said, absently turning her dagger over in her hand, "is that we have roughly five hours to trap these buggers in another dimension or the world will go to hell."

Charlie blinked. Since when had his sister talked like that? He was sure his mother would have an aneurysm if she heard. He hoped it had something to do with the fact that she was most probably possessed.

But the leader of the Seven- a tall, well-built being with curly silver hair and eyes called Manannan- was nodding. "Essentially, yes. We can send you back to your own time at almost any point after you left, but you should go soon. The window between worlds is only open for seven hours in the first place- Faerie time. It opened about two hours before you came here, which means there are almost five left."

Two hours, Charlie wondered. A lot of damage can be done in two hours. Ginny's freckles were standing out more than normal. He realized that his were probably doing the same.

Harry spoke next. "What exactly are we up against? What do we have for resources?" He wasn't acting himself, either, Charlie thought curiously. Not since pulling the sword- The Answerer, Manannan had called it- from the stone. He wished he had time to test his hypothesis that the spirit of whatever had gotten into the youngest members of the extended task group was residing in their weapons.

"Seven Drifter lords and their keeper," answered another one of the pseudo-gods. Or, rather, goddesses, Charlie corrected himself. Badb was taking care of most of the things that dealt with the upcoming battle. "Balor. You must be cautious when approaching him, for he can see out of the back of his head as well as the front. Once he returns to Faerie, the Seven Lords will be forced to follow."

"And how do we arrange that?" Sirius asked, sitting forwards a bit with his elbows on the table.

Badb turned her cool gaze on him. "You will be permitted to use magic against the Seven Lords, but it will not help you against Balor. He is a Shadow Dragon. You must shine light into his core to banish him from your world."

Oh good, Charlie thought. Another riddle. Well, at least he knew how to do with normal dragons. He hoped it would help him out, if only a little. It was ironic that Badb's last statement was the most specific answer they had gotten so far- the Seven kept insisting that the Morrígan, whoever that was, wouldn't take kindly to their offering any help at all, let alone being clear about what they meant. Sighing, he prepared to ask the last question. "Alright. When do we leave?"

*

I had to ask, Charlie thought bitterly, pulling out his wand. For reasons unknown to him, they hadn't been sent back anywhere near where they had left. They were probably, he reflected, where they had to be this time.

It was just before five o'clock at Stonehenge, he estimated by the position of the sun. It hadn't quite set yet, and so from his vantage point seemed to hover just inches above the enormous Heel Stone. He had a feeling that the trouble was about to start.

The suspicion was short-lived- with a sound like thunder in a perfectly cloudless sky seven demons appeared, a great darkness at their center. The battle had begun.

*

Harry needed no prompting whatsoever to draw his sword. The mere sound of the arrival of his enemies was enough to make his hand itch for something useful. Across the circle from him, Ginny nodded and drew her own dagger. Sirius and Remus removed their robes to reveal more combat-worthy clothing underneath. Charlie and Anya rolled up their sleeves. Everyone was preparing to deal with these new threats the way they had been trained.

It was fairly ironic, Harry thought, that the only time he had handled a sword before was battling another large serpent. He had a feeling that the basilisk was nothing more than an irritating worm when compared to something like Balor.

The shadow dragon in the middle of the circle of Drifter Lords seemed to be growing as the sun began to set. Harry knew that they didn't have much time before it would be too powerful to stop and too late to send it back. Not knowing what else to do, he charged.

It was a good thing that he did, too, because seconds after he moved, a piercing green light burned through the space he had just vacated. Apparently Voldemort wasn't ready to fight fair. He had Death Eaters staked out among the pillars at Stonehenge, just waiting for an opportunity to kill his enemy or cause him pain. Harry did not let this distract him. If there were Death Eaters hiding at Stonehenge it was no different than Quirrell at Hogwarts or Ron's pet Scabbers. He was in no more danger, and no less, he reasoned, than he had been then. Either of the two could have killed him, but both had left well enough alone. He hoped he could keep his record that clean.

The Drifter Lord was also not fighting fair. Any chance he had, he reached out and touched Harry's bare hand, draining him of magic. Of course, Harry wasn't exactly using magic and the steps forward put the Drifter in close range of Harry's sword, so it probably wasn't a good strategy anyway. Still, the lord was very agile and his own dark weapon, clanging against Answerer with a peculiar lack of sound, pretty much prevented him from coming to any harm.

He was a good swordsman, too. Harry himself was inexperienced and clumsy, but Answerer left no room for that- the sword directed his movements as much as he himself had control over them, always knowing where to go, how to parry, how to put a sharp thrust past his enemy's defenses. But it wasn't enough. The Drifter Lord kept coming, furiously, attacking Harry with savagery he had never before encountered. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ginny dispatch one of the others in a furious discharge of magic. Even as she was pulling the knife away from the creature's body, she was being approached by another one. He hoped she could handle it…

Answerer was struck from his hands and Harry found himself looking up, up into the soulless black eyes of his opponent. He was bringing his weapon to bear- this would be the end-

Harry's own reflexes kicked in. It wasn't too much different from being about to fall off one's broom. What you had to do was wait for the right moment, tuck, and roll-

The sword was descending. Harry sprung forwards and tucked his body in on itself, passing straight under the Drifter Lord's arm. He came up several steps behind his opponent, sword in hand, and without thinking about it further, cut him down.

He was mildly surprised when, split seconds later, he found that there was only a sliced-up cloak and a pair of still-smoking boots left over from a being more terrifying than a Dementor. Searching around for the others, he found that the four remaining lords were engaged in combat- Sirius and Remus had three between them, and Charlie was dueling another somewhere nearby, half-hidden by a few massive stones. Ginny, Anya and Professor Sanderson were slowly surrounding the darkness, leading it away for reasons that Harry didn't care to fathom.

One of the lords escaped from Sirius and Remus and headed over to Harry, who grimaced. He cast a fleeting look at the retreating Ginny, wishing he could help, but drew his sword again and parried it against the Drifter's, trying not to let the green flashes over by his godfather distract him. A black blur crossed through them, pulling its wand, and that was all the time Harry had to spare for unnecessary observations. His arms fell into a dull, predictable pattern that he knew was going to be very bad for his health. Thrust. Parry. Block…

*

Ginny stepped back involuntarily from the heat of the demon's breath. Light. She needed light.

Balor's nostrils flamed again and a gout of black flame shot out at Professor Sanderson. She wasn't quite quick enough jumping away, and Ginny was sure she smelled charred flesh. Charlie was sprinting over from up by the megalith, shooting powerful white-hot curses at the shadow dragon to little avail. Apparently curse-light was not enough. All her brother seemed to be accomplishing was making Balor really hopping mad. He spun about abruptly, knocking out both Charlie and the professor with furious discharges of dangerous magic.

Ginny backed up, flashing her blade dangerously and keeping it in a sort of backguard, flat against her wrist. They began to circle around a large, flat, red-tinged stone. The sun dropped closer to the horizon.

The flashes of light up at the main circle of stones were growing more frequent. Advance- feint left- retreat-

She suddenly found herself on her back on the flat Slaughter Stone, staring up at a hungry beast with one wide, gleaming red eye, flinching away from the heat of his breath. He reared back, ready to pounce, and Ginny tensed. This was it. There was the snap of something distinctly magical.

Ginny, without knowing how she had managed it, now had the shadow dragon pinned to the stone. She really didn't know how this was supposed to work. Doubtfully, she raised her blade…

*

Harry pulled his sword from the Drifter's cloak with a jerk. The sun was almost set. He looked around for Ginny, spotting her over by the Slaughter Stone, her opponent pinned down. What had Badb said? The adrenaline of battle had nearly washed it away. It was-

Light. Two hugely bright, consecutive flashes, green and bright white, emitted from the center of the megalith. Harry raised his sword-arm to shade his eyes. Answerer, without his permission, redirected itself so that the light was reflected towards Ginny-

Ginny caught the light on her dagger and directed it down at the monster on the slab in front of her-

The sun balanced for a split second above the Heel Stone and sank below the horizon-

There was a gaping blackness and the strong sensation of vertigo-

And suddenly it was over. Harry looked up, feeling all at once the weight of the sword, casting about for everyone as he let it drop to his side. Charlie was healing a severe burn on Professor Sanderson's arm over by the outer circle of linteled pillars. Remus and Sirius, looking exhausted, dirty, and in Sirius's case, blood-stained, were over by the Heel Stone, staring blankly at him. And Ginny- Aine?- was just pulling her dagger from the Slaughter Stone. Even as she did so, the dark sheen on the blade faded, then seemed to peel away entirely. She looked up at him and nodded, her features emotionless.

As one body, the six of them turned towards the megalith. In an unspoken agreement they waited for Ginny to catch up to them before venturing any closer. With hesitant steps, she led the way into the center of the monument.

The seventh member of their team was half-sitting, half-resting against two of the bluestones in the middle. Her dark hair was in complete chaotic disarray, fanned out behind her in a very uncharacteristic mess. Not too far away, between two of the pillars bridged by a heavy lintel, laid the limp body of Peter Pettigrew. The last of the light was fading from the stones, but even then it was easy to see that their skin had taken on a translucent aspect and Harry felt something stir in his stomach. He could not look at Sirius or Charlie when Ginny stepped forwards to feel Anya's pulse, and turned away entirely when she voiced what he had known since seeing the body. "She's dead."