Harry Potter and His New Standards

"Ávilë elyë hlaren?" Galórion demanded, "Yas ná sayvenlye?"

The center nymph gestured vaguely around with her hands, turning her head from side to side. "Um... gone! We were just sprouting new trees."

"Úviltë elyë nar lelyana adole te vanimale anay--umin olvan aldaron. On aiquenat ólstë, an ta erma."

Ron was about to remark that he wasn't sure that all the nymphs could understand what Galórion. But the Elf drew back his hand a bit more, tightening the bowstring, and said, "Heca!"

The smallest of the nymphs threw her hands up in front of her and whimpered, "Áva carë, Heru Quendë!"

"San heca, on inyë va fainu neldë pilini," he said in a low, even voice. The nymphs cast him a last, shrinking look before skipping quickly off the path (the willows snapped their vines angrily at them) and disappearing into the wood. The tip of Galórion's arrow followed them for a while, as he slowly turned sideways with his eyes narrowed. After a moment he lowered his bow. "Come," he said, slipping his arrow back into his quiver, "we are nearly there."

"Why did you drive them off, Galórion?" Hermione asked, "They're only nymphs--what hurt can they do?"

The Elf gave her a measured look, then said, "Wingildi adulterate the forest, kneading seeds and giving roots without tending to their harvest. They leave the Elves to guide the vines, shield the smallest sprouts, part leaves to make sun for saplings, feed the shrubs.... They start the forest without a second thought--we must keep it healthy, make it blossom and grow."

The way Galórion frowned made it clear to Ron that the Elves and nymphs simply didn't mix. "And may the spirits of the taurë spurn them for planting during the cold months... no sapling can survive so young after the Lasselanta if it isn't cared for daily. 'Tis difficult to locate all of their fresh plants." He shook his head. "Úvalda--unworthy."

Hermione opened her mouth, her forehead slightly creased, but Ron shot her a quelling look behind Galórion's back. It probably wasn't wise for her to choose now to make a stand for nymph rights.

They rounded the last curve of the path and Ron's eyes widened as a tall, wide arc seemed to appear out of thin air ahead of him. It was made of white stone, intricately carved with careful curls and curves sprouting professionally from it here and there. Ivy curved lightly around it, not overgrown, but carefully draped there--hanging almost artistically.

Ron and Hermione fell behind as they followed Galórion through the arc. A whispered "Wow..." from her was a better explanation than what Ron could have argued. They had entered what seemed to be a large clearing, dotted with the tallest, thickest trees Ron had seen in the forest yet.

Like the willows along the path, everything here seemed to be trapped in the most colorful weeks of autumn--gold, orange, yellow, and rouge all the same. Statues half-hidden by moss and leaves shone white as snow, tucked around trees: beautiful maidens holding out their hands and young warriors with their eyes gently shut in thought, leaning on their bows.

Everything seemed to be bathed in a hazy amber light here, and Galórion matched the background perfectly--standing out much less. Open houses stood along the edges of the clearing like tough gazeboes carved and shaped like everything else.

Elves were everywhere, equal in height for the most part, hair all shades of blond. As soon as they came into view, their honed yes locked onto Ron and Hermione. Ron shivered. They all seemed to have the same piercing eyes as Galórion, deep and unmarked. He had to catch his breath when passing the women Elves, a little shorter than the men, with faces so elegant and sublime they would outdo the most gorgeous and imagined portraits.

White belvederes broke off from the steady dirt path they were on now--a single table in the center of some bearing an odd ornament, pale benches or swings hanging from others. The way everything was tucked into the wild of the forest made it seem all living and growing, as if nothing here was factitious.

A large kiosk was ahead of them when they spoke to their first Elf. It was another male; this one didn't look much like Galórion but had that same inevitable, glowing saintliness about him. The upper section of his hair was pulled back into an odd braid--it looked somewhat turned in and backward to Ron--and he had golden eyes.

After he gazed intently at he and Hermione for a moment he turned to Galórion and in a ringing voice said, "Vedui, quendunya manë!"

"Mára tuilë, quendu melin," Galórion replied with a calm smile. "Where is Lady Eowilindë?"

"In her study," he responded, "writing."

"My thanks, Elrol." Galórion motioned for Hermione and Ron to follow, and they did. They ascended a few wide steps thed beneath a pavilion into a roofed hall with many wide windows. They followed the Elf, who's footsteps didn't echo, across the polished floor that looked as though it were made of many flat stones of every color set down together with clear glass overtop. The open windows, double the size of normal doors, were shaped in slightly gothic arcs. Instead of reminding Ron of old Muggle buildings, they looked like intensely magical and tedious work; wooden, carved into smooth poles that twisted and intertwined like tree branches set betwixt the dark stone that held up the arcs.

Statues dotted the hall against the arcs: warriors holding their bows against their chests and looking distant or clutching a dagger at their side and gazing intently at it; women in postures with their fingers seeming to reach to the heavens at their right or resting their hands against their hearts, looking fond. Each one seemed to have an emotion carefully whittled into its elven face, without showing a furrowed or stretched line.

They passed through this hall and then another copious chamber, and took to the right on a winding corridor that was actually another dirt path of manually planted, closed in pines.

At the end of it was an arbor overgrown with vines placed over wide stone steps. Hermione and Ron followed Galórion, who swiftly ascended these, and knocked once on the round wooden door carved with the design of a thick, stooping tree--around which sat Elves, eagerly smiling at one another in the tall, flowered grass.

The door opened, and behind it was a sorrowful looking Elf maiden wearing a long, thick dress of deep rose, her shimmering hair pulled into a long plait, two thin, shorter braids on either side of her face. "Géwiel," Galórion addressed her, inclining his head, "we're here to see the Lady."

Géwiel had already been eyeing Ron and Hene--she had wide eyes, the same solid emerald as Harry's. "You may pass," she said softly, bowing to Galórion more than to all three of them, and standing aside.

*()%()*

The sun was westering, the very bottom of it dipping behind the trees of the forest. Harry and Ginny had been walking huffily for a long time, throwing reproachful glances at one another now and then. "Y'know what?" Ginny said suddenly, her voice slicing through the silence. "I'm sorry."

She didn't sound very sorry, Harry thought.

But, then her voice softened, and with a short sigh she plowed onward. "You fight off a real Dark wizard--one that's alive and watching your every move just to find a right time to slip in and--and--and hurt you," she said, carefully understating what Voldemort's plans were for Harry, "and it's a burden. A real burden--not some silly voice in the back of your head."

"It's nothing," he said, "Voldemort doesn't make my choices for me, Ginny--you should really be the one who's worried."

"No, no..."

"Ginny, you need to tell more people about this," Harry said, calm but obstinate. "Ron, Hermione, your parents... Professor McGonagall--anybody!"

"I know," she said slowly, though her teeth. Ginny took a deep breath and repeated, "I know. But... not yet."

Harry wanted to keep urging her into this, but he didn't want to spend the rest of their time in the forest not talking, so he let it be. Ginny would tell someone--she'd have to--but Harry just hoped that she did it before it got out of hand. "I can't understand, exactly, what it's like for you," she stated, "because what you and him have is something running a lot deeper than what happened to me in first year. But, in a couple ways at least I can relate--so if you ever need to... to..." She trailed off, turning scarlet.

"Okay," Harry said, nodding.

Ginny laughed nervously and tossed him a sideways glance. "Okay," she murmured, eyes twinkling with a little less embarrassment. He grinned at her, and she smirked back. "Um," Ginny said awkwardly, "so..."

"Where do you reckon the others are?" Harry asked, turning to watch ahead of them.

"Hopefully out of the forest," Ginny said light-heartedly. She paused, pulling her gloves on tighter. "But, I sort of wish that Holly found her Elves."

"Me too," Harry admitted. "She'd gone through too much trouble, and if this doesn't work out it's not likely that she'll try again. Not that trying again would be a good thing," he added quickly. "Because I might kill her."

"She could at least wait until the summer when there is less of a chance of freezing to death," Ginny said, prospect grim but tone up-beat. A few paces on she added, "I wanted to see them too, y'know."

Harry turned his head to look at her. "Did you really?" he said, trying to sound suspicious.

"Yes," she confessed, smiling somewhat sentimentally. "They're supposed to be so beautiful, and ever since I heard about them I wanted to meet them and hear them sing and story-tell... see a little of their magic, maybe."

"Well my suspicions have led me to believe that we've seen a lot of that today," Harry said severely. "And we have this little arrow, here--it must be a bit magical too."

"Yeah...." They drifted into silence, disturbed from time to time by a short exchange of comments followed by a new silence.

Did this forest have any end? They'd walked for hours along this tributary to nothing--it was almost as though they were going in circles. Fewer and fewer creatures made themselves seen--but they did pass a tree with a small, mournful looking vulture-ish bird that ended up being an Augurey wailing its head off and saw a minute raft made of twigs float by, commandeered by a few urgently buzzing fairies.

That much had been amusing--and Harry wasn't very tickled with the lack of animals. The last time he'd been through the forest and he didn't see even one sign of life other than the grass and trees was when a giant happened to be nearby.

A low grunting soon muscled into his thoughts, and Harry felt a sense of resigned dread wash over him as he turned to face the trees--the noises coming from the darkness within.

Ginny had heard it too, and was steadily drawing her wand. The sound of movement was completely drown out by that of the guttural burrs, but they drew closer.

When the beast materialized between the trees, at first Harry thought he was looking at a stunted troll. Large and grayish purple, it had a humped back and walked on its four broad feet. But its face was squashed and slightly pug-like, but tough with a somewhat infected look--two long, thick horns rose from either side of its head above nicked, floppy ears.

"Oh..." Ginny whispered, taking a step backward. The beast fixed its slanted eyes upon them and grunted especially loud. It started to walk faster. "Oh, no!"

"Stupefy!"

The creature slowed for a split-second, as though it had been tapped by something nearby, before charging on.

"Um... um... Petrificus Totalus!"

"Perveractum!" It began to gallop, slightly uncoordinated, but speedily. "They're just bouncing off!" Harry exclaimed, pointing out the obvious.

But without reacting to his comment, Ginny aimed and cast a Conjunctivitis Curse. It made contact with the monster and it bellowed, slamming its head into the snow, grappling at its face.

Leaving more attempted magical solutions behind, Ginny turned and ran down-river. Harry soon bolted after her. They streaked along the bank fast, panting with their wands still clutched tightly in their fists. Harry's leg began to feel horribly sore again just below his hip, but he tried to disregard it.

It wasn't long, however, before the sound of galloping footfalls reached their ears. Harry quickly turned his head to look over his shoulder, and sure enough the beast was following them briskly. He threw another Conjunctivitis Curse behind him. The beast lifted one four-toed foot and pushed at its eyes, roaring furiously.

Panicked, Ginny halted and looked feverishly around. "Oak tree! Oak tree!" Swiftly she scurried over to a tall oak that stood along the systematically planted trees that lined the edge of the wood. Harry followed, casting another Conjunctivitis Curse at the hump-backed monster behind them.

Nimbly she hopped up onto a black rock near it and jumped, grabbing the thickest of the lower limbs. She swung back and forth on it for a second before bending herself easily down the middle and using the force of it to swing her over and land on the branch.

Ginny stood up with amazing balance, and Harry would have asked her how she did it if there wasn't a mountain troll-sized beast on their tail. Harry hazardously cast another Conjunctivitis Curse, hoping that it hit the creature, before stepping up onto the black rock.

Ginny climbed up to the next branch and kneeled on it, looking down. "Hurry--can you make it?"

He didn't answer, and instead grabbed onto the lowest limb. He swung one leg over it and struggled upward, not near gracefully as Ginny had. A quick look of respite spread over her face before Ginny clutched onto the trunk and half-stepped, half-hopped over to a branch on the other side of the tree to continue her ascent.

Harry climbed up two more limbs by the time the monster recovered and lumbered angrily over to the tree. It reared on its back legs and swung once at Harry. He yelled and grabbed onto the branch above him and jumped the attack in a very dicey way. As the beast's feet came down, it snapped off a lower limb. Harry heard Ginny shout another hex and the beast fell back onto the ground.

The less time one kept their wand trained on the eyes of the one they cursed, the less time it took for the Conjunctivitis Curse to wear off. Harry scrambled onto the next branch, and did his best to follow the path Ginny had taken in climbing the oak. "Conjunctiva!" she exclaimed again as Harry neared her, and he heard the beast begin to bellow once more.

Ginny sat tensely on one side of the trunk against a thick central limb. Harry climbed onto the branch on the other side of the trunk, slightly lower than Ginny's, and wrapped his arm around the leafless tree. "All right," he said, looking down through the limbs and branches at the humpbacked creature below, "why are we up here?"

"Er--" Ginny began, looking tautly down at the beast that was rubbing its face in the snow, "buying us some time." She looked desperately at him.

"You mean, we're in a tree for no reason?"

"Would you rather be down there with the--Graphorn...thingy?" she asked, motioning feverishly toward the ground. "We didn't exactly have a choice, unless you wanted to run from it forever."

Harry leaned over and looked at the violet-gray monster. It seemed to have recovered from its most recent jinx, but Harry couldn't aim another one at it with so many branches in the way.

With a sonorous crack, the tree rumbled and vibrated all the way to the very tips of the twigs--the Graphorn had rammed its head into the trunk, and was backing up for another go.

*()%()*

"So... you and Weasley..."

"Malfoy!" Holly snapped, "Will you stop asking me about Ron?"

He leered and let out a low snicker. "Not until you tell me what I want to know."

She glared impetuously at Draco. They had started sitting across from each other with their legs, strategically placed a foot apart, under the blanket. When it had gotten darker, though, the cave grew to a heightened cold. Holly wasn't sure if she'd ever been outside for so long on a day as chilled as this. They sat against the wall, huddled together, shoulder to shoulder, blanket pulled up to their chins. A new fire had been cast--but it was feeble, like the temperature of the cave was eating away at it.

Holly would definitely tell Parvati and Lavender about this, she'd thought as they'd pressed their sides hard together and tucked the quilt around them.

When silences fell between them, Holly cast her gaze around the haven. The dragon, though not about to rise from its grave, was lost in shadow at the far end of the cave. She tried not to look back there--she didn't fancy being goggled at by dead things--but she was still left in wonder as to what breed of dragon it was.

There were ten scrutinized, located, clocked, and marked varieties of dragons. Hybrids were rare--but this is what this one had to be. Holly's memorization-happy ex-creatures teacher had stuck it to them that they needed to know all of the dragon breeds forward and backward for when they tested with the Reconnoitering Average Vexatious Evaluation Nags (better known as the RAVENs). That set of examinations was only the previous May.

So, all descriptions analyzed, Holly figured it looked like a combination between either a Short Snout and an Ironbelly or a Short Snout and a Welsh Green. Holly ruled out any connection to a Romanian Longhorn, though color fit the accurate parenting description, as this dragon seemed to be missing any sign of, well, long horns.

But, still, the chances were slim to none--how would a Swedish dragon and a Ukrainian dragon end up together, and why would they even be near the Forbidden Forest? It's not as though it's a halfway mark!

So, when not thinking about the deceased dragon, the steady drip-drip-drip of murky water from the fogged-over heights of the cave drove her nearly insane, though watching how it fell thickly in spots around the cave was oddly mesmerizing.

That left her to reinstate conversation with Draco.

"You aren't concerned with any of it, Malfoy, why do you want to know?" she asked, turning her head to look at him.

He turned his head, his nose nearly brushing hers and puffed out his lower lip. "Because I can tell its tearing you up inside," Draco drawled with about as much false empathy that one could manage, his eyes rounding to create the perfect homeless puppy look. Holly turned her face away and swiftly glanced sideways at him.

"Whatever. I'm fine."

"Bullocks--you look teary just saying that." Holly rolled her eyes and shook her head. Why did he have to use the term for a castrated bull in front of that? "It opens the lungs, washes the countenance, exercises the eyes, and softens down the temper; so tell me your sad tale and cry away."

"Shut up, Malfoy," she said, leaning her head against the stone wall. "There's nothing to tell--and nothing to cry over."

"Fine," he said impassively, turning his face away from her cheek. "I have my own version of events, anyway."

Holly dropped her half of the quilt and threw her hands into the air. "Well, let's hear it!" she exclaimed, tone raw.

"This is how it happened, from the humble view of a classmate," he added, bowing his head and grinning. "You and Weasley have a little snog in the summer before school starts, day you met." Draco paused here, waiting for some sort of confirmation, but Holly made none and let him go on. "This weird, tall, gangling relationship continues for a while, Weasley slobbering joyfully on every bit of how scarlet you are, until he realizes--" he held out his hands, palms-up, "--he doesn't like tall girls! Then you break the news that you're pregnant and start nagging his arse like the hidden harridan you are, and he bolts, all Gryffindor bravery aside. Because if he had kids with someone you, Black... they'd be giants."

Holly muttered to herself.

"Anyhow, he fleets to Granger, the smaller, smarter type--and in a fit of tears you kill your baby. Bam, the Mudblood's got your lover and you're left with nothing but a dead embryo that had just been sprouting freckles."

"Not much of a scandal there," dryly remarked Holly, "Your version of events is interesting but I'm afraid you're not quite on the mark.

Holly could feel Draco looking at her, but she stared determinedly forward, pulling her knees closer to her chest. "Whatever did that ginger-haired freak do to strike your fancy?"

"Nothing!" she barked, "There was hardly any 'fancying' involved, Malfoy, I think it was all some sort of mix-up. How's that for you?" Holly turned and narrowed her eyes, boring into his. "Like bumping into someone in a cramped, black hallway and struggling to pass by."

Icy, cold, and nearly colorless--Draco had eyes of a drone, a robot. He either kept everything bottled and sorted inside, or he had no emotion at all. It was hard to look into his eyes... they had a hidden knowledge about them, secrets intertwined with wisdom and experience that ultimately created a veneer to conceal any truth within. "Who managed to slip past, then?" he asked.

"It's hard to say," Holly lied, keeping her gaze battling his. "What about you, Don Juan?" She didn't notice the confused look he was giving her as she lamented, "I can sort of picture you in the Zorro costume." She rubbed her jawbone. "But you couldn't compete..." Holly turned and looked at Draco again, smiling a little at his befuddled expression. "Johnny Depp just makes it all look so damn good."

He smiled seductively, canceling out how bluntly, he stated, "I have no idea what you just said."

"What are the secrets of your vulgar romances that stay locked up in those Slytherin dorms?" she asked, scooting an inch away from him.

"Wouldn't you like to know..." he murmured, wrapping one cold hand around her neck and slowly leaning in toward her lips. Holly shoved him away, but didn't manage to pull much further away without sacrificing her quilt. A blush threatened to rise in her cheeks, and Draco laughed. "I'm only joking... you're a little snog-phobic." She frowned at him.

Draco began, "I'm not much with romance. My grandfather once said, 'Draco:'" he drew his gritty voice into a somewhat hoarse tone, "'if you love something, set it free.'"

Holly looked at him, eyebrows knotted. "A Malfoy said that?" He nodded. "Oh!" she wailed, simpering and half-laughing, "That's so sweet!"

"Yes, well, I hadn't finished," Draco replied. Immediately, she was put out. "He said, 'Draco: if you love something, set it free. If it doesn't come back--hunt it down and kill it.'"

Holly groaned. "That's horrible advice!" she whined, shutting her eyes.

"I think it was more of an ordinance, actually," Draco countered thoughtfully. "I never took him very seriously--bogus sort of demands."

"Well, my friend taught me early on to mystify people with my intelligence." Draco gave her a skeptical look. "And if that fails, bedazzle them with my bull shit."

He grinned. "Who do you bedazzle, then?"

"Oh, lots of people," Holly replied casually, "you can get Hermione in the library for three and a half hours straight if you tell her you've researched the history of Horklumps or Snapping Noggards... she gets afraid that you might know more than she does."

"That's not very nice," Draco replied, corners of his mouth twitching.

"Well," defended Holly, "it just goes to show how competitive she is about that sort of thing."

He raised his eyebrows and looked at her sideways. "I have the impression Granger's not the only one who's competitive about that sort of thing." She didn't answer. "You're jealous, aren't you, Black?" he smirked.

"Of what?" Holly inquired testily.

"Oh, let's see..." Draco began, extracting his hands from the blanket to count on his fingers. He pressed one index finger to the next and said, "She's smarter than you, she's closer with Potter than you are, and she's got Weasley wrapped around her little finger." He slipped his hands under the pastiche once more and pulled it up to his shoulders. "You're green with envy, I'm not blind."

"I'm not jealous," Holly retorted, "she's just not on my good side, that's all. No perfect people are, really." She wiggled her toes inside her shoes--they were completely numb.

"Perfect, eh?"

"Well, yeah!" Holly's voice grew a bit louder. "She's smart, pretty, nauseatingly patient and managed, and everyone loves her--not to mention how skinny she is... my belt was big on her when she buckled it on the first hole!"

Draco asked, "By everyone do you mean Potter and Weasley?" Holly looked at him but said nothing. "She's a Mudblood, what's there to be jealous of?"

"Here's some news for you: no one cares about whether you're a Muggle-born, half-blood, or pure-blood anymore." Through her teeth, she added, "And I'm not jealous!"

"It sure sounds like you are."

"Well you should listen closer," Holly replied. "Or get a... a... a hearing funnel or something."

"Mmm," said Draco, "does Granger know you still fancy Weasley?"

"I don't fancy Ron," she said adamantly.

"Yeah, all right," he replied off-handedly. "That's the whole reason you don't like Granger, isn't it?"

"No! She's perfect!" countered Holly desperately, "And it bugs me because--"

"You aren't perfect?" Draco finished. "You're jealous."

"Didn't I just finish telling you that I'm not--jealous?" Holly snapped in botheration.

Draco stuck a finger in his ear and wiggled it. Loudly, he said, "What? What? I'm sorry... I wasn't listening--where's my damned hearing funnel?"

*()%()*

Galórion led them across the hall, which was lined with tall bookshelves. Hundreds of books were there, but with large gaps between texts in where there was a small ornament or tchotchke of some sort--miniature statues, golden glass balls filled with fire, wide basins filled with swirling color. Hermione glanced at the spines of the books, emblazoned with anfractuous letters that she couldn't read.

The Elves were captivating in every way--from the manner they spoke in their own tongue to the fashion they accented their English. Galórion had fascinating answers to all of her questions--he was so wise and so old, yet he wasn't of the eldest generations of his kin. Now in their community Hermione was stunned again--all their work seemed so precise, like every piece had taken years to shape and create. All the same, there was no sense of real time there in their alfresco palace; the Elves had an eternity to be patient and careful--an eternity to make their world perfect. Beauty here was sine qua non.

At the end of the hall sat a figure dressed in aggrandized white. She was sitting tall and poised in a wicker chair, a quill between her long fingers and an open scroll on the table beside her. Galórion fell to one knee bowing his head. Ron did the same, and shortly after Hermione mimicked them, drawing out her robes in a curtsy.

They remained like that for an extended moment before Galórion rose. Hermione stood and looked at the elven woman in front of her.

She had risen from her seat now. Slowly Eowilindë rose her eyes to the other Elf's. Hers were azure--violet, nearly, and sagacious. Her face was young and fair, but secretly layered with age--years that lied around her eyes. She appeared so anct that it was like duration had passed her by and after becoming withered with years it looped and made her young again.

"Two of the six, Lady Eowilindë," professed Galórion. "Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger--they were found by Sufree."

Eowilindë had a creamy voice; she spoke slowly and clearly, the words seeming to come not only from her mouth but also from her eyes. "'Tis difficult to say that I trust the Puck," she stated, "but he can be presumptive when threatened." Eowilindë smiled in a strange, serious manner before she continued. "Why have you led them here, Galórion?"

The Elf bowed his head and told Eowë that they had stumbled across him and explained their purpose. Galórion looked meaningfully at Hermione through his navy eyes and she turned to gaze upon the other Elf.

Eowilindë was very pretty, her face very smooth and brushed with gold, and her wavy white hair falling just past her waist. Her eyes bored deep into Hermione's without a change of expression or glance, and she did her best to turn her thoughts inward so not to be read. "Holly Black, my housemate, came into the forest to have a Cretionis Charm that she'd inherited Dedicated."

"She chose five companions?" Eowilindë said, eyes flicking from Hermione to Ron keenly.

"No, madam, we--er--" Hermione glanced past Galórion at Ron, who shrugged. "We followed her."

Eowilindë looked up at Galórion who nodded sternly. She began to stammer, "My friend, H-Harry Potter, he was worried by the note she left... and so he followed, as did Ron and I."

She watched Hermione for a moment, and again Hermione attempted to cache her thoughts from the all-seeing queen. "And the others?"

"Ginny Weasley accompanied Holly--Draco Malfoy followed them in." Hermione drew herself up to her full height, which was still minute compared to both Galórion and Eowilindë, but she bravely turned her chin up nonetheless. She wasn't sure whether one was supposed to do this in the presence of an elven queen, but Hermione didn't want to look like either an insignificant child or a liar.

Eowilindë paused, gazing oddly at her, before fixing her azure eyes back on Galórion. "Five of the six have no purpose here," she said quietly. Galórion looked at his feet. "You didn't blindfold them?"

"No, my lady." Hermione hadn't seen Galórion as someone who could back down, even to his queen, but the nearer he drew to Eowilindë, the more timid he had become. In thinking he was disdainful, Hermione was wrong: Eowilindë was disdainful.

There were a few hurried words spoken back and forth in their native Elvish. Eowilindë had a veneer of anger draped around her, but her face was of forced calm.

"Two wander, two merely stir," Eowilindë said finally after looking assiduously at him for a long moment. The other Elf raised his eyes to hers again. "Bring these two to your cottage, leave them with your spouse... I will seek Amolas' concurrence to send tuvlië." Galórion nodded in consent. "Sylad froze one of the tasari along the Minya Sírë with a poisoned arrow--one pair were there."

Eowilindë looked at Ron and asked, "Do you recall where either of the other canoes turned?" He shook his head abruptly. The Elf turned her gaze onto Hermione who shut her eyes, trying to remember. "The left," she murmured, "Holly and Malfoy turned to the left."

Without a smile or nod in Hermione's direction, the lady rattled off a list of names to Galórion and told him to go. Of all of the titles, Hermi recognized one: Firenze.

She and Ron turned after Galórion and followed him across the length of the hall (Géwiel stood silently at the end of it still, hands clasped in front of her). Hermione looked once over her shoulder as they neared the door. Eowilindë was gazing down, but a second after Hermione looked at her the Elf's eyes raised and attached their somber, melancholy gaze to her own.

Hermione stopped, feeling as though she had been turned to stone by Eowilindë's gaze. There was something about that Elf that separated her from the rest--in lieu of being pure and immaculate she was sphinxian and mysterious.

"Hermione, c'mon," Ron said quietly, lightly closing a hand around her wrist. She snapped out of trance and turned her face up. His cerulean eyes were questioning, and much more comforting and naive compared to the eyes of the Elves about her. She nodded and followed him past Géwiel, who didn't look at them.

Down the steps and halfway through the tree-walled hallway Galórion stopped, motioning for Hermione and Ron to stand to the side. A moment later, an Elf drew to a halt in front of them. Galórion bent his head.

This Elf had white hair, like Eowilindë's, that was drawn back into a single lengthy braid. His face was drawn with a scowl, a crease running along his forehead. "Lord Amolas," Galórion addressed him, eyes still on the ground, "What is the matter?"

Amolas cast a quick, barium-eyedce at Hermione and Ron but didn't say anything before looking at their guide. "The Úvanimor have escaped." And without another word he gracefully rushed past.

Hermione looked up at Galórion in hopes of an explanation, but found no true solutions. His fair face had darkened to one more somber and serious than she'd seen on him thus far. "Hurry," he said, not looking at them, and inclining his head in direction.

Galórion's pace quickened, and to keep up with his long-legged strides Hermione had to jog. He led them through the open-arched hall and down a path they hadn't gone on yet. It was lined with much fewer gazebos, and more often broke off onto thinner trails that wove deeper into the woods.

ey turned off just past a vine-draped statue of a rearing unicorn and hurried down a thin path into the trees. The trail was short, and Galórion slowed as a small log house came into view.

It was octagonal--or attempted to be circular--overgrown with a plethora of ivy of such abundance Hermione could hardly tell that it was a house. Smoke wafted upward from a chimney, disappearing before it rose higher than the trees.

The door was shaped in a pointed arc, the wood a lighter color than the logs that made up the walls. Galórion pushed it open and let Hermione and Ron in.

Inside it was more spacious, warm and bucolic. The floor was made of fitted stones, as was the fireplace. Several large, wooden rocking chairs sat arod the crackling fire, and a round table was along the other side of the room. Hermione looked through a door to her right, and saw a bed draped with green blankets and a curving wooden headboard. To her left was another doorway into a room with two smaller beds of the same design and in that room was another door that led to a smaller chamber.

"Forfiwen," Galórion called, "we have guests."

Someone started speaking, her voice muffled, from behind a door ahead. It opened, and a she-Elf balancing a platter against her hip with one hand emerged. "--iam. Galórion, haryammë lá yonta sambëi an Nauror mi sina coa," she said sternly after looking at Hermione and Ron.

She slipped out from the room further, and in the other hand she was carrying four mugs, fingers entwined around their handles. She was wearing a stained apron over a long beryl-green dress, sleek golden hair falling around her shoulders in a mildly disheveled way and a smudge of ashes on one cheek. She was the most human-like Elf Hermione had seen thus far--and if it weren't for the pointed ears protruding through her hair she may have said Forfiwen was just a typical Muggle mistaken for something greater.

She guided the door shut with one foot and glided over to the table, setting down the platter and mugs. Galórion set down his quiver and longbow, Forfiwen glared at him with her hands on her hips. Hermione felt herself start to smile--this was starting to look like a typical day at the Burrow.

Galórion cleared his throat and jerked his head toward Ron and Hermione. Forfiwen, taking a hint of some sort, began speaking in English. "Where have you been? And from whence did that gash come? Who are these , now? Did you abduct them before they could even consummate their schooling?" She mumbled something in Quenya, looking at the ceiling and shaking her head. Acquiescently, she added, "Oh, I will fetch the laivë."

"They are not Nauror, Forfiwen, they are Istari," came Galórion's calm response. The other Elf, who had been digging through a cabinet that looked a lot like a hollowed log with doors cut into it, turned and looked at them, thin gold eyebrows raised.

"Nai." Forfiwen walked toward them, an unmarked glass bottle full of a yellow ointment that looked a lot like strained and pickled murtlap tentacles in one hand and a rag in the other. "One and the same, in circumstances. You led them here?"

"Yes."

"Have you checked with the Synod, Galórion?" she said, looking at him with a scolding gaze. "The Elders, perchance?"

"Yes, Forfiwen, no need to fret." She uncapped the ointment container and pressed the rag to the opening and turned the bottle over and shook it. "I went straight to the Lady. There are six."

Forfiwen's golden eyes widened. "Six?" she repeated, aghast. "This cottage houses five, not eleven!" She turned the bottle of amalgam back over and hastily started talking in her own tongue, bro furrowed, steely glare trained on Galórion.

"Shh, shh," Galórion hushed her, placing one long hand on her shoulder. "This is not permanent." Forfiwen slowly shut her mouth, and her expression softened. To Hermione, she looked not a day over eighteen. "I need to gather tuvlië to search for the others--Eowilindë's orders."

Galórion turned, and Forfiwen said, "But, that gash!"

"Later," he said. He motioned to Ron and explained, "This one has a wounded talü--tend to him. I will be back shortly." She opened her mouth again, but Galórion was gone.

Forfiwen's arms dropped to her sides and she sighed. "That is what you said last time," she murmured. Hermione rubbed her arms, still standing rigidly. "What is your tale, children?" the Elf asked resignedly, motioning for Hermione and Ron to come in further.

*()%()*

Harry gripped a nearby branch as the Graphorn head-butted the tree again. "Have a plan?" he asked Ginny.

Panicked, she looked around. "Not really." She drew her wand and cast a few curses down, hoping that at least one of them hit the beast. It appeared that none of them were effective, however, as the tree rumbled again.

Ginny hopped to her feet, trying to curl the soles of her feet over the limb like she did with her bare feet on the balance beam. She'd been in gymnastics since before she could remember--staring with somersaults and cartwheels then graduating onto tucks, flips, and round-offs. Then there were balance beams, floor routines, and uneven bars... she spent a lot of her summer working on all of her acrobatics, not that it was about to get her anywhere in the wizarding or Muggle world.

But as she shimmied outward along the limb, Ginny wondered if her agility could ever be put to the test when she was expected to either sit behind a desk at the Ministry of Magic or stay home to cook and clean for her children (seven of them, naturally) after she graduated for the rest of her life. She gripped a branch to prevent her fall as the Graphorn rammed into the oak once more.

"What are you doing?" asked Harry, uncoordinatedly getting to his feet.

She replied, "Jumping to the next tree." She aimed her wand downward and said, "Conjunctiva." The Graphorn howled loudly and Ginny shot a glance back at Harry. "Are you coming?"

He didn't say anything, just stared. Her foot slipped a little as she reached the end of the limb, where it bent under her weight. There was snow on it here. With a leap she grabbed onto the limb of the next tree, a sycamore, and swung inward.

Ginny landed on the branch below her and wrapped one arm around the trunk the best she could. Harry scrambled around the tree trunk and onto the limb she'd just been on, holding onto branches on either side as though he was on a ropes course above a cavern filled with vertical spikes. But, with a Graphorn below, he may as well have been.

The Graphorn's howls had come to a gradual surcease, and it was backing away from the oak again, head bent. "Hurry!"

With a sonorous crack, the beast rammed into the tree once more. Ginny watched, horrified, as it started to sway backward. She hurried along the branch, closer to Harry, and grabbed one of his wrists. In a second, his fingers had wrapped about her own wrist, and she felt herself slipping.

The tree began to tip, snapping off the branches of nearby hardwoods. Harry ran bravely to the end of the limb and made a grab for the sycamore. Ginny glided as his weight pulled on her, and in a split second the oak had fallen. With the rustle of deadened leaves and the pine needles of other trees, it tipped, until a sonorous thump announced that it had made compact with the snowy ground.

Ginny was lying on her stomach on the sycamore limb. Harry was holding on to her wrist so tightly that she could feel bruises rising beneath his fingers. She wrapped her arm securely around the thick branch while gripping Harry's wrist forcefully with her other hand.

He looked at her for a split-second that seemed an eternity--glasses starting to slip off his nose; beads of sweat appearing on his forehead. Ginny could see him, framed by her carmine hair that was hanging down around her face, Harry's verdant green eyes locked on hers.

Suddenly, she caught a minute glimpse of what it was like to be on the hero end of things.

It didn't take long for Harry to find a branch to grab and a limb to land on, and Ginny was relieved of the physical burden. She swung down to him while he cast another Conjunctivitis Curse at the Graphorn. With an exchange of glances they verified that they were both fine.

They moved three more trees away with a succession of jinxes aimed at the Graphorn. Stopping in what looked like a gigantic aspen, they sat completely still.

The Graphorn had knocked down the sycamore Harry and Ginny had first jumped to, but the strain finally seemed to be taking its toll. The beast gazed up into the trees, moaning loudly, until it finally turned and sulked away, disappearing into the wood.

Harry sighed loudly. "A Graphorn, you said?"

Ginny nodded, closing her eyes in relief. "Typically found in the mountains... I suppose this is close enough, though." She swung one leg over so she was no longer straddling the limb and slipped off.

Using the branches and limbs on either side, she swiftly worked her way down. Ginny could hear Harry breaking off twigs and rustling dead leaves on his descent from above her.

She dropped down and landed on her feet in the snow. Turning her head up, she watched Harry circle about the trunk as he climbed down. Finally he landed at her side, stumbling a little as he made impact with the snow. Harry rubbed his lower hip a bit, wincing, but he spoke before Ginny could ask whether he was okay.

"How did you learn to move like that?" inquired Harry.

"What do you mean?" she asked coyly, trying to force back a grin.

"All the swinging and shimmying--either you've climbed far too many trees back at the Burrow or there's something that I don't know about you," he said, smiling slyly.

She thought, It's about time someone noticed. "Gymnastics," she said. Then Ginny pointed out, "And second: there are a lot of things you don't know about me." She smiled and turned back toward the river, recommencing the hike.

Harry caught up with her. "Well, maybe I'd like to know some of those things," he told her, slowing to match Ginny's pace.

"You aren't exactly an open book either," she remarked. "I think telling you what you don't know about me without knowing what I don't know about you," stated Ginny, "isn't a fair exchange."

Without looking at him, Ginny could feel Harry's smirk. "I'm not the biggest fan of mysteries," he said.

"Well," she retorted, "some detectives only solve mysteries to end them. Like you."

Harry laughed quietly. "So it seems," he said. Ginny waited for the cunning dictum or remark about "solving" her, but it never came.

They walked on, the sun disappearing quickly behind the trees, and the cold growing. Ginny and Harry stopped along the bank and she drew out her old knitted blanket. In the dark one couldn't tell--but it was of all different colors of yarn. It was made mostly of strings left over after her mother finished the Christmas jumpers. They sat beneath a small spruce tree and wrapped themselves together in the blanket, shivering.

Harry and Ginny split a particularly large stolen breakfast roll and munched away. The moon reflected off the river and blanketed the bank in hazy blue light while the wood on either side dissolved into sheer darkness. Ginny watched their breath rise in a mist before them.

"Maybe we should make a fire?" she suggested, feeling no part of her going untouched by the chill.

"I don't know--" replied Harry, "the warmth and light would be nice, but... we'd probably end up with unwanted company."

"You're right." Ginny felt her eyes go unfocused as she stared unblinkingly at the river.

A long moment passed before Harry interrupted her silent, subconscious pondering that might not even have been hers. "You can sleep if you like," he said, "I'll keep watch."

Ginny sat up straighter and looked at him. Harry has such an honest face--it was hard to believe that such a visage could be creased with even a hint of a negative emotion. Off-handedly she noted that his eyes were still untouched vert in the dark. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," he replied insouciantly, "I mean, you were practically asleep anyway, I thought I'd just give you permission." The corners of his mouth twitched. "It's no problem--you've had a long day."

"...So have you," Ginny answered protractedly.

"What kind of gentleman would I be to disallow you a little beauty rest?"

She watched him for some sign of a fib or trick, but found none. "Sod being a gentleman--it'd just make you normal," she vouched.

"Which, as most everyone that's heard of me has pointed out--I'm not." Harry smiled genuinely and Ginny felt her stomach flop around a little.

"Just 'cause you're Harry Potter, the biggest wunderkind in wizarding history." He shrugged, and she could have sworn that he blushed a little. Ginny watched him for a moment, subconsciously taking in the small lump on his nose that looked like he'd maybe broken it once, and wishing that her eyelashes were that long. Harry looked at her--a little expectantly. "Thanks," she said, hoping that he was counting on anything more than an answer to his offer because that's all she gave him. Harry, Ginny, secluded, nighttime, tree--the last time these were the conditions, it didn't turn out well.

"'Didn't turn out well'? Then why didn't you stop it? It was all prime for you, I trust... I think I suffered the hippogriff's share through that expedition, thank you. Don't you yammer now--I told you you'd regret--"

Shut up, Tom.

Ginny leaned against the tree again, feeling the prickly bark against her back and the tug on her scalp as strands of hair tangled into the wood. "Wake me if you're tired, or something happens."

She shut her eyes, and it wasn't long until her head nodded onto Harry's chest. Ginny tried to force her eyelids open or simply move her head, but it remained against him. She waited to feel him nudge her away, but it didn't happen, and she sensed herself drifting off.

She began to dream. Ginny was standing in an endless rolling field, wildflowers growing nearly as abundantly as the grass itself. All of the students who were with her in the forest that day were there, standing around her, smiling. Ginny bent to pick a white wildflower, and Harry jumped forward, holding out his hands. But it was too late. Ginny had broken the stem to pick it, and as she did so, a passing screech echoed over them.

Darkness rippled outward from where the wildflower had been, the rolling plains turning into barren stone ground. Further and further the waves went, and the field liquefied in front of her. All the grass and flowers disappeared, and were replaced by crumbling buildings and dust. The color was warped from the world, and the sky turned black with a starless night.

Ginny looked around at her companions, who were all frowning. Draco looked pale and gaunt, his cheekbones more sunken and eyes more gray. Hermione, at his side, looked worn and strained--like she'd neglected sleep for a week. Harry looked skinnier and paler than ever before, and his eyes had even lost some of their vibrant color. Her brother's eyes were downcast, shoulders shaking. Holly was on the other side of Draco, and she was bathed in black--her hair, her clothes, she'd lost her remaining color.

As one, they turned their gazes up, and looked skyward. Ginny followed suit, and gasped. The aurora that cast the little light into their world was the very symbol of death and darkness--a green skull, open-mouthed, with a snake curving about and out of it.

A piercing howl shattered her dream, and Ginny felt Harry shift against her. Her eyes snapped open, as another howl sounded. It took her a moment to realize that this was reality, and the crumbled world she had just left was nothing but a sleeping illusion. Unlike any she'd heard before, the howl was two-toned and shrieking, chilling enough to wake the dead.

*()%()*

Next to him, Holly was using every ounce of her will not to shake and shiver. The cave had dropped to its coldest since it became dark, and the only thing she had to distract her was Draco himself.

"Sunrise or sunset?" he asked.

"Sunset--I'm rarely up early enough to see sunrise, anyway," replied Holly. "Boxers or briefs?"

"Boxers." Draco paused. "Black or white?"

"White to wear, black for everything else and blood honor," she answered. "Mountains or beach?"

"Mountains," he said, nodding to himself. "Dogs or cats?"

"Dogs." Holly glanced sideways at him and smiled. "You should've known that."

"Yes, I should have," he agreed.

Holly thought for a moment. "Blonde or brunette?"

"Blonde," he responded. "Vampires or werewolves?"

"Werewolves," she told him, without thinking.

"Why?" he inquired. "Werewolves are potentially more hazardous, if Granger hasn't shared," impugned Draco. Holly looked over at him with her dimensioned eyes. A half-moon of light color--green, maybe--curved around the pupil of one eye, the patterns completely unmatched to the rest of the lined honey. Another half-moon curved around her other pupil, on the exact opposite side, of the purest black. They were odd to quite a degree up close--Draco wondered if there was an explanation behind them. "Or are you a little biased because of your penchant for Lupin?"

"Werewolves," Holly said forcefully but calmly, "are only dangerous in form on full moon nights, and dangerous then only when they haven't taken Wolfsbane." She paused. "Vampires aren't even people, really."

"That's not very pious."

"I'm not very pious," she stated plainly, "I'm just telling you what I think."

He bided for a moment then said, "Some of them were people, however." Holly looked at him to elaborate. "I know, the majority of them came from stillborn babies, or they're mutinous spirits of the unburied, blah, blah... or maybe some were just born that way, unlucky. But, some people just got the Bite." He motioned a clasping, biting motion with three fingers.

"I know, I know," Holly said, "and some vampires aren't even bad... but there are so many different kinds, and they all have funny names, and I can't keep them straight..."

"Where as 'werewolf' can stick, eh?"

"Right." She held the blanket between her chin and collarbone, and Draco felt it being pulled down a bit as she rubbed her hands together. "You're the one who enslaves Bebarlangs and Bajang, though, so I wouldn't talk."

"You don't think they're people!"

"Neither do you!"

"Yes, I do!"

"Doesn't sound like you treat them that way."

"It's--your--turn," he told her, narrowing his eyes.

"Peas--or--carrots?" she asked.

"Peas. Chicken or fish?"

"Chicken. Day or night?"

"Night." Draco's tone evened out, and he asked, "Quidditch or Quodpot?"

"Quidditch--Quodpot is too unorganized--very little teamwork." Holly blew a stray hair out of her face. "Fire or water?"

"Fire." He sniveled and rolled his shoulders. "Bugs or birds?"

"Birds," Holly said. "Frogs or toads?"

"Frogs. Snakes or Spiders?"

"Um--spiders. Platinum or chrome?"

Draco sighed. "Platinum, I think. Silver or gold?"

"Silver."

He snorted in his carefully calculated way. "Where's the house pride?"

Holly tapped her feet back and forth. "Lost within your pitiless silver eyes," she said dramatically, cocking her head to the side. Draco didn't reply. "Pay me in gold so I can buy silver jewelry. Salty or sweet?"

"Sweet--salt or pepper?"

"Pepper. Winter or summer?"

"Winter." He pushed a stray hair out of his face. "Spring or fall?"

"Fall. Books or magazines?"

"Books." Draco waited a moment then said, "Love or money?"

Holly looked as though she wished she had asked him that one. "Love."

He sniggered. "Destined to marry one of the Weasley sons, you are."

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "You can't buy love--money can't keep you happy forever."

Draco laughed in a manner that sounded a lot more like a bark. "Neither can love." Holly didn't respond. "If you have money, the opposite sex, or the same even, will be automatically attracted to you, for one."

Holly made a noise that he couldn't quite translate into an emotion. "I can think of pl-enty of people who weren't attracted to you and your money on first account, Malfoy."

"Other than straight men and lesbians who didn't get a chance to have a second look?" he said, motioning about his face and staring as angelically as humanly possible at the roof of the cave.

Continuing as though she he hadn't said a think, she avouched, "Anyone in the right mind, for example." Holly exhaled slowly.

"And when they find out exactly how much money I have?" pressed Draco, smiling to himself. She made another noise and he left the inquiry alone. "What about you, Black?"

"Oh," Holly replied, sarcasm dripping thicker than syrup from her voice, "You had me at 'Who the hell are you?'."

He snickered a little and leaned his head limply against the stone behind him. "I always knew that behind your hateful façade and manner you wanted to shag me."

Holly was fun to toy with: he'd discovered this as they'd talked with few pauses in the cave, subjects breaking off onto a tangent then evolving to something new. Just one hint of Draco making his move and she'd nearly have a seizure.

So, trying not to smile, he leaned in toward her. Holly leaned away, until he was lying stomach-down on top of her side. Draco put his knees to the stone, and nose against her cheek caught her expression. It was bored and exasperated.

Draco sniggered, and Holly pushed him off. "I don't like you."

"Well," he considered, "that is a step up." He arranged the blanket around them, making his movements as forcedly polite as possible. "In fact, that could lead to something kinky!"

"I assure you: my dislike is purely platonic."

"You say," Draco said, veering her back on track, "that money can't buy love."

"It can buy you whores, acquaintances with connections, and admirers, but never true love." Holly was looking forward, at the fire, with a muted expression. But this wasn't new... when she didn't have another emotion to flaunt, she looked closed and secretive. In fact, it was difficult for Draco to believe that her fellow Gryffindors could handle someone with such cozening, deceiving, cagey eyes. Had she been less fired up about other things, Holly Black would have been a nice addition to Slytherin.

"You haven't experienced true love, though, have you?" he assumed.

"No." She turned and looked at him. "Neither have you."

"No, I haven't."

"So, I'm positive that money can't buy it."

"It might if I tried," he sneered.

Holly snapped, "Whatever."

"See, if you had money, there would be time to get love on the side," explained Draco.

"I think, with love, you're still apt to get money on the side."

"Yes, but, love messes with your ability to make money. Break-up? You can't work for a week," he affirmed.

"Sure, okay--it's not like you get your money through work, Draco," Holly snapped, "Drop it, now, will you?"

A new opportunity to mess with Holly's head opened to him. "Drop what?"

She glared. "You know what I mean."

Draco examined her slightly crooked nose for a moment before looking back into her eyes and asking, "Is that a Black-ridden 'come-hither' look?"

"No," she said flicking her hair over her shoulder none-too-flirtatiously, "it's a Black-ridden 'get the hell out from beneath my blanket or out of the gutter before I put my foot in your ass' look."

He grinned, drew his voice to his grittiest, and said, "It's sexy."

"Neagh."

"Anyway, I have a point to prove, I won't be dropping anything until this point is on the table." He cleared his throat. "It's not as though love can get you money. Like I said, look at the Weasleys. There's enough lovin' there to go around... seven ginger-haired kids, like a costermonger's orange barrow! It's a house based around desperation, perhaps." He paused and waited to be hit, but she did nothing. "Two kids left in the house and one Ministry desk job can't keep them up and running."

Bitterly, she replied, "I'll think about that."

"Good choice."

"Nobody could love you if they tried," Holly said quietly.

Draco wasn't at all put out. Instead he pulled one hand out from the mild warmth of the denim quilt and held it in front of her. He looked intently at her face, imagining what color she would want. Black, he thought--but that wasn't very wholesome. Holly glanced down at the hand and then back up at Draco. All the other colors flitted through his head, but he decided on being classical.

Closing his fingers together, a spark flashed to life between them and in a moment a dozen red roses had bloomed there, and he held them out to her by their long stems. He didn't have a Green Thumb, but he'd developed all sorts of tricks over the years stuck at home in the mansion.

Holly took them in her hand. She looked on the brim of gingerly bringing them to her nose or asking him how he did it, but before she could he inquired, "How could you not love me now?"

The flowers that had been moving closer and closer to her face, stopped, and she gazed down at them. In a second, Holly had thrown them forward, and into the fire. They wilted and crumbled into ash. "Like that." Holly's eyes locked onto Draco's, and she slowly let a dimpled Cheshire cat grin break deceptively across her face.

After a second of sneering at him, she said, "Now I kind of want them back..."

Holly looked away and laughed sheepishly. Draco smiled at her.

*()%()*

Forfiwen unwrapped Ron's bandages gingerly, and he winced. "You sure there isn't some super-Elf juju you can use to just make this thing go away?" he asked, trying to elevate his foot above the table so his scabbed heel wouldn't have to rub against the wood.

Hermione made a sound of light animadversion and he shrugged in an irresolute fashion.

"I fear not," she replied, dabbing his healing ankle with an ointment-soaked cloth. "Our family's... super-Elf juju... decomposed in the Second Age."

Hermione laughed and took a step sideways to touch a bibelot of some sort on their mantel--a glass globe with a silvery orb bobbing contentedly about inside it. She'd been standing at various points in Forfiwen and Galórion's sitting room, examining their trinkets, for some time while Ron sat gratefully in their flexible wooden chair.

Forfiwen had been a genial, more human Elf. She bickered with her husband, got ashes smudged on her face, and was a homey, mothering storyteller. Apparently Galórion was a distant heir of the king, Amolas, who usually had his way with their royals. That was why Eowilindë had grudgingly let Hermione and Ron stay, it seemed. Forfiwen was the Elf that Galórion had just happened to fall for and marry. But she was of the lesser class of Elves--Géwiel, one of Eowilindë's servants, who they had seen--was her elder sister.

In the end, Forfiwen was humble with a feisty streak... a rare class of Elf, Ron thought, since all of the others roaming the place seemed to carry themselves silent and haughtily.

Galórion had come back a while after his departure, grabbing his bow and arrows, saying he was leaving with the company to find the rest of the 'Istari', as he put it.

In the meantime, Forfiwen had bandaged and re-bandaged Ron's ankle, dabbing a soothing, yellowish solution on between wraps.

Thee was a sharp rap on the door, and Forfiwen got to her feet. She strode over to the entrance, wiping her hands on her apron, and pulled the door open. She inclined her head, as did the tall, male, red-clad Elf on the other side. Quickly, he announced something in their fair tongue to Forfiwen, and she shortly replied.

He turned away, and she closed the door. "Apologies," she said, "but there is a gathering--it sounds as if Amolas has grave news." Forfiwen shook her head and took off her apron. Swiftly and adeptly, she wrapped Ron's ankle. "You may stay inside or follow," she told them, "it will all be spoken in Quenya, regardless."

"Is it about our friends?" Hermione asked anxiously. She turned and walked toward Forfiwen whilst Ron gingerly got to his feet.

"I doubt it--Galórion would have dropped by first." Forfiwen's mouth thinned. She ran her long fingers through her straight, aureate locks to smooth them a few times and hurried toward the door. Ron scrambled into his shoes and cloak, as did Hermione, and they followed Forfiwen out.

Rubbing the crinkles from her dress and smoothing her hair, Forfiwen hurried down the narrow path. With a final pat to her hips she turned onto the longer path, where a few heralds were hurrying past in their red, and many other Elves dressed in all greens and browns marched in one direction.

Hermione and Ron followed the best they could, dodging the keen glances of the others. One thing Ron noticed was that there seemed to be no Elven children--nothing much shorter than six and a half feet. Nor were there any brunette, red, black, or gray-haired Elves. The eldest seemed to have white tresses, the rest with varying shades of blond. All long, mostly braided in some way or another.

Off the path, toward the very center of the village, Ron spotted Amolas and Eowilinde standing tall on a small, round platform surrounded by minute, rock-like, diamond tiles that worked into an intricate pattern of colors extending in a very wide circle. The moonlight seemed to shine its entire beam on the center on the platform, turning the Lord and Lady's hair platinum and their faces pale.

As they stood on either side of Forfiwen on tiptoe for a better look over all the towering Elves about them, Ron sighed. He could see from Amolas' chest and skyward if he tilted his head while on his toes, anyway.

There didn't appear to be any shops of any sort here, Ron thought, no sword-smiths or arrow-makers, no peddlers of any sort. It seemed that each family did everything for themselves, with the exception of Eowilindë, Amolas, and whatever close heirs they might have.

Silence fell suddenly, like a wave of some unseen force had passed over all of the Elves there and quieted them. Ron looked around at all the young, beautiful faces and wondered why a people so wise and fair would choose to stay hidden when in the wizarding world they would be treated with reverence.

Or, so one would like to think.

"Vedui, Eldaliënya manë," Amolas greeted clearly. His eyes strategically moved over to where Ron and Hermione stood, and he added, "And kind visitors."

In thinking that Amolas might continue on in English for he and Hermione's benefit, Ron was wrong. Amolas looked away and started to speak rapidly in their own flowing dialect to similar reactions from the entire group. Eowilindë looked mournful and Amolas seemed grave--angry, even. But the Elves all around had expressions of horror, shock, or impended knowing, all cloaked in prim acceptance.

After a moment of silence, Eowilindë started to speak; her sad, temperate voice allayed the crowd for a while, before a new mood temporarily concealed the old. Though the white Elves looked slightly angry, and the yellow Elves looked rapt with interest--curiosity seemed to overtake all emotion. Upon glancing at Forfiwen, Ron figured what they were talking about. Forfiwen seemed omniscient to the matter. It was about them or, more, Ginny, Harry, Holly, and Draco. Ron was sure that every Elf in the entire village had fixed their eyes on he and Hermione now at least once.

Amolas dismissed them with a solacing tone, and Hermione and Ron walked alongside Forfiwen, feeling the stares intensified. The elder-looking Elves, their faces young, their tresses silver, looked at them with varying degrees of knowledgeable disapproval--few with acceptance. The youngest Elves with locks of blond gazed at Ron and Hermione curiously, some even smiled.

Ron felt compelled to speak at some of the eyeballing, especially when the most ancient of the Elves peered reproachfully at Forfiwen. He knew that she noticed, but she held her head high, her eyes smartly on the ground ahead of her and her face placid.

Back in the cottage, Forfiwen quickly busied herself with making a stew. She disappeared into the closet-sized preparation kitchen for some time, and all they could hear was steady ticking as her knife hit the board she cut the components on.

Ron kicked off his shoes upon the Elf's command, as she had hurried in (apron on again) to snatch something from the trunk-like cabinet. He settled back down in his chair and leaned his head back, shutting his eyes.

It was after sunset and moonrise, it was freezing cold, and they were in the Forbidden Forest. He felt secure with the Elves, of course, but he couldn't help but be deeply worried over Amolas' announcement. He had told Galórion, in what seemed to be mostly English, that something had escaped. But what? And how could it affect his friends, still wandering about the forest?

"What do you think it is?" he finally asked Hermione, who'd been pacing the room for a long time.

"I haven't a clue," she said. Hermione tucked a wavy lock of hair behind her ear and sighed loudly. "Whatever it is, or whatever they are, it's something that not even Amolas could restrict." She rubbed her eyes. "I'm worried. Eowilindë said 'two wander, two merely stir.' That must mean that one pair is trapped, or captured." She bit her lip. "All that we could be sure of is that they're still alive." She sniffled once, apparently catching a cold, and said, "I don't even know why we came in here anymore."

Unexpectedly, Hermione walked over to him and sat down over his legs, bending her knees. Up close, Ron could see that she looked pale and weary. Hermione laid her head down on his shoulder and shut her eyes tight. He kissed her lightly on the cheek, and she nestled her head into his shoulder.

Ron stared forward, absently toying with Hermione's hair. He wished Forfiwen would come back in and stop avoiding them so that they could interrogate her. She entered with a large, black cauldron at one point and hung it in the grate. Quickly filling it with water and dropping in some carrots, potatoes, meat, and a handful of some spice or another she disappeared again.

Hermione sat up a little and asked, "Isn't it a little late to be preparing stew?"

"I guess not."

"I'm going to go see if I can help," she said, slipping out of the chair and leaving Ron feeling unusually cold. "And ask a couple questions."

She crossed the room but just as she reached for the door handle, the entrance door swung open. An Elf that looked a lot like Galórion entered, his hair pulled back, over his head into two overlapping braids. He dropped his bow and quiver and slipped off a long, curved sheath that was against his leg. "Ammë? Nar elyë--"

He walked in further and stopped abruptly, sapphire eyes slowly moving back and forth between Hermione and Ron. Forfiwen slipped out of the backroom and smiled at the Elf. "Amil-Galith?" she said, "Amil, what did Lord Amolas ask of you?"

She led him nearer to Ron and sat him down in one of the chairs. Amil-Galith took cue and replied in English. "To seh for the Úvanimor--did you receive the message?"

"Amolas announced it, yes." Forfiwen brushed her hands off on her apron. "Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley," she addressed them, "this is my son Amil-Galith."

"Vedui," Amil-Galith said, getting to his feet and turning to both Hermione who remained frozen at the backroom door and Ron who automatically stood up as well. They replied with meager 'hello's. "More Nauror?"

Ron was about to ask what, exactly, Nauror were when Forfiwen replied, "No, just Istari." Amil-Galith raised an eyebrow. "Galórion has departed with a company to seek the rest.dquo; Hermione walked into the room and stood by the hearth, glancing down into the cauldron.

"The rest?"

"Four more."

"They will all stay here?"

"No, I believe the Lady might have quarters for them."

"Ah."

Forfiwen was just bending to sit down when the door opened again.

This time, it wasn't an Elf that entered. A black woman with her hair twisted back into a bun entered, wearing a blue cloak and holding a broomstick. "I have never seen so many men in one room lose kelpie poker," she announced to no one in particular.

She trotted into the sitting room. "Hello there," she said looking at Ron and Hermione with an expression of mild suspicion. She extended a hand and Ron shook it. "Nyla Stenne," she said.

"Ron Weasley." She moved on to Hermione.

"More of us? You two look so young," Nyla said, brow furrowed.

"More of who?" chimed Hermione, raising her eyebrows.

"Werewolves."

"Werewolves?" Ron echoed.

"Yeah."

Hermione shook her head. "No, we're just--"

"It's a long story," Ron interrupted. He was looking at Forfiwen and Amil-Galith, who were speaking quietly to one another.

Nyla nodded and didn't question them further. She muttered something, however, that sounded a lot like 'denial.' "Amil, did you just get back?" He nodded. "You were gone before I left--what's up?"

Amil-Galith took a deep breath and glanced around at them all. "We were sent out to search for the Úvanimor."

Forfiwen patted his hand. "Did you find them?"

Amil-Galith nodded, drawing his eyebrows together. "Half of them, scattered about the snow. They all appeared to be breathing except for one--it had been impaled by a Úvani blade--and had an arrow-wound."

Forfiwen gasped. "Whose arrow? One of theirs?"

"No, the wound was too thin," Amil-Galith replied.

Nyla arced and eyebrow and cocked her head to the side. &lquo;You mean the arrow was gone?"

Amil-Galith nodded, looking about as bewildered as the rest of them.

"Had they been fighting amongst themselves?" Forfiwen asked dubiously, bending her fair head toward her son.

"No--none of the others seemed to be wounded, the Úvanimor aren't capable of such tricks. Yet, the rest of them had either left or had never been in this clearing. It looked like the work of Istari, to me."

Forfiwen and Amil-Galith turned their eyes on Hermione and Ron. Finally Hermione piped up, "I'm very sorry, but what are these... Úvanimor?"

The Elves looked at one another, but Nyla answered immediately. "Malumi," she said, "a particularly nasty breed of humanoids." Hermione's eyebrows disappeared behind her bangs. "They'd been gathering in the forest for a while when You-Know-Who was hanging around," she added bluntly.

"Wait," Hermione said, "you all knew about that?" Nyla, Amil-Galith, and Forfiwen just looked at her. "Why didn't you do anything?"

"Some of us did," Amil-Galith replied imperiously, raising to his feet. Hermione shrunk back. "If one moved too close they fell to their death."

Her eyes darted between the other three. "Wha--why?"

Ron's head was swimming. A werewolf was living with Galórion, Forfiwen, and their son. The Úvanimor or, Malumi, or whatever were a huge group of brutes on the loose. Amil-Galith, the Elves' son, had been gone searching them out and found them lying half-frozen, or a part of them... and one was dead... they thought it was the work of Istari--or wizards.

Two wander, two simply stir. If only a portion of the Malumi had been found--Stunned, most likely--the rest of them must have taken one of the pairs! Two simply stir... what if Ginny and Harry had been captured? Or maybe it was Holly and Malfoy...

And the Elves had done nothing when the Dark Lord was within their midst? Or, they'd tried but--failed?

"Were there any footprints leading away?" Forfiwen was asking.

Amil-Galith responded, "We did not look--orders were to find the Úvanimor and report back to Lord Amolas."

"What did you do with the Malumi, then?" Nyla asked.

"Nothing." Nyla's mouth fell open. "We scattered their weapons to keep them occupied and in the forest if they wake, then reported back." Amil-Galith shut his eyes.

Forfiwen turned her nose up and sniffed. She sniffed again. "Mastanya!" She sprang from her seat and ran into the backroom.

"You're a werewolf?" Ron spoke up, after a moment of silence, looking at Nyla. He felt Hermione's sharp, excoriating glare more than saw it, but Nyla looked indifferent.

"A little bit." She smirked.

"Why are you living in here?" he asked bluntly, "Are there more of you?"

"Yeah--I think the rest of them are still up at Hog's Head playing kelpie poker with the little gold I didn't win from them. It's kelpie poker night--I'm no good at Ashwinder or Short-Snout poker, so Saturday is the day for me." Nyla extracted a leather pouch from her robes and shook it. Coins clanged and jingled inside. "I'm living here because... well just because."

Hermione butted in. "So, you're still in touch with the Wizarding world? I mean--" She paused, struggling for words. "You don't simply stay here with the Elves?"

"Oh no," Nyla replied.

"Then, why live here?" Ron inquired. Amil-Galith stood up and checked the fire, then grabbed a large spoon and prodded at the stew a bit.

"A pinch less prejudice--I'm a werewolf before a human to most of them, so the Elders rank me higher since I'm an animal, and so forth." She laughed bitterly. "Besides, when the Ministry's act goes through, werewolves will be evacuated from their homes anyway."

Hermione's nose crinkled up. "What ac--"

"But how did you, y'know, get in?" Ron interjected, nodding his head significantly.

Nyla leaned forward and whispered, "I sent in an application."

He raised his eyebrows. Amil-Galith straightened up and said, "Just tell them the truth, Nyla."

Nyla sat back and closed her eyes momentarily. "I was loose in here one night on a full moon," she said, "Amil and his father were wandering about, they encountered me, and hit me with a poisoned arrow. I came to stay here with Galórion, Forfiwen, and Amil-Galith until the full moon was over and my wound--healed," Here Nyla gave Amil-Galith a nasty look to which he held up his hands in surrender, "and got attached." She grinned. "It's easier to leave everyday wizarding life behind than you may think. Though, I have a dodgy feeling that the Elves hold some sort of 'you can check in but you can't check out' policy." Hermione and Ron switched their gaze over at Amil-Galith, but he was looking the other way.

Hermione frowned and asked, "What about your family, Nyla?"

"Disowned me," she responded, "ages ago." Hermione gave her a sympathetic look. "Anyway," Nyla continued, "I still get the Daily Prophet, use my wand, do a little broomstick riding... I just... don't work! It will be hard after Umbridge's act goes through, however, to find a job in the wizarding world in the first place."

"Which act?" Hermione asked without interruption.

"Some little half-breed bill... evacuating werewolves, vampires, harpies, and so on from their homes and automatically sacking them from their jobs unless they live with their folks or work for shady little agencies--or, there's no record of them being half-beast." Nyla rubbed her chin and Ron thought that if anyone had a hold on being a werewolf, it was her. "So, any sallow-faced and waxy on occurrence excreta will be on the streets. You better hope your Animagus form isn't a wolf or you're out there too."

Hermione made a sound of dissidence and shook her head. "What if the employer of a vampire, for example, doesn't sack them out of their own good will--or simply because they didn't know about..."

"The pointy teeth and blood-sucking tendencies," Ron finished. If there was one thing he liked less than spiders and Slytherins, it was vampires.

Nyla shrugged. "The employer will, most likely, be slapped with a Roc-sized fine." She sighed. "If we're speaking of the same Ministry, of course."

Forfiwen came out of the backroom, carrying a large loaf of golden bread on a wooden platter. "The pair of you," she said, "can have a little stew and bread, then get some rest."

"What?" Hermione retorted. "We can't! Our friends--!"

Ron nodded feverishly at her side. "Yeah, we need to be awake!"

Forfiwen set the table with thick, white, stone bowls and told Amil-Galith to fetch something in their own tongue, jerking her head a little. He disappeared and she ushered Hermione and Ron to the table, as Nyla had already taken her seat.

The Elf cut and buttered their bread and filled their bowls with the thick stew, commanding them to tuck in with a steely glare, finger point, and a couple Elvish words.

The door opened again, and a small, gray-haired wizard entered, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. "In debt, Isaac?" called Nyla. "I have a pocketful of Galleons--if you'd rather pay me back than have the boys take what you owe from your flesh."

"No, I still have a sufficient amount of gold, thank you," he said stiffly, dropping his hand, "the ivy around the door attacked me on my way in, however."

"That's the dwarven pits," Nyla remarked, pointing her spoon at him before dipping it back into her bowl. Ron thought that it'd be easier to eat this stew with a fork, but it was very good, and the bread softer than any he'd ever eaten. "We've got visitors," she added. "Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger." She jerked her head toward the man. "Isaac Eades."

"It's pleasure to meet you," said Isaac severely. Forfiwen scooped him some stew and pulled forward a rocking chair for him to sit in.

The rest of their late dinner went by with Hermione explaining their situation, and Isaac's countering story of how he ended up living with the Elves.

Searching for a temporary haven from the unspoken pressure of being a werewolf and a place to run free in case he couldn't afford Wolfsbane one month--Isaac wandered into the forest. Some aspares, a type of water nymph, had found him and led him to the main river canal used by the Elves. A maid to the Lord and Lady named Belebridien had found him, and brought him back. Galórion had taken him in... this was before Nyla's arrival.

After the dinner, Ron and Hermione were drug into a side bedroom. Nyla borrowed Hermione a nightgown, and Ron had to wear something of Galórion's--a tan tunic and someing like a green dressing gown.

Amil-Galith gave up his bed, which wasn't exactly large but spacious enough for them to fit on. He started a fire in the grate, and then left. Forfiwen entered and pulled back the bedcovers, insisting they climb in and assuring them that someone will wake them as soon as Galórion and his company returns.

Reluctantly they laid down, and Ron was surprised to find that the bed was extremely comfortable--he and Hermione both sunk deeply into what must have been a home-made feather mattress, and the coverlets seemed to be heated themselves.

Forfiwen smoothed the blankets over them in a very motherly way. She smiled, her lovely face no less auspicious or undimmed in the dark, and wispered, "Kalessë lórë hostalyë."

She turned, her curtain of ash-blonde hair bouncing as she walked out. Hermione sighed next to him and pulled the covers over her shoulders. "They have such a pretty language," she said, "but it seems complicated. I took a look at one of Holly's books once--my eyes nearly fell out trying to read it."

"I know three words--Istari, Nauror, and Úvanimor. I'll get by with that." Hermione giggled and he smiled to himself. "You'd learn it in a heartbeat, Hermione," Ron said candidly.

Through the corner of his eye, he saw her shake her head. "No, I doubt that. It looks difficuI'm all set for Mermish and Gobblededook anyway--I might select a Quenya class if I drop, say, Care of Magical Creatures." Ron opened his mouth to ask why, exactly, she would do that, but before he could she continued with, "I wonder what Forfiwen just said."

Trying to remain as jocular as possible, Ron said, "'S long as it wasn't 'Tomorrow you'll be stewed' I think we're good."

"It's sort of neat--how werewolves live here. It gives you hope that maybe there can be a little unity between us and the Elves."

"That'd be cool." He yawned. "I wish Galórion would get back, soon."

"Yes, and with good news." Hermione paused. "I hope they take care of the Malumi--and return with everyone else."

He exhaled slowly. "So do I."

Ron drifted into a fitful sleep--dreaming a curious sequence. He was behind the tire-swing by the pond in his backyard--his mother's flowers in bloom and the grass green.

The swing was low to the ground--Ron knew it had been a long time since he could sit with his legs through the tire and pump until he swung high enough that he'd start to spin. Someone was sitting atop it now, clutching onto the rope, their feet hooked through the hole in the tire. Long black hair: that's all he could really make out of her form--the rest was a blur.

He stepped forward and caught the sides of the tire as it reached the height of its backward swing. The girl screeched and feverishly kicked her legs, bouncing, until Ron let go.

The swing coasted to a stop, and Ron caught the girl by the sides as it swayed feebly, a foot above the ground. She turned and looked at him over her shoulder, and he could sense her questioning look more than he could see it. He leaned in to kiss her, but just as his lips brushed hers he was grasping thin air.

Ron's eyes flew open, and he gasped. The tire-swing was on the ground, the rope fallen around it. The cheerful garden and pond of the Weasley backyard had gone bleak and barren, and all remaining of that memory was an unexpended ring of no more worth.

The dream dissolved into a black sleep, and Ron didn't know how long the slumber lasted before he was being awoken.

His eyes opened--and it took him a moment to remember where he was, and what was happening. Forfiwen's face loomed near. "Come," she said, "Galórion has returned."

Ron couldn't see her face in the darkness, but her tone was anything but at ease.

*()%()*

Ginny scrambled groggily to her feet, hand against the spruce for support. Harry hurried and stood, feeling even colder than before without the warmth of Ginny and the blanket against him. His teeth started to chatter, and he pulled out his wand. "Lumos." Ginny did the same.

Wands held high, they moved the beams back and forth. The nightmarish howling continued, double toned--tenor and soprano, shrieking and echoing through the trees. Harry looked skyward quickly and saw that the moon wasn't quite full.

Nothing was coming from the trees ahead but the sound. One stridor broke into a whimper, and Harry glanced sideways at Ginny. She looked at him with an equally bewildered look.

They persevered in shining their lights into the blackened wood, and all they saw was the wandlight glinting off of the snow and illuminating empty trees.

The discordant howling persisted, but it sounded scattered--like the creatures were breaking off in different directions. It seemed and eternity before Harry caught a glint of movement in the corner of his eye.

Upriver was a pearly white shape--a little transparent. It stalked closer, giving off its own spectral light. It appeared to be a wolf--or a dog, maybe--hunched and slightly skeletal. Its sharp, translucent teeth were bared, and it seemed overhung with twine, or spider webs, or maybe nets... Harry wasn't sure but it looked a bit sea-weedy and, overall, disgusting.

It growled then wailed; the double-pitched howl seemed to pierce right through Harry's chest and clamp over his heart and lungs. "Shine light on it!" Ginny cried suddenly, "It's a Gytrash! Shine light on it!"

She stepped forward--wand arm outstretched--and illuminated the ground all around the Gytrash. Its spooky white light was canceled out by the golden glow of the Lumos spell and it whimpered stridently and quickly shrunk away.

Harry took a step forward, and with another shrill whine it retreated speedily into the forest--seeming to float above the ground as it moved its feet in a steady run.

Another Gytrash emerged, and Harry took care of it as Ginny turned and battled off the ghouls downriver.

There weren't many, though the un-attuned, multiple-toned wails made it sound that way. The howling subsided, and Harry sighed, turning to see Ginny's progress. She was standing there, her arms at her side, lit wand irradiating only a spot of ground beside her.

A single Gytrash was standing just ahead of Ginny--and she was staring at it, transfixed. Harry made to scare it off with his wandlight, but Ginny threw out an arm, much as Ron would do.

She narrowed her eyes at the ghost and recited, "'Usually feared, occasionally the Gytrash will be benevolent and lead adrift travelers along the fit route.'"

"All right, Hermione?" he asked, looking sideways at her.

Quickly, she replied, "I tested on this just a few days ago--look at it, Harry!"

He did. The Gytrash was sitting on its hind legs a bit magnanimously, looking at them through its albescent eyes in what could best be described as a significant way. "I suppose he looks a little amiable," Harry agreed, "in a blood-thirsty ghost sort of way."

"It would seem a little more trustworthy if it had taken the horse form, I know," Ginny said in an exasperated voice. "But--I think we can rely on its integrity, don't you?"

Harry had a bad feeling that this was Tom talking, not Ginny. "Well, what if they actually lead lost people into traps? Yeah--I've heard of Gytrashes slaughtering entire... families and villages!" he fumbled.

"Oh?" Ginny took a step back and looked at him. "Who lived to tell about it?" He frowned at her. "C'mon," she said, "what have we got to lose?"

She strode forward and picked up her blanket, stuffing it back into her bag. "Everything," he muttered. The Gytrash turned and started to trot downriver, Ginny close behind.

The wolf-spirit preceded them a ways along the bank then turned into the wood. Harry and Ginny followed: struggling through the snow, over rocks and fallen logs, and through shrubbery and brush as the Gytrash walked its unhindered trek ahead.

"I wonder where it's leading us," Ginny murmured, stepping on a decomposing trunk to make her way over it.

"'Along the fit route' I hope," replied Harry though gritted teeth as he extracted his cloak from a thorny bush.

"No, I mean, we could be headed for the main forest road, or to the edge of the wood, or even to the Elves--whichever way it thinks is right." She smirked a little, and Harry scowled.

The deeper they went into the forest, the darker it became. It wasn't long before Harry felt as though he were walking in a dream--everything was so dark outside of the Gytrash's opalescent glow and their low wandlight. Both of them stumbled over logs, rocks, and high roots an innumerable amount of times.

The air was frigid cold and thick with magic--Harry could nearly smell it. At certain points and clearings, everything was shimmering in a deceiving colored light radiating from an unseen force--hyacinth or virescent.

They passed one glade that was virtually nothing but a wide circle of gray dust, clean of snow. Harry watched over his shoulder as they walked across--and saw he and Ginny's footprints disappear as the compressed dust rose and evened itself moments after they lifted their feet.

One clearing was much larger--a snow-covered mound in the center of it. The surrounding trees were full of interesting hieroglyphics that looked like Centphir--which Holly could read. Each carved symbol glowed indigo, just as they did on the scripted tree she had read. Harry had a very lurid feeling that it was a barrow, and both he and Ginny doubled their pace as an odd chorus of lamenting moans and plaints quavered in the air about them.

They passed a small troop of large, chestnut-colored, winged-horses that watched them keenly through their black eyes. They cautiously padded around a glade completely overgrown with fleshy, pink Horklumps. Harry spotted a few gnomes scurrying through the mushroom-like plants, carefully lifting them from the ground. Then they would sit down and begin plucking the black bristles off the Horklump before bolting down the plants, whole.

Harry and Ginny both spotted a walnut-sized amber flicker fly into view and make a ninety-degree turn upward, which they later decided was either the world's swiftest and smallest fairy or a Snidget. Still following the Gytrash, they passed a baby unicorn. It was sleeping pitifully on a mossy rock, golden coat shimmering in the minimal moonlight bathing it. Ginny wanted desperately to stop for a moment and pet it, or look for its mother, but the Gytrash continued its trek without encumbrance. She patted it twice and cast a Heating Spell around it before following the ghostly hound again, rather put out.

Once to his left, Harry heard a happy tune being played on some sort of woodwind--and could scarcely see an orange light burning a ways off. High, feminine giggling reached his ears, and it wasn't until he felt Ginny's hand on his arm did Harry notice that he'd been walking toward it.

"Those aren't Elves," she said, dark eyes trained meaningfully on his. "Wood nymphs--get too close and you're bewitched."

They walked on, undisturbed by menaces. They passed a few trees that were emitting high-pitched buzzing--fairies or pixies, presumably--and spotted ominous dark shapes moving to either side, but nothing much strayed across their path. Harry didn't want to find out what the black, lumbering creatures were, and was zealously grateful that they didn't present themselves.

A short line of chunky, wild-haired, and dark-skinned Dwarves passed behind them in a line, pickaxes slung over their shoulders. Vivid blue, yellow, green, orange, pink, then purple-haired--their spiky tresses were more vibrant and precarious than any dye-job Uncle Vernon had griped about upon sight. They were chanting a methodical harmony of "Hup, hup, hup... hup-hup, hup... hup..." as they tread past. Ginny and Harry watched them and laughed, but the Dwarves took little notice. A couple glanced at them and smiled widely--showing all their chipped, crooked, or sharp teeth, but the rest hurried on, gem-like eyes (which tended to match their hair) forward.

A forest troll plodded onto the path then. It fixed its small, dull eyes on Harry and Ginny and bellowed, beating its chest with its fist in a very King Kong-like fashion. It caught sight of the dynamic-haired Dwarves ("Hup, hup... hup... h-hup... hup.") and went after them instead. They scattered, the hupping coming to a surcease and being replaced by shouts.

As the troll started going after the scurrying Dwarves with his club, Harry and Ginny doubled speed. They silently toddled to catch up with the Gytrash and get as far from the troll as they could before it changed its peanut-sized mind about trying to squash the Dwarves and go for the bigger targets.

And so they credulously followed the Gytrash, and Harry kept his eyes peeled for any sign of movement--hoping to stumble across a pod of Puffskeins rather than a stray Nundu Hagrid imported or a pack of centaurs that hadn't yet fled the confines of the forest.

*()%()*

Holly was dreaming an absolute disconnected phantasmagoria. She didn't know when it was that she dozed off, and tried to wake up from this insensible dream, but couldn't. Fire and ice becoming syncretic--until the ice thawed, melting into a puddle on the floor, and slipping away.

The elements of life and destruction were placed in the incorrect hands--the wielder of life wanted blood, revenge, and the ability to purge the world of her enemies. She reached toward pellucid and untrustworthy lessons and memories--using all her talents wrongly in a blind anger. In the end, after a dark past cum reputation preceded her wherever she went, she learned of the truth, regretting her actions immediately.

The one who plied destruction would assist the giver of life; deep inside it was all in hopes that she would abandon her life of violence before it stole her away. It took the sight of the climax of war to blend them again... fire and water, destruction and life, patience and violence.

Holly closed that book of morals, and threw it aside. And she was walking toward a table in a room she knew but didn't recognize--where a parcel was left. A topped, wooden bucket. Holly tugged and yanked at the handle of the cover, it was tightly fit on there.

When she finally wiggled it loose--acid, verdurous light blinded her momentarily; then she was screaming, crying, and pitching, all at once... her stomach was churning unpleasantly, and she felt horribly sick. Holly couldn't look, yet she did, gasping and sobbing, knowing that if she looked away she could at least escape vomiting for a moment.

Screaming and crying, she had to be drowning, because she couldn't breathe, never calling out a name but wanting someone to come, until it was all a dream--none of it had happened--nothing was as it seemed: just lies.

All lies.

Her eyes snapped open, and Holly was aware of the horrible cold clawing at her bones and the beads of sweat along her hairline and beneath her jaw. She was gasping for breath--as though she'd gone without oxygen it for a long, long time. Holly shut her eyes, seeing dots of static color swimming about her vision, on the backs of her eyelids, fighting off the horrible turn of vertigo that had overtaken her.

She rubbed the back of her hand beneath her eyes, swiping away tears, and dabbed the sweat off of her skin with the edge of her cloak. Holly leaned her head back against the wall and her breathing slowed.

"What are you doing over there, Black?" Draco asked. She opened one eye a crack and looked sideways at his bemused expression. "Is there something going on under that blanket I should know about?"

"I fell asleep."

"While I was talking?" He looked abashed, and she closed her eyes again.

"I'm sorry," Holly said automatically. "I didn't realize that I was dozing..."

"You better hope that you just passed out all of the sudden, Black," Draco told her indignantly.

"I'm sorry," she said again.

"So," he said seductively, gritty voice reaching its lowest, most gravelly pitch, "did you dream of me?"

Holly could feel his laughing smirk, and when she opened her eyes it was slapped on his face just how she had looked at it in her mind's eye. "I don't think so."

"How much food do we have?" asked Draco. "This is looking hopeless."

Holly sighed and did a mental count of how many rolls there were left. The quantity had been a paucity to begin with. "If we stretch it, I'll say we've got two days of food--and a little water coming from the fall--so we've got at the very least a week if we don't die of hypothermia first." That sounded horribly melodramatic, even if she didn't do the math right. The record of how long one could go without food was pushed far into the back of her head.

Draco groaned. "If we're in here for five days, will you have sex with me?"

"Someone will find us, Malfoy," she replied quickly, "Hakuna Matata."

"Huh?"

"Never mind."

Draco was silent for a junction before again asking, "Seriously, five days, will you have sex with me?"

"We'll have to see what mental state I'm in at that point, Malfoy," Holly said, nodding narrowly at him, "I might be afraid of you."

"All the more fun," he said deeply, nudging her.

Holly scoffed, "You're disgusting." He laughed and she crossed her arms over her chest and scrunched up her shoulders.

"I was saying," Draco picked up, "I wonder what those carvings over there mean."

"What--?" He nodded toward the other side of the cave. Holly fumbled for her wand and lit it. She shone the narrow beam on the cave wall, and she could see the inscriptions, but not read them. "Get up," she said.

"What? No!" Draco hugged the blanket tighter about them. "No way!"

"Then I'll just take the blanket with me..." Holly said. She stood up, and the horribly brumal air swirled about her, absorbing any warmth she'd had before. Holly fought back the shivers, and grabbed her end of the quilt. With a sharp tug, she got a length of it away from Draco. She yanked again, and this time took him with it.

"Fine! Fine!" He stood up. Holly handed him his end of the blanket and wrapped her own tightly around one shoulder.

Squashed together, they treaded over to the opposite wall. Holly focused her wandlight on the curving, sweeping symbols and asked, "When did you notice these?"

"Mmm," said Draco, moving his pursed lips to the side, "not long ago."

"Like, when you'd bored me into slumber with your ramblings?" Holly apprehended. Draco shoulder checked her, and she took it as a yes.

"They all sort of--appeared... like they were being written," he explained.

Holly fought the urge to smack him upside the head, because that would expose half of her arm to the cold again. "Why didn't you tell me?!" she barked.

"Because I thought you'd noticed!" She glanced at him with a steely look. "Merlin... don't get your training bra in a twist."

Holly narrowed her eyes and looked at the inscriptions. They were deeply carved, smooth and slanted, jagged nicks nowhere to be seen. "Tengwar again," she said, her insides beginning to knot.

Holly ran her wand along the Elvish letters and accents, slowly taking down each letter in her memory to form the words. "I Felya óh Quildë," she mumbled. "I sangwa ya antai." Holly focused on the last line of Tengwar, then read, "I hísë ya niquëi. I ninquë ya quoror."

"Could you put that into English now?"

"Sure." Holly turned the words over in her head for a moment, finding that there were very few of them she knew. "The Something of Quiet. The something which gives. The something which something. The something which something."

"You're such a help," Draco snapped irritably, frowning at the carvings.

"I'm only just starting," she retorted sharply, "and I didn't really expect that it would say 'Greetings, good sir, my name is Holly.'" Draco opened his mouth, but she wasn't done. "I took it from Tengwar to Quenya, then the basic Quenya I could recognize into English--and that's a whole hell of a lot more than any of the rest of them could do for you, Malfoy."

Holly was going to add onto this, but chose not to, in case her assumptions might be wrong. She didn't like to guess.

"Sure, and since you always tend to be bringing up the rear--what would Granger have done in the same situation?" he inquired coolly.

Holly turned sharply and glared at him, considering the question. "Supposed that it was a Tengwar verse that explained the purpose of the cave, why the dead dragon's in here, or some way to escape it, and use a handful of unscrambling and revealing charms on the wall, just in case." She held her wand in front of his face. "Nox." Not looking away from Draco, Holly tapped it on the stone. "Perambulo Zothecae." She tapped it again. "Unevelum." Tap. "Exponare." Tap. "Nosunyam Texere." Tap. "Tralatus." Tap--

"All right!" he exclaimed. "You've made your point very clear, Black."

Holly twirled her wand, eyes never leaving his, as she slipped it back inside her cloak pocket. They hobbled to the very front of the cave, where it was warmest, settling down but a foot from the cascade--where a little water gathered at the edge of the stone.

They sat in a hazy silence for a while--Holly analyzing the Quenya verse over and over to no product, just more confusion. She put herself in Hermione's shoes, and methodically examined her and Draco's situation thoroughly once over... and drew no new explanations or conclusions.

Then it happened all over. The tingling turned to prickling, the prickling into stabbing--Holly's spine stiffened as her mind opened up again. This time, before she could start commanding it out of her head, the invader spread swiftly.

Holly clutched onto the blanket in her hands tightly, as her vision blurred then vanished completely. She could feel her eyes were open, and could blink freely, yet Holly couldn't see a thing. The whole world was black. Holly turned her head this way and that, she strained and moved her eyes--and nothing changed.

She gasped to scream, but the knives at the base of her skull slipped out, her back bent, and her sight returned. The shriek ceased before it began, and Holly coughed instead.

All feeling flooded back to her, as though someone had stolen it away for trying on, and Holly looked into Draco's clouded, roan-greige eyes--and her own head felt so cluttered that she couldn't even comprehend the look of concern behind his emotional veil. His fingers were wrapped tightly around her upper-arms, and his face was an inch from hers: deadly serious. "Black," he said sharply, "what's going on?"

Holly began to stammer pointlessly, "I--I--"

"What, Black? C'mon, spit it out."

Her mouth opened and closed a few times, and the words didn't come out. Holly shook her head fervently, and finally managed to croak, "I don't know!"

Draco released her, and glanced once around the cave. He looked like he desperately needed to know the rest of the story, the details, but Holly could hear him grinding his teeth in attempts to remain silent.

She shut her eyes, which were left throbbing unpleasantly, and leaned her head against the stone. Holly managed to escape breathing loudly and heavily--though it seemed to strain her lungs and brain not to be taking in the oxygen her body demanded.

Her stomach grumbled hungrily: it had been a while since she and Draco split a roll... but if it was going to be some time before someone was sent to retrieve them, they had to eat sparingly. If having to hide behind a dead dragon leg to piss hadn't been bad enough...

Holly opened her eyes. Specks of spectrum light swam about her vision, bouncing from eyelid to eyelid without fading. "I think I'm going to go to sleep," Holly told Draco, not looking at him but staring forward, waiting for her dizziness to clear. It didn't.

"The best idea you've had so far, Black." She focused her eyes on Draco for a moment, but could scarcely see him.

Holly took off her scarf and folded it a couple times to make a makeshift pillow. She laid down on the hard stone after taking off her cloak to use it as a blanket, curling one foot over the other leg and trying to make believe that she was in a comfy bed inside her old, warm bedroom--wallpapered in ephemera. The snow fell peacefully outside of her window, making the leafless birches sparkle picturesquely in the illumination provided by the yard light. Sophie was downstairs, finishing what must have been her twentieth batch of cookies that day, and the rocking chair in the next room was squeaking as Richard rocked back and forth--finishing the chapter of whatever novel he was reading at the time. Holly was sleepy, however, because she'd woken up insanely early to wrap Christmas gifts, as Richard loved nothing more than being up at four in the morning and ruining surprises.

Holly snapped back to reality and felt points on her side already starting to ache. Draco was lying across from her, eyes open. Her febrile disequilibrium had subsided, but all the same, a fog seemed to have settled around her and Draco all of the sudden.

She wanted to question him about it, but if it was just another malfunction of her brain--Holly wasn't in the mood for answering inquiries about the strange, interloping habitue of her mind.

Instead, she affirmed, "You're breathing on my face."

"Roll over, then."

"You."

"You're the one who has a problem with me breathing on your face."

Holly started to blow, hard, at his nose. Inhale, blow.... Inhale, blow.... Inhale--

Draco made a noise. -blow. Inhale, blow... Inhale, "I could do this forever you know," blow. Grasping for straws, Holly forced a sneeze.

Draco groaned angrily and pitched himself the other way, mumbling something that sounded like "clucking itch" but, to Holly's reckoning, that wasn't what he said.

Holly tried sleeping with her head under the covers, but that felt suffocating. She curled into a ball, quilt tucked under her chin and arms hugging across her chest, but she shivered horribly. Though she was tired and her contacts seemed to be getting lumpy or something, Holly opened her eyes and continued to aggravate Draco. "I'm freezing my ass off."

"You could afford to lose it," he replied, lifting his head a little as he spoke. Holly glared daggers at his back. She tucked her side of the blanket beneath her and rolled away from him. "Hey--what the hell are you--? Ack!" He yanked the blanket back, propelling her a ways toward him. "What was that about?"

"I'm cold!" she whined loudly.

"Hug me, then! I don't care!"

Holly scoffed. "You're a horrible teddy!" She flipped a stray hair out of her face. "And you're too big."

"You're no smaller, Black. What are you, six foot, three?"

"Five, ten and a half," she grumbled.

"Exactly, if you had red hair one would mistake you as Weasley from behind. Tall, gangly, and sauntering--your hands hang down to your knees!"

"Not--really," Holly retorted, all thought of mental intruders escaping thought. "I'm not gangly and I don't saunter!"

Holly could sense Draco's pause as a chance to roll his eyes. "Black, first: you've got a nice pear-shape to you, but first year boys practically come no farther up than your hips. That's not right. You have the longest legs and arms in this school since Weasley. At least you can buy fitting--okay, I take that back--at least you can buy clothing."

Holly clenched the quilt tight in her fists. "Just because your family gets money from God knows where and by the truckloads doesn't mean that you have to turn your nose up at those who work and struggle to make the best of everything." She clamped her jaw shut tight for a moment and continued, "You have perfect capability to be a decent, down-to-earth person..."

Draco snorted. "Now I can die in peace," he said dryly.

"...but you can always, always judge a man--or in your case, a demonic blood-sucker--by who he classifies as the inferior second-class and how he treats them."

Draco's shoulders slumped. "Oh, shut up, you're polluting my soul..." he groaned.

"I'd rather spend a lifetime with the Weasleys than another fucking day with you!" Holly snapped.

He didn't say anything for a while, and eventually Holly was getting the feeling that what she had said had actually affected him. But suddenly Draco turned around, looked her in the face, and said, "You mean, you'd rather spend your lifetime with Ron than a day with me."

This would have been difficult to cope with, had she been torn between this piece of filth and Ron in an over-dramatic soap opera--but that was hardly the case. "I would," she said, narrowing her eyes.

He smirked--and the little pride that had sparked in Holly vanished. "Now that you've answered and been trapped into it--think about this. Twenty-four hours, a margin of which devoted to sleep, with me, or the rest of your life, until you're old and wrinkled, with Weasley. The--rest--of--your--life."

Holly chewed on the insides of her cheeks, and forced herself to stare him directly in the eyes. "I knew it," he said, as though she'd just spilled her ingredient of life all over his desktop. "I knew it!"

"You knew what? That I just don't like you?"

"No," drawled Draco, "that you're in love with Weasley." Holly glared. "Just say it..."

"I'm not!" she exclaimed. "I won't!"

"Mmm," he said, "you are."

"No," she replied darkly.

"You're bitter," he said, "one had to be the dumpee and the other the dumped--and you... were dumped!" Chirping, he echoed, "You're bitter!" Holly shook her head fervently, wrinkling her nose. "Obviously, he's recovered--"

"No one got dumped!" she lied, "We just... ended it!"

"Then why are you bitter? You either got dumped or you lied in agreeing that you wanted to end it... pick! Choose!" Holly hadn't seen Draco so excited since victory over Gryffindor in Quidditch. "And while you lie there goggling at me like you are, I'm going to continue. Second: you were right. You don't saunter. But you talk with your hands and sway drunkenly as you do it. Now, pick."

He waited in an expecting silence, and Holly couldn't think of how to answer. "Nothing--I--I'm not bitter."

"Yes," he enunciated, "you are. Choose."

She scowled and settled on, "Go to hell."

Draco leered at her. He whispered, "I've got paid tickets."

He turned over, a grinning air still hovering about him. Holly waited, curled into her furious little ball, feeling uncomfortable and angry. Finally she sat up, grabbed her scarf, and crawled on top of him. "Ooh--" he said lowly, gazing at her with a new sort of leer painted on his face, "an early acceptance of my five-day offer?"

She kept crawling, though, until she was the one close to the fire. "No." She kept her back to him as she set down her scarf, pulled more of the blanket over, and laid down. "And that was a request, not an offer." She shut her eyes and pulled the quilt over her shoulders.

"Bitter."

"Bastard."

Draco sniggered. "You know I'm right."

"Asshole."

He sighed, but in an amused way. "And you know you'd happily spend twenty-four hours with me before wedding Weasley."

Holly shut her eyes and curled one foot over her other leg. She said nothing, but knew that Draco was right. He was right about everything, and she hated him for it. Whether it was a lengthy explanation or a swift apothegm fillip to his assumption, Draco's guesses never strayed far from perfect fact. But, underneath it all, it was reality--finally knowing somebody could tell her more than what would let her down lightly, more than what she would want to hear.

*()%()*

Ron had jumped into his clothes and run out of the bedroom at top speed, Hermione on his tail. They had skidded to a halt in the sitting room where Amil-Galith, Forfiwen, Isaac, and Nyla were all grouped around Galórion and another white-haired herald Elf he hadn't seen before.

And the news hadn't been good.

"You didn't find them?" Ron repeated, feeling the blood drain from his face.

"I am very aggrieved, Ron Weasley," Galórion began, "We are gathering and setting out once more in only minutes."

The other Elf, cloaked in dusty sanguine, nodded. Then he asked, "Will Firenze be accompanying the party on the Minya Sírë? He operates well with Graphorns..."

Echoing, Ron gasped, "Graphorns?"

They ignoredm. "The fog is heavy about the Tatya Sírë," Galórion continued, "I require a lantern, Forfiwen." Forfiwen jumped up and hurried away, nodding. "Amil-Galith, you will be joining Firenze," he said, "fetch your bow." He turned to Nyla and Isaac. "Did either of you see young Istari wandering about?"

"No."

"I wouldn't be able to see them if they were five feet away in this forest."

Ron looked between the rusty-clad Elf, Nyla, Isaac, and Galórion before announcing, "I'm coming with you." They all ogled at him as though he'd just entered the room wearing women's clothing. "What, can't I do that?uo;

"I understand you are concerned about your friends," Galórion said, "but I fear there is no way you can be of assistance."

"Yes, we can!" Ron exclaimed. "We... we..." he looked angrily over at Hermione, "a little help?"

"I can help you, Galórion," she said softly.

Ron looked away. Sure, okay, you go ahead.

"I... I had a--a dream." Ron tuned back in. "I dreamt that Holly and Malfoy were in a cave of sorts." He looked at Hermione. She was wringing her hands, and as the neck of the bedgown Nyla had borrowed her slipped off her neck, she hurriedly pushed it back up. "A cave, b-behind a waterfall."

The Elf and Galórion exchanged dark looks. The other Elf looked dubiously at Hermione. "A dream?" he said. Hermione nodded. "In a cave?" She nodded again. "Are you sure?"

"I'm positive!"

Galórion began, "What if..."

"I Felya óh Quildë? 'Tis not possible, Galórion," the other Elf replied.

"You and I both know it is very possible, Cadrieldur."

"A dream is hardly reliable..."

"So you think, Cadrieldur," Galórion countered, "but we will check every inch of the forest if we must. And the fog was thick on the Tatya Sírë, thus the search was not thorough." Cadrieldur sighed and nodded, shutting his eyes. "We need to go. If they are trapped in I Felya óh Quildë, there is no time to waste." Galórion fastened the clasp on his cloak. "Forfiwen!" he called, "The lantern!"

"Hold on," Nyla piped up, "what's the... Ee--Feylo--ah--Quildie?"

"The Cave of Quiet," Cadrieldur replied shortly.

They hastened to leave. "What about us?" Ron asked loudly.

"You two should just stay here," Isaac suggested.

Galórion, who had gotten the lantern from Forfiwen and was about to leave, looked intently between Ron and Hermione. "Can you keep pace?"

"Yes!"

Cadrieldur opened his mouth to say something, but before he could Galórion bluntly told them that they could come if they didn't lag. Ron slipped barefooted (with an exception of the bandages) into his shoes, threw on his cloak, and readied himself to pull on his gloves and tie his scarf on the way.

They stepped out with many consoling words from all sides, and Ron shivered as the wintry night air swirled about him, digging right through his clothing and itching at his skin.

There were Elves, most of them wearing burgundy, rushing this way and that--blond hair whipping around behind them as they ran. Cadrieldur led them through the various halls of the Lord and Lady's palace, into a large, statue-filled chamber.

They wove around both the sculpted and real Elves to the front. Cadrieldur and Galórion fell to one knee in front of Amolas and Eowilindë. Ron and Hermione mimicked them immediately, but didn't seem to bow with quite as much elegance.

The Lord and Lady launched into a strictly Elvish conversation with Cadrieldur--throwing calculated looks at Hermione occasionally, seeming to hardly notice Ron standing there.

After what seemed an eternity, a male Elf that had been sent on an errand returned with two swirling, glass vials of mauve liquid. He, like Cadrieldur, was dressed in claret-colored garb. Half of his hair pulled back into an in-turned plait, he had an oddly young face and very golden hair.

The Elf handed the vials to Cadrieldur and inclined his head.

"You may depart, now," Amolas said, "and be swift."

The other Elf's dark eyes snapped up and gazed around. Desperately he asked, "May I join them, Lord?"

"No, Anendel," Amolas said sternly, "you may continue with preparing a bed for one of these Istar visitors."

Anendel's face saddened, but with a sharp look from Amolas he nodded. "Yes, my lord." He turned away with his shoulders slumping a little, and strode off.

Another Elf, named Sebring, joined the crew and Amil-Galith left through a side door. They set out, leaving the oddly warm chamber behind them and stepping into the stiff chill night.

Galórion, Cadrieldur, and Sebring moved with a speed Ron and Hermione couldn't match. With each long, swift stride Ron and Hermione fell half a pace behind. The Elves hurried over and around all the obstacles unhindered while they struggled behind. Cadrieldur seemed to be complaining loudly about their unsteady tempo--but Sebring remained silent.

Galórion would slow occasionally, turning and looking at them sideways--his sharp profile blurred in the darkness--and urging them to hurry.

They crossed two white bridges with curling railings and tromped through snow, brush, and were finally along the edge of one of the smooth tributaries.

It seemed to be a relatively straight course on this river, and occasionally there would be a small cascade that fell down a few feet onto the next part of the tributary.

Ron blinked feverishly trying to clear the blur from his eyes after they rounded a river bend. The further they walked, the more difficult it was for him to see. Finally the light of their wands and the Elves' lanterns seemed to be eaten away by the fog, and its icy blight seemed to be clinging to his skin.

A little glowing spot of illumination neared them, and when he was only a foot away Ron recognized Galórion's eyes--perse through the smog--gazing down at them. "Stay here," he said severely, then disappeared again.

Ron halted and itched at his chin. There was a din of Sebring, Cadrieldur, and Galórion's voices ahead, and Hermione, who hadn't spoken the entire time, entwined her fingers with Ron's and affirmed, "Something's wrong."

*()%()*

With every passing moment it grew colder--and wherever the Gytrash was bringing them, Harry didn't like it. He felt a bit stupid holding his scarf up to his nose, but his skin seemed to be growing stiff in the nipping air.

He rubbed his numbed ears with his hands and sighed. The creepy darkness and the even eerier illuminations had seemed to subside, and the quiet shapes moving at either side hardly troubled Harry anymore.

He was sick of it--he wanted a warm bed in his dormitory or a chair by the common room fire. There was nothing agreeable about the Forbidden Forest and its stupid trees and snow and creatures. There was nothing amusing about the Elves. If the damn things were human enough to bleed they would have come looking for them instead of leaving their treks to be unguided unless they came across a willing ghost dog.

What were the chances that any of the others were out of the forest right then?

Trying to imagine the warmth of sitting directly in front of the common room fire with a blanket did nothing but make him colder. Some instinct or another told Harry that beside him Ginny was probably freezing too, and there was no heat like body heat, but he did nothing.

Harry could imagine things much easier, however, and a quick flash of a nice little session in front of that common room fire flickered in his head before he realized there was no Cho Chang in this picture and drove the thought out double sharp.

He didn't look at Ginny for a long time afterward.

The Gytrash led them further and further--and Harry was anticipating running into a wall of thorns spanning the wood soon. They emerged alongside the river, where the waters were rushing madly like another human-inhabited canoe had started plowing down it.

The spirit kept walking toward it, and Harry tried telling it that he and Ginny couldn't wade through it without result. The Gytrash half-walked, half-floated to the edge of the bank and then stepped upward. It moved up in a gliding arc and stopped halfway, turning to look at them questioningly through its pearly eyes.

Ginny glanced up at Harry, then strode obediently forward. Tentatively she put out one foot over the waves slapping onto the bank, then brought her other foot up in a half-hearted jump.

Immediately, from where she stood, solid color panned out. Carved, twisting, and white--an odd stone bridge rippled from where Ginny's feet stood on it and arced over the river, nearly like a mirage. The Gytrash was standing atop it.

Ginny turned and smiled a little at Harry, and despite the fact that her lips looked very blue and she seemed to be shivering down to the tips of her tangled hair, his stomach churned strangely.

Quit it!

Harry jolted walked forward, following Ginny over the stone bridge.

The Gytrash led them into the wood again, and they cut their path absolutely straight. Ginny handed Harry a roll and said that someone could probably hear his stomach growling if they were on opposite ends of a Quidditch pitch. He nibbled at it, trying his hardest to make it last, as they hiked on through the wood.

Harry had only just finished off his roll when the Gytrash stopped. It lifted its head and sniffed then took a several slow, circumspect steps forward. The dog yelped loudly and fell a few strides backward before sprinting away top speed.

Harry and Ginny went after it, but before they could catch a second glimpse of the Gytrash it was gone.

"Thanks a lot," Harry muttered angrily, glaring in the direction where the ghost had disappeared.

"Um... Harry?"

"What?"

Ginny pointed at their feet. They were standing at the edge of a very narrow path--devoid of snow. "Oh." Harry looked to his left, to see nothing but the trail disappearing in the darkness. But to the right, there was bright, trembling light.

"Which way should--"

Harry grabbed Ginny by the arm and hurried backward, off the path. "Shh! Shh!"

But she had already spotted the nearing light, and had stopped speaking. They ducked down behind a very large fallen log, knees deep in the snow, crammed shoulder-to-shoulder.

Ginny slowly raised herself and peered over the log. Her eyes widened, and she ducked back down. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and looked at Harry excitedly. "Elves!" she whispered jovially, "They're Elves!"

*()%()*

Holly's eyes flickered open. It took her a moment to remember where she was and why she was there--then it occurred to her that the fire had gone out. That's odd, she thought. But as she reached for her wand, she gasped.

It felt like the surface of her skin was breaking--crunching and cracking like thin ice. Her mouth fell open, and Holly felt the veil over her skin shatter.

With each movement, her newly brittle flesh cracked and splintered, shooting thin, vein-like courses of pain rippling along her skin.

When Holly had successfully sat up, her cloak and quilt fell off of her shoulders and the little warmth she'd been provided with fell away. Hastily she laid back down and pulled the blanket back up to her chin. Holly fished out her wand and stuck it out of the blanket. "Incendio."

Nothing happened.

"Not this again... Incendio!" It didn't even give her the courtesy of seeing the flames before they were sucked away. "Incendio!"

Holly turned over and grabbed Draco's shoulder. "Malfoy!" she hissed, shaking him. He was a quiet sleeper, with an inert, reserved face. Slack with slumber, and though lacking a lot of its menace, something about Draco's face made it seem like his sleep was troubled. She hated to do it, but... "Malfoy, wake up! MALFOY!"

Draco's eyes snapped open--striated smoky irises blurred and confused for a moment. "Malfoy," Holly said evenly, "things are getting screwy."

Draco opened his mouth with a cracking noise. His eyes widened to the size of Galleons, and as his hand shot up to touch his jaw with an additional series of crunches they began to bug out. It was a little funny, she had to admit, as Draco shifted and flinched, his skin breaking all the way. Nothing appeared to be happening to his flesh, Holly saw, but the quiet sounds remained the same--and the same fleeting pains seemed to be affecting him also.

"My Incendio-ing isn't working, my skin is freezing, and it's all foggy and--"

Distantly Holly felt all her muscles tense and her bones stiffen as she bolted upward. It felt as though her entire skull was being penetrated by needles--one by one--but her sight had already gone. She shut her eyes tight as the pain grew... the pins and needles seemed to be taking from her mind and giving something else to it.

She pitched and turned, then started to scream.

And it surceased. Holly was lying flat on her back, one knee bent, looking up at the ceiling and breathing as though she'd been drowning. Draco's face appeared over hers, eyebrows knotted.

"Black, what the hell's going on?"

She didn't know what to do--it felt like her larynx had been filled with water. Holly shook her head in answer. Draco's face vanished for a moment, and then he reappeared with her quilt. "C'mere," he said, slipping his hands beneath her arms and pulling her into a sitting position.

He wrapped the blanket around them and steadied her unnecessarily. Swiftly tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, Draco looked intently at Holly. Everything was slowing down, her thoughts and reactions, and she didn't understand all of what was going on for a while.

He stared hard into her eyes for a moment, searching for something within them. Holly didn't know what was going on, she was biting her lower lip and shaking all over--sweat was breaking out over her forehead, though she was freezing. Realization was spreading somewhere in her subconscious, but before her thoughts were sorted out, she wasn't permitted to hear them.

As her pounding heartbeat slowed and the shaking receded a bit, Draco moved his head a little to either side as though to check each eye more thoroughly. She was about to ask him what he was doing when he flatly questioned, "Are you being possessed or something?"

He didn't look like he was serious, but a hand seemed to clutch over Holly's voice box as her memory went into action.

"Now I'm just going to do a little spot-check, Miss Black," Madam Pomfrey said, drawing her wand, "You were pretty full of jinxes, Remus said."

..."One more, curse-check, Holly," said Lupin soothingly, "then I'll be going."

..."You were chock-full of spells!" Ron told her unsympathetically, awarding himself a glare from Harry, "You were coughing up black sparks and everything--You-Know-Who had every possible plan in mind. You were quite the instrument for his plans, I guess. Sure hope Professor Lupin got rid of them all..."

"Of course he did!" Harry snapped. Ron shrugged.

Holly tried and failed to choke back a small sob, and Draco's expression sobered. "Oh gods..."

He stared around for a moment, seeking some sort of assistance from the cave. "Okay, er, you just lie here--" Holly shook her head vehemently, trying to put up a mental barricade against crying.

"No, no, no!" she whispered, not to Draco.

"Just lie down, c'mon." Draco wrapped his cold fingers around her arms and lightly guided her down, and for some reason she let him. He pushed his scarf under her head and draped her with her cloak, then adjusted the blanket around her. "You don't need to sleep--you shouldn't sleep. Merlin, I don't know." He crawled away.

Holly shook and shivered--teeth starting to chatter. She was both cold and terrified, and the steady drip of the water from the ceiling and the rush of the cascade seemed to have been absorbed by the cloud of fog that had been settling down lower and lower.

None of this could possibly be happening. Not now. Not ever.

Draco crawled back and tried casting a few flames around to no success. He cursed, and soon the blanket lifted a bit behind her as Draco settled down there. Only seconds later he said, "I'm freezing--we're going to spoon and that's the end of it, I need you alive in five days."

A reluctant smile threatened to cross Holly's face as he said this and she felt Draco align his body with hers. If he wanted to inhale her hair all night, that was his problem.

She could feel him shivering, too, and when he draped on arm over her waist and held her tight against him Holly didn't have the strength or the will power to move and push it off of her.

She drifted into fitful sleep; her troubled thoughts and deepened fears developing into vague nightmares without her notice. It wasn't long before a sound pulled her out of her heightening unconsciousness and her eyes snapped open.

Footsteps, speaking.

She tried to sit up, but her entire body had seemed to go stiff... like her bones had frozen in place. Holly turned her head with an ominous crack, and saw tall figures moving around against the background of the moonlit cascade.

One face neared hers, and she tried to flinch back to no success. It seemed to be surrounded by an angelic, golden glow, fair hair braided away from its transcendent features. Sapphire-blue eyes locked on hers, she felt herself being lifted from the ground.

Holly wanted to say something--anything--but no words would come out. "Ta ná ilya vanima," he said, sweet voice lifting troubles from her. "It is all right," he had told her. Holly tried to nod, but nothing happened, and she tried to reply, but she'd become incommunicado.

She just saw Draco being lifted from the ground by a silvery-haired Elf, and managed to smile before a vial was touched to her lips and her head was bent back.

The warm liquid was sugary, and she could feel it go all the way down. And in a moment, Holly was becoming steadily mor limp and immobile before she became drowsy and everything around her went blacker than the night.

*()%()*

Galórion, Sebring, and Cadrieldur emerged through the smog. A half-dose of relief seized Hermione when she saw that Galórion and Sebring were carrying Holly and Draco.

But as they drew closer, the relief started to pull away. Holly and Draco were both completely limp in the arms of the Elves--whiter than parchment, blue-lipped, with darkened eyelids.

Instinctively, Hermione reached out and touched Holly's face. Her skin was colder than the night air, and tough. "Are they--are they--"

"They are fine," Galórion said soothingly. She looked back down at Holly, who was draped over his arms and hanging a little stiffly, head limp. He had her bag on one shoulder, a Slytherin scarf in one hand, and Holly's cloak was draped over her like a blanket. Sebring was carrying a similarly positioned Draco, and had a patchwork quilt and a Gryffindor scarf slung over his shoulder.

"We must find the path," Sebring said, "Or they won't be 'fine' for long."

Ron clutched Hermione's hand a little tighter in his and they followed at a run as Cadrieldur, Sebring, and Galórion doubled their speed through the forest.

*()%()*

Harry raised his head above the log and so did Ginny--and he saw it. All along Harry had been planning on meeting little, fairy-like creatures with pointy hats and shoes when he ran into an Elf, but this was nothing like that.

Cloaked in red, it had long silver hair and visibly pointed ears. The Elf gave off some sort of amber light in the dark forest--like an angel lost somewhere far from where it belonged. He had a stern, mperious face, fair and ageless. He turned back with requisite ease and said, "Hinat ná lá lúmë--lelya! Carin ormë!"

Two other Elves appeared around the bend, lanterns swinging from their hands. They both held limp bodies across their arms. One with silvery blond hair--and Harry thought it was another Elf until the one holding it passed--it was Malfoy. The next Elf, in green, ran gracefully past them--holding Holly.

Harry made to get up and run forward, but Ginny grabbed him and yanked him back to the ground. "Don't!"

He raised his eyes over the log again, face heating with impatience, and looked ate the burgundy-clad Elf stood. It was still facing the other way. "Come, young ones!" he exclaimed clearly, "Make haste!"

And into view came Ron and Hermione--both flushed and panting. "We're sorry, sir," Ron gasped, "but you run so fast..."

The Elf continued at a slow walk. "Your companions will be tended to immediately," he said. Harry and Ginny exhaled simultaneously. "But, if I may ask, do you know the ones behind the log?"