Harry Potter and His New Standards

A/N:

For avid Tolkien-goers, I apologize for my weak use of Quenya. It all sounds like a gobbled Babel Fish translation to those of you whom have mastered it, and for the most part--that's, er, what it is.

In addition, you might be questioning what race of Elves we're dealing with here. If you pay attention, you find a combination between the Fair Elves (Light-elves or Vainer) with their light hair; the Green-elves with their camouflaged garb; the Grey-elves (Ethel, Elves of the Twilight, or Sindar) who remained in Beleriand after the rest of the Teleri took off and/or the Noodle that returned to Beleriand; and the Wood-elves (Silvan elves or Tawarwaith, and yes--those of you who know and love him--Legolas was one of the Silvan, or he referred to himself as one, and more specifically--a Wood-Elf of Mirkwood) who took to the forests.

In HNS, however, I've divided the Elves into four very broad groups based on word origin and season. There are the Autumpne Elves (which like are those of the Forbidden Forest), the Ghyem Elves (Eowilindë is one, and I'd say they live in the mountains), the Wesr Elves, and the Sem Elves (either of these residing near the sea or in a forest).

These words aren't Quenya, mind you, which might make the groups even less broad--as the Elves divide the beginning and ending of all seasons as if they were separate. For example, Holly and Hermione both have autumn birthdays--but Hermione was born during Yávië, and Holly was born just after the Lasselanta--and there's a whole separate time of autumn for October. I considered having Elf-races separated by month, but that, too, would complicate things later on.

If you pick up Quenya terms thrown into phrases, all of them are translated in the post-fic A/N except for two excerpts of Eowilindë's. It will be translated later--much later.

Scattered about the chapter are vague references to the lyrics of Enya's "May It Be."

*()%()*

Chapter 31: Geol

True friendship is a plant of slow growth, and must undergo and withstand the shocks of adversity before it is entitled to the appellation.

*()%()*

Copper light danced across her eyelids. Consciousness was pulling at her, and the light became steadily more effulgent. As she began to regain her senses one by one, Holly detected that she was in an unfamiliar place. She cracked one eye open.

Holly peered through her eyelashes, seeing nothing but a blazing haze. She shut her eye again and rolled over, sinking deep into the warm, feathery bed.

She attempted throwing her pillow over her head to block the beastly light and allow herself more slumber. The round, patterned, fringed thing was certainly not the same texture of her pillowcase or in the shape of her pillow. Her mind started clicking, and it took a moment for her to comprehend that being in a strange, unknown place was not a beneficial thing.

There was a quiet rustle nearby.

Reflexively, Holly sat bolt upright, pillow sailing into the air and toppling off the edge of the bed. The firelight light flooded her vision.

As soon as the superfluity of illumination had dimmed and ebbed away, Holly blinked several times to clear what she thought was a mirage.

She sat on a wide featherbed in the center of a small rotunda-like room. Outside four arching windows was bleak gray--the early morning quieting the beauty of a nearby tree in extant autumn.

All the walls were of pale glyptic wood, carved with curving lines that seemed to resemble the most picturesque and aesthetic of forests, cut by etched circles of symbols.

Holly ran her hand along the beige coverlet, embroidered with amber thread. She noticed that she wasn't wearing her own clothing--she was dressed in a plain, pale gown. The fabric was thick and creamy on her skin, which felt rough beneath it. The collar was cut in a wide V that left her collarbone exposed and chilled.

She closed her eyes and thought hard, trying to piece together her fragmented thoughts. Holly attempted to recall what she last remembered, what happened before she fell asleep.

Then it all hit her as sudden as running smack into a Quidditch ring at full speed on a quality racing broom (which she had, of course, never done). Her vision and comprehension was swamped with details that she had yet to apprehend. The exact design of those trees, the patterns knitted into the bedspread, the way the stones were arranged on the floor. Holly's eyes darted to the chairs sitting around the room, Tengwar initials carved into the armrest of each of them.

She swung her legs off the bed, and let her bare feet touch the tiled stones. Standing upright abruptly, her toes curled in attempts to keep the soles of her feet away from the cold floor as contradicting warmth eddied about her like a changing breeze. Holly peered one way and then the next, trying to spot the invisible magic of the Elves that coated her in heat.

"I have alerted the Lady of your awakening."

Holly jolted, nerves on end, and turned a fast circle to face the entrance. She hastily blew a stray lock of hair out of her eyes and ogled at the figure framed in the doorway.

A very blond Elf, cloaked in sleek burgundy, stood tall and poised there, gazing at her through intent brown eyes.

"Meanwhile," he continued professionally, "I am ordered to suggest you collect more sleep."

After considering that statement for a junction, Holly opened her mouth to say something. It hung dumbly agape for a moment before she shut it.

"Come," he said. The Elf strode silently across the room to her bed, pulling back the covers and gingerly setting the pillow back at the head of the mattress.

Holly hesitantly walked toward him, eyes the size of dinner plates, her feet numb on the cold floor. The Elf turned and looked down at her. She tipped her head back to look him in the face.

Like some serene, unnamed god, the Elf had the look of something absolutely untouched by the world outside of this little room. She gazed blankly at him, seeing herself reflected in his clear, mahogany eyes.

Gaze darting over his pointed ears and long, goldenrod hair, Holly pinched the outside of her thumb to check whether she was awake.

"You need rest," he told her. She blinked, looking down, escaping her trance.

"But..." She blinked a wrinkle out of one of her contacts. She'd worn them well over their limit. "Okay, I forgot what I was going to say."

The Elf put his long hands on her shoulders, palms imprinting the skin there with new warmth, and gently guided her down onto the bed. "I have orders," he affirmed quietly.

Holly sat down and craned her neck to look up at him again. She had this entire first greeting planned and rehearsed, but upon finally being in the presence of an Elf, it left her completely. "But, you see," she said, "you have orders to suggest I get rest, so basically there's no force behind your words because it's been transferred..." Holly broke off, narrowing her eyes. "Okay, never mind."

The Elf took a step backward and regarded her carefully. "Are you well?"

Holly rubbed her forehead and flipped her legs up onto the bed. "Yeah, I'm cool."

The Elf reached down and adjusted the pillow behind her. Holly slowly leaned back, feeling the rumble in her stomach and the ache in her muscles being feebly alleviated by the tepid featherbed.

She shut her eyes, feeling that her first meeting with an Elf, which had been rehearsed and redacted in her mind, went not near as well as she'd hoped it would. Abruptly, Holly propped herself up onto one elbow and forced her lids open again.

The Elf was holding the edges of the blankets betwixt the tips of his long, sculptured fingers. He looked questioningly at her, frozen in place.

Holly balanced herself on her other elbow. "What's your name?" she asked him, as politely as she could.

He watched her with those steady amber eyes that seemed to read past her own irises and into some space behind them. "Anendel Lindo."

"Anendel?" Holly repeated, the sweet elvish name echoing about her head. He bowed his head with proper altruism. "What do you do, Anendel?"

"What is it you imply?" Anendel returned slowly, brow furrowed.

Holly faltered, "Where do you--how do you--I--what...." She wrinkled her nose. Anendel's stoical expression faltered a little. Holly pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes and said, "I'll interrogate you later," pointing at him with an index finger.

"Rest now," he said, steering her downward onto her back once more.

"Hey, Anendel?"

"Yes?"

Holly turned onto her side, peering at him. "Are my friends around?"

Anendel crouched down next to her bed, and Holly looked at him. She had a vague feeling that if she fell asleep, he, and everything around them, would disappear and she would awaken in that freezing cave, beside Draco.

"Yes," Anendel said, "they are all sound." Holly sighed and grinned. "Sleep now, or I will have to attempt bewitching you, and I assure you that, in my case, that could go horribly astray."

"Why--"

Anendel put a finger to his lips then touched a middle and forefinger beneath either of her eyes. The pressure was soothing and thermic, and Holly's eyelids drooped.

*()%()*

Belebridien curtly nodded, in unwilling propriety and little respect. Harry glanced at her fair, blushed face surrounded by her argentine hair for a moment. Belebridien, like the majority of the Elves he'd seen thus far, had the look of an ancient mythical woman--flawlessly preserved and rejuvenated while keeping the air of unmatched wisdom pocketed somewhere deep in her eyes. He lowered his head slowly and she watched him with definite superiority as he ducked into the pavilion.

After Cadrieldur, a double-acting soldier and servant of the Lord and Lady, had mentioned Harry and Ginny's presence to Hermione and Ron, the latter two had rushed to the log where they'd been hiding. Unimpeded, Ron swept his sister into his arms, which led to some struggling on Ginny's part ("Ron... okay, Ron, let go... Ron...") and Hermione threw her arms around Harry's neck for a moment ("Oh, thank goodness!") before dragging him with a strict arm through the snow and onto the path.

Cadrieldur led them through the wood to a clearing, where stood a tall gate, designed much similar to the bridge that the Gytrash had led Harry and Ginny across earlier. The elvish village of the Forbidden Forest was gorgeous, even in the frigid dark of night. The sculptures, gazeboes, and occasional cabin all tied in around the golden trees and arranged stones. Holly and Draco were already gone.

Cadrieldur had brought them to Amolas and Eowilindë, the presiding royals of the village. Life in their place was considerably better than that of the rest of the Elves--who seemed to lead normal lives in a manner of cabins and huts made with a number of different materials, but all overgrown with ivy. They had a system of beautiful corridors and rotundas that branched out and seemed to take up the most space in the dwelling than anything else.

There was much Elvish spoken then, and Harry had shut his eyes for a moment, trying to seek words similar to their English equivalent in their flowing tongue. He didn't, however, and reverted back to worrying about Holly.

Two maids had come upon Eowilindë's call--all legs, burgundy robes, pointy ears, and platinum locks. "They will stay in the teltacoa," she said clearly. "Lead them there."

Harry had only caught a split-second glance of the Lady's strange, hyacinthine eyes before he and Ginny were ushered away, leaving the Elves and Hermione and Ron in the hall. Her gaze shot a chill into the region of his throat, and from there it spread to the tips of his fingers and toes. Eowilindë's piercing eyes were clouded to the shade of the eyes belonging to one who is blind--but instead of holding the appearance of imperspicuous watching, they saw deeper than any eyes Harry had ever come to watch. They saw not only his deepest secret, they had seen his core, his past, and his future.

He tore his eyes away from hers, feeling much like the subject to a Veritaserum testing.

The Elven servants led them to a small (but impressive) white pavilion. There were two canopied beds, two chairs, two folding dividers, and two mirrors. A curtain drawn over to one side of the tent that was tied to a coat stand of sorts divided it into two rooms.

One maid had handed him what looked distinctly like a long, blue dress and told him to change. It took quite some time to convince her that he'd be just fine in what he was wearing.

Upon being offered a similar clothing change, Ginny disappeared behind one folding screen and had come out moments later wearing a green gown that seemed to be figuring out how to fit her itself. It was very long on her and it gathered in velvety folds at her feet. Nevertheless, she picked up the hem of the dress and smiled contently.

Hermione and Ron had appeared in the doorway moments after the two Elven maids were attempting to conduct Harry and Ginny into either of the beds. They'd left them then, however, commanding them to remain in the pavilion until further notified.

They had grouped together on Ginny's bed, and burst into the explanations of what happened from the moment they all climbed into the canoes, onward. Being presented with more problems helped distract Harry--a Puck bent on punishing Ron for the scorning of a maiden, a second outlook on the Malumi, and a vague explanation of Holly and Draco's pale faces and limp forms.

Galórion, the Elf that Hermione and Ron had stumbled upon, arrived and took them away. He told Ginny and Harry that another of the Lord and Lady's servants would be right with them. Soon enough, they were each forced into the separate beds, and with a few reassuring words the servant disappeared.

Ginny and Harry's conversation had started strong, then slowly died out until Ginny was asleep. Harry turned on his back then, and spent most of that night tossing and turning.

Harry hadn't been able to visit Holly until the morning, and he'd spent a long time in that room (rarely speaking to Anendel, the young servant at her bedside) and had watched her grow steadily less blue, but never shift in her slumber. He'd left, nearly losing himself in the elvish palace, to check back with Ginny.

Ginny was sitting on the bed she had slept in, folds of the verdurous dress surrounding her legs like a blanket. Hermione sat at the end of the bed, wearing a thin rosy frock that was the equivalent of an elvish nightshirt beneath her cloak. Ron, in a chair beside the bed, looked extremely uncomfortable in a flimsy shirt exploiting a constellation of typically hidden freckles, long ecru trousers, and his own shoes and cloak.

"How are they?" asked Hermione as the pavilion flaps fell shut behind Harry.

"Well," he responded, crossing the room to retrieve the other chair, "Holly is asleep, but less asleep than before." She raised her eyebrows. "Anendel had just delivered news that she awoke not long ago. I wasn't there until she'd dozed off again."

Ginny questioned, "How was she, then?"

"Um," Harry said, sitting down in the chair, "she had a natural skin color. A little confused. She seemed to have the gist of where she was, in general."

"But?" prompted Ron.

"But," he continued, "she was put back to sleep before she could put the final pieces together. She asked about us, though."

"That's good," said Ginny hesitantly.

Hermione crossed her legs into a pretzel shape and arranged the frock around her. "And Malfoy?"

"Didn't ask," Harry stated shortly, glancing over at Ron. He expected a sudden outburst from Hermione, but she shrugged.

"All right," she accorded nonchalantly.

"Anyway," Ginny said, clearly picking up on a story that she'd broken for Harry's reentry, "there were flowers everywhere, and I figured I could pick one..."

She was recounting the dream she had before the Gytrashes arrived. Ginny had told Harry the same thing before she had fallen asleep, and he couldn't make anything of it.

"It was so vivid, it has to mean something," Ginny protested when Hermione looked a second away from rolling her eyes after she'd finished narrating her vision. "It sticks out to me like it really happened."

"It just sounds like the prologue to a bad mid-80's horror film," Hermione replied. "You were just dreaming bits and pieces of things on your mind."

"Wildflowers, barren land, and the Dark Mark--I know, I can't even stray away from the basics of life in my sleep," said Ginny. Her mark of sarcasm was always offhand and slightly innocent--not so corrosive as those of many.

Hermione didn't seem at all perturbed by the quiet satire. She told her, "It was just a nightmare, Ginny. Those are always vivid."

"But not like that!" she hissed. "It was like... it was..." Ginny shook her head and mumbled, "never mind."

"Don't worry about it, Ginny," Hermione said, reaching over and patting her knee. Ron shifted a little in his chair. "I haven't had any strange dreams, myself. How about you two?"

Harry opened his mouth to say that his scattered slumber had been devoid of any sort of dream, but Ron quickly dissented, "But, Herm'--" Hermione flinched, "--you dreamt about Holly and Malfoy in the cave, remember?"

"Oh," she said. Hermione sounded cursory--but had said it so hurriedly that Harry felt a spark of suspicion. "Yes, I forgot."

"So, start at the beginning," Ginny commanded, "let's unravel this thing."

Hermione and Ron exchanged glances. "You tell them," Hermione said, "I'll fill in when necessary."

Ron slouched a bit in the chair, fixing his cloak around him. "I'll do my best at short-handing this," he told them. "We were steered down our tributary, which had the tendency to turn us in circles at intervals."

"--It's clearly controlled by extremely strong Elf-magic," Hermione input, looking earnestly at Harry.

"Yeah," concurred Ron, glancing in Hermione's direction, "then we ran into a wall of thorns the size of the front wall of Gringotts that just wouldn't budge."

Hermione nodded fervently, "None of my spells, not even a Reductor Curse, would go through it--more Elvish tricks, clearly."

"Uh-huh, and so we headed downriver," Ron continued in a matter-of-fact tone, "Then we ran into this nasty little fairy dressed in ten shades of red..."

"It was a Puck, Ron," interjected Hermione, closing her eyes in exasperation. "And his name was Sufree," she added for Harry and Ginny's benefit.

"Fairy, pixie, Puck, same difference," Ron grumbled. "Anyway, this mad little fairy says he's been searching for us for the Elf queen because she knows we're around--"

"--For the Lady, he called her--"

Ron stared irefully at his companion for a long junction. "Damn it, you tell the story!" he cried, defeated.

"Fine, I will," Hermione replied in decorum, sitting up. "Sufree accuses Ron of scorning a loving maiden or some such nonsense, plays a little tune on his piccolo, and flies off, with a cackle rivaling Peeves'. From then on the Puck incessantly pranks us... in a rather violent way..."

She continued to rattle off a long list of attackers, which they had heard before, from forest trolls to Lamiae, pixies to Pogrebins. From there they found Galórion, who led them to safe harbor in the Elf village.

There had been a lot going on in the elvish community when Hermione and Ron arrived--they were troubled with everything from escaping Malumi to run-about humans. They met several Elves, and two local werewolves.

"Did anything happen after you went back to Galórion's cottage last night?" Ginny inquired.

Hermione knitted her brows for a second, rubbing her palms together in slow circles. "I don't think so." She paused, glancing at Ron for support, who shrugged. "Forfiwen, that's Galórion's wife, just ushered us to bed. But... Nyla, Isaac, Forfiwen, and Galórion were talking in the sitting room still when I fell asleep." She pursed her lips. "Ron, do you remember anything happening?"

"Amil-Galith was still gone," Ron said, "I wasn't awake when he came back--were you?"

Hermione shook her head.

"He left," Ron recollected, "he left through a different door when Galórion brought us to the cave."

Suddenly, Hermione hissed, "I remember!" Ron raised his eyebrows. "Galórion told Amil-Galith that he was going with Firenze to where all the Graphorns were. He told him to get his bow..."

Bethinking, Harry guessed that Amil-Galith was Galórion's son.

"Was he there this morning, Hermione?" Ron asked, squinting.

"...I don't think he was..."

"Wait a second," Ginny piped in, "what about Graphorns?"

Hermione explained that while searching the forest, a group of Elves had run into Graphorns on one tributary and had to turn back. ("That must have been where we were!" exclaimed Ginny.) And Amil-Galith had joined Firenze's group, apparently, to search the river.

"They must've gotten word of Harry and Ginny's return by now, though, right?" said Ron, sitting forward in the rocking chair.

Hermione affirmed, "One would think so."

"The village would be going mad if they hadn't come back on schedule," Ron stated, "So they had to have returned."

"Right," Harry agreed.

"It's only logical that they did," Hermione concurred with a very small smile.

This solution seemed to suffice for the group for a moment, before Ginny timidly pointed out the obvious. "But," she attempted, "if they did come back--where's Galórion's son now?"

A thoughtful silence overhung the inhabitants of the pavilion then, and Harry bit on his fingernails. "Searching for the Malumi again," he supposed.

Ginny nodded, and sighed. Harry looked at her, and noticed the manner in which she scrunched up her shoulders. He glanced over at Ron, then looked back to Ginny. When was she going to tell him? About Tom, about the Malumi... about anything?

"Well, if they aren't back by now..." Ron said in solicitous outset.

Hermione cast a look around, "By the looks of it, their search isn't going well."

*()%()*

Holly yawned widely and turned over. The buttery dress she was wearing drooped off one of her shoulders, and exposed it to the mild chill of the rotunda. Under the blankets she could feel herself sweating, and as her shoulder grew accustomed to the coryza she threw the rest of the coverlets off and bent her knees.

It was only a second or two before she felt the bedclothes being tenderly pulled back over her body. She raised her arm and swiped her hand about somnolently. She hit what felt like an arm, then the blankets were pulled to the foot of the bed once more.

"Apologies," Anendel muttered.

Immediately, Holly opened one eye and looked sideways with it just in time to see a bit of fulvous hair pull away from the bed. She rolled onto her other side, unseaming both sleepy eyes, to see Anendel settling himself down in the rocking chair at her bedside.

"Hey-ya, Anendel," she greeted him, smiling.

The Elf looked up at her, eyebrows arched. "Vedui."

Jump in with the Quenya!, she told herself. "Vedui," she replied, and buzzing her brain, continued, "Manen nar elyë?"

"Ni ná mára," he told her, "Elyë?"

"Serinel," she affirmed.

"Velicë." Anendel smiled courteously.

"So..." she said, "can I get up now?"

Anendel cast his eyes to a large clock on the wall, which seemed to dictate the position of the sun over the earth rather than the exact time. It appeared to be midmorning. Under most occasions, Holly wouldn't be conscious at such an hour when the opportunity to sleep in presented itself, but she needed to savor every second spent with the Elves.

Considerately he stated, "I surmise you could."

"Hantalyë," Holly thanked him, slowly sitting up and swinging her legs over the bed.

But as she straightened herself up, she felt something warm and heavy drop down her gown and rest against her naval. She pulled her wide collar forward and peered beneath the fabric. "S'cuse me," she said to Anendel. Holly got to her feet, stretched the dress away from her midriff and shook about in what promised to be a very uncoordinated and uncomely hula.

She stopped upon hearing it hit the floor.

Holly took a step sideways, bent down, and picked up her Charm. Either end of the broken chain hung off the sides of her palm as the murky amethyst gem winked up at her. Holly looked up at Anendel, who was ogling at her like he'd never seen such a strange species.

She took a step toward him, holding out her necklace. "This is what I came for," she said, closing the Charm in her hand and turning it over. With one silent stride Anendel was near enough for Holly to drop the Cretionis Charm in his hand.

He lifted it to his eyes and examined it with knitted eyebrows. "To have your chain repaired?"

"No," she groaned, "it's a Cretionis Charm. I need it Dedicated."

Anendel's eyes locked on hers, and he gently shook his head to show that he didn't understand.

"A Cretionis Charm," she enunciated, "it has powers that were sucked out of it when I touched it--I need them back in it."

Anendel peered between the gem and Holly, and still looked clueless. "I will ask the elder servants..." he said slowly, nodding with reluctant subjugation. Holly smiled weakly, and the Elf tucked the chain inside of his palm and shut his fingers over her Charm.

"Hantalyë," she said again.

The Elf politely inclined his golden head, and the next second he had disappeared through the door without a sound.

Holly crossed her arms and looked around the room, tracing languid zigzags on the floor with her toe. It was a gorgeous rotunda, the gray morning sunlight that had now appeared turning it into a godly dome of beauty. A forgotten sound came from outside the windows--the rustling of leaves.

Holly walked to the tall window and leaned out. The cloistered Elvish enclave was just how she imagined it--golden-leafed trees dotting the flat ground, small gazeboes covered in ivy dotted about along with the cabins of other Elves and white stone statues that had never been chafed. The very idea of the time the village had seen was unattainable. Everything was grandly festooned by nature's hand. She grinned and took a step backward, back into the rotunda.

Her backpack sat against a table on the other side of the room, and her wand was resting near it. She was just about to reach for it when a voice sounded from behind her.

"The Lady sends a meal."

Holly jumped slightly and turned her head to look over her shoulder. A slim female Elf stood just inside the pointed doorway, snow-white hair pulled back into a waist-length plait. She had a haughty air about the way she gazed down at Holly that Anendel did not--like she had discredited the Elf in some way.

The Elf corralled Holly into the rocking chair Anendel had sat in earlier and sat the round platter down on the floor at her feet. It was covered in food--it didn't look foreign, and yet every miniature loaf of bread was shaped and imprinted with a twisting emblem, every entrée presented with gourmet-like scrupulousness.

While Holly timidly tested her breakfast, the Elf strode around the bed, adjusting the blankets and tucking them beneath the round pillows with a timely grace. When she had finished titivating the bedclothes, the Elf watched Holly imperiously until she'd chewed and swallowed all of the food her stomach could hold.

It wasn't a very difficult task, however. The bread was soft and warm, the berries cool and a little tart, and the... well, it looked like porridge... smooth and sweet. She drank down the rest of the water and the Elf took back the tray and all her leftovers.

"Hantalyë," she called after the Elf, scrambling to her feet to poke her head out the door when she strode away.

Holly watched her argentine hair disappear. She leaned against the inside of the doorway.

The door into Holly's rotunda connected to an empty edifice with a very high roof. The floor was tiled with polished sanguine-tinted rocks, sanded into flat squares and fitted tightly together. The Elvish servant had just disappeared down a set of four stone steps and into a nearby building, through a carved oak door.

Opposite the squat stairway was a wide ogive doorway providing a view into another chamber with a high ceiling. In the center of the room was a white bathtub with no faucet or drain to speak of. Against the far wall were two albescent cabinets that were easily two feet taller than her, standing side by side. A dividing screen stood near the bathtub in front of the fireplace, and unlit lanterns and black-wicked candles on high stands sat all along the walls of the room.

Antipodal of Holly was a rotunda identical to her own. She hummed a tune as she strode across the edifice to get a closer look at the room. It was arranged just as the one she had slept in was, but that wasn't what intrigued her.

A polished blond head stuck out from the bedding; the hair tousled but familiar.

Holly stepped into the room, and sensed movement as the Elf who was watching after Draco lifted her head. "Vedui," she greeted the Elf, smiling a little.

"Vedui," the Elf replied slowly. She watched her with intense sage eyes for a juncture before bowing her head and looking vapidly at her knees again.

Holly took this as an okay to move forward, and she did so. She crossed her left leg behind the right and lowered herself to the floor at his bedside.

Draco's features were slack in a deep slumber, his bottom lip drooping a bit from his upper lip. He looked so naive and peaceful that nothing about Draco held the air of his haughty, acrimonious Malfoy name.

Holly recalled how he looked while he slept the night before, the slight furrowing of his brow and his closed lips--the appearance of troubled sleep. Now, with his pale hair reflecting the golden light about the place, he looked even slightly angelic, lacking the sneer or the gritty tone.

She was about to wake him when Anendel's voice sounded in the room.

"The Lady wishes to see you," he said. Holly turned and looked at him, to check that he was speaking to. Indeed, Anendel's bronze eyes were focused on her.

She cast a last glance at Draco's sleeping form before getting to her feet and following Anendel out the door.

*()%()*

Ginny put her palms to her forehead and shut her eyes, letting her head hang down. "Agh..."

"Let me get this sorted out," her brother said slowly. "The Malumi escaped. They had to be gone for at least, say, half an hour if they were running to reach you two."

Harry nodded.

"Keep in mind," Hermione nodded, "that they had to be going at top speed, silently, and for some reason divided the company along the way."

"Right." He sighed, the information seeming to weigh more with Hermione's comment. "You two took care of the ones that you ran into." Ginny lifted her head and gazed at Ron, who held his hands just in front of him as though juxtaposing the facts to get a better look at them. "You had to be moving again for at least fifteen minutes before Amil-Galith and his comrades found where the struggle had been."

Ginny glanced at Harry, who shrugged.

"What's strange to me, though," Hermione said, cutting the brief silence, "is that the Elves couldn't find your tracks leading away from it all."

"Well, there were a lot of footprints," Harry assured her.

Ron stated, "I wouldn't spend time pissing around--trying to sort out the footprints."

"That's not all of it," Hermione said, shaking her head. She shut her eyes and sighed loudly. "The Elves are so keen on everything--they can tell a pixie from a fairy a mile off and hear breathing two rooms away. Why wouldn't they see human footprints in the Malumi tracks? Especially if they were the last prints to be made?"

She gazed desperately around at them, not so much expecting an answer to her question but more so to confirm whether they understood her reasoning. "And don't you think they would hear the beasts making off in the first place? Why were they so far behind?"

Hermione pinched the bride of her nose for a second, closing her eyes. "I know that Gollum escaped the Mirkwood Elves, but he was quite a sneak, and had the advantage of a hobbit silence.... And Bilbo and the dwarves gave them the slip even before that, somehow... but there was a little drugging involved and some clever camouflage... also they're all so tiny, the Malumi are much larger..."

She drifted off, eyes dark in deep cerebration.

Silence blanketed the four of them while they contemplated Hermione's questions. Each inquiry to the manner of the Elves was well-founded and logical, Ginny reckoned, but even so there was some sizable detail that needed to be worked into the puzzle that escaped all of them. If Tom knew something, he would have spoken up by now, she figured.

"The Malumi are smart," Harry stated finally. His remark snapped the other three out of their trances, and they all looked at him. "Not as smart as the Elves, of course not, but with someone with real brains behind the curtain..." He cast around a wide-eyed, significant look.

"Are you saying that an Elf was operating things?" Ron inquired, trying to read Harry's expression.

"No!" Harry breathed, on the verge of exasperation, "Voldemort!"

Ron flinched. "Oh."

Harry had to narrate a dream of the Malumi he had had some time before to Ginny, since she had not yet heard before that day.

"So," Hermione said slowly, knitting her brows, "you're saying Voldemort somehow communicated an ingenious plan to the Malumi to escape the Elves, and they followed?"

"Well, the vampire--Varian, that Bruxa--if you want to be specific," Harry explained. "But yes, that's how it went about, I think."

Ron input, "But, what exactly would You-Know-Who's plan be if it could outwit the Elves? He might be smart, Harry, but he hasn't had thousands of years to get these things under his belt."

"Take this from the beginning," Ginny told them, "the Elves captured the Malumi after You-Know-Who had left the Forest. The corralled them into a pen of some sort--do you know where it was, or how they kept them in there?"

"No," Hermione replied. "But I imagine it's somewhere off the village, either watched by Amolas' guard or surrounded by a rushing moat or thorns or some magic of that manner."

"So," Harry concluded, "either Voldemort managed to break through the elvish walls... or he had control over the guards."

Hermione sighed. "I don't think Voldemort would have the ability to hold Imperius over an Elf very long if he wasn't somewhere nearby."

Ron had been looking as though he would ask Hermione not to use the term 'Voldemort', but now it seemed he'd changed his mind. "What proof do we have that You-Know-Who isn't nearby?" he inquired with a slight tone of gainsay.

"We don't have enough information," Ginny said in finality. "We don't know where the Malumi were and we don't know where they are. Without that much, we shouldn't even attempt working out how they managed to get from one place to the other."

"Ginny's right," Hermione said. "We could ask Galórion."

A juncture of quiet closed the issue for then, and Ron kicked off the new topic.

"I don't understand the Elves much," he stated. "First they try and float us out of the forest--drown us if we can't take that. Then they sneak around making sure we aren't hurt. Then they send a scout, who torments us. Finally out come the search parties and now we're sleeping in big, pretty tents."

"The chain of events doesn't make sense to me either," remarked Hermione. "Not only the number of solutions to our presence that they've tried, but the timing. Everything seems to be happening at once--and yet..." She quickly shook her head, as though trying to swipe away the thought. "It's silly, never mind."

Even though Hermione didn't finish her sentence, Ginny understood. "I know what you mean," she assured her. "It's sort of like Eowilindë and Amolas have been sending out their troops, servants, and scouts without even taking time to understand what's going on."

"Like they know what's happening all over the forest," Ron finished. He paused in thought, then continued, "The fairy said Eowilindë oversaw everything."

Harry pointed out, "Then why would she need to send a scout to find your position?"

Ron shrugged and guessed, "Reckon with all her years she's gotten a little myopic."

Ginny saw Harry smirk, but Hermione overlooked the statement. "She can probably only feel a stranger to the forest--not see them."

"Then why couldn't she feel the Malumi's movement when they got loose?" Harry questioned.

Immediately, Ron snapped, "We closed that topic, all right?" He sighed and shut his eyes, as though trying to promote tranquility. "It's too much to think about."

Hermione seemed to agree, taking the discussion on a different turn. "You said that an elvish arrow froze that willow?"

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "Hit a knot dead on."

This put in another mystery of the Elves. Ginny wasn't sure whether Harry heard it, but Ginny had definitely been serenaded by a tune that seemed to be coming right from the willow--Quenya being sung in the rustling vines. If the tree sang in Quenya, it was clearly elvish--but then an Elf shot an arrow to freeze it?

"So an Elf froze up this... Waffing Willow but wasn't around to get rid of the Malumi, who showed moments later?" scoffed Ron. He made a scornful noise and shook his head.

"Apparently not," Harry said. "And it didn't run into a Graphorn on its escape either."

"And this is a pure and honest Elf we're speaking of--that can tell a pixie from a fairy a mile off and hear breathing two rooms away?" Ginny put in.

Reluctantly, Hermione defended, "So they make mistakes."

"Oh, don't even start advocating the rights of the Elves--just because they have your favorite title attached to their identity doesn't mean they're helpless!" Ron groaned.

"Well they are human enough to make mistakes--" replied Hermione.

"Human enough? They are hardly human--they're... unnatural!" Ron retorted, eyes uncertain.

"Unnatural?" she repeated incredulously, "They've been around more than long enough to be considered more natural than any human on the premises--"

"I don't think that seven-foot-tall, blond, spiky-eared future-predicting and mind reading mystics are natural, Hermione," Ron snapped, sounding more sure of himself.

Ginny leaned back on her hands, bending her knees and curling her toes around in the fabric of her dress. This could go on forever, and the volume would climb--not permitting her to get a word in with Harry. And the Elves could probably hear it already.

"Just because they can See what's going to happen sometime later doesn't mean they're freaks," she told him sternly, drawing herself up to her full height (while seated), "And we're just about as much of a mystic of race as they are!"

"And what about the abnormal height and ear deficiencies?" Ron said, a little nasally, as though trying to imitate Hermione's usage of extensive terms.

"You should talk! Abnormal height and other physical deficiencies, sure thing, Spattergroit," she told him.

"They're freckles," he hissed.

"I'm sure you look horribly unnatural to them, don't you?"

Ginny blew air loudly through her mouth, looking upward to the drooping roof of the kiosk.

"What about the mind reading?"

"What about it?" Hermione barked defiantly.

Ron paused, and said, "I didn't really know that they did." He shrugged nonchalantly. "I just felt funny when Eowilindë looked at me."

"You know, just because they can look into your mind doesn't mean you can't trust them," Hermione said sourly, refusing to drop the topic.

"I think I'd find it hard to trust someone who can take a peek at what I'm thinking whenever they feel," Ron said, clearly feeling that now with Hermione's confirmation of Eowilindë's telepathic discerning that he could use this, too, against the Elves.

Just as Hermione opened her mouth to reply, Ginny loudly proclaimed, "I'm going to check up on Holly!"

Promptly, Harry said, "Me too."

She slipped off the bed, pulled on her trainers, and threw her cloak over her shoulders and followed Harry out of the pavilion. Hermione and Ron, who had gone silent upon Ginny's decree, had started bickering again before they were out of earshot.

"Those two are something," Harry remarked as they reached the landing of the hall nearest the pavilion.

"Enough to drive me mad," Ginny concurred.

"Yeah," agreed Harry.

They walked through the door at the end of the landing and stood just inside it. "Do you know your way?" Ginny asked, "I still haven't memorized the setup here."

Harry nodded, and she followed at his side as he began to stride onward, through the hall. They passed a few elder Elves that paid them no attention, apparently feeling that Harry and Ginny could successfully find the way to where they were headed on their own.

"One of the things I don't understand about the Elves," Ginny said quietly as yet another platinum-locked Elf passed without looking at them, "is that it's the older ones that don't welcome us."

"How do you mean?" Harry asked, rounding a sharp corner. He turned to wait for her to catch up before walking again.

"I mean," she elaborated slowly, "that the older Elves are the ones who remember when wizards and Elves used to have get along just peachy, y'know?" Harry raised his eyebrows. "The younger ones probably only recall when the wizards and Elves have been separated."

"But, the thing is, the younger Elves are still all three hundred years old, or something," Harry said, in tentative contradictory. "And a lot of them saw the wizards leave, don't you think?"

"Who knows?" Ginny inquired dryly. "The relations could have ended in 1600 or in 1960." She shrugged, and Harry nodded. It gave her a mild thrill to see him agreeing with her--every time. First Harry acts like he breathes the same air as her and now they walk on the same grounds...

Don't be ridiculous, Ginny thought quickly.

"Yes, don't, I refuse to hear your pining for another doxysecond."

She frowned. A doxysecond isn't a measure of time, Tom--

"Oh, how naive you are," he remarked stodgily. "I've been on this earth so much longer than you have, and you're critical of my every statement, now that's ridiculous..."

Technically, Tom, she thought, you're sixteen. So don't start. You're thinking of a nanosecond.

"Technically," he replied skeptically, "I was born in 1927."

Ginny scoffed internally and drowned him out. Harry seemed to have dissolved into thoughtful silence, and she picked up where she left off. "The younger Elves," she said, "have probably only been fed stories of why the wizards and Elves took separate paths. How the wizards betrayed them..."

"We betrayed them?" Harry asked, eyebrows disappearing beneath his bangs.

Ginny glanced up at him, and noticed with another thrill that he looked at her like--like she were interesting. And he'd chosen to leave the Trio and come with her....

Quit! she told herself sternly.

She closed Tom's mouth before it began to run.

"It's just an assumption," she said in a small voice. Harry looked away. "The elder Elves might remember how things were before and think about that--and might realize we lot aren't going to do anything to expose them."

"That's true," Harry agreed.

Ginny smiled.

They passed another Elf, this one with a mane of goldenrod spirals braided only out of her eyes, who smiled at them, before bowing her head reticently. When she turned the corner they had just come around, Harry said, "I think she heard us."

Ginny nodded. "I'm sure she still can." She listened to their footsteps echo loudly off the walls of the chamber, as though they had never come in contact with noise. Or noise so ungodly in comparison to that of the Elves'. "I trust them," she told Harry, then turning to him questioned, "do you?"

"You girls seem a lot more motivated to believe in the reliability of the Elves, don't you?" Harry replied. "Why?"

"Because they're beautiful," resounded Tom's voice immediately. "It's facile to trust in beautiful things."

I don't trust you, she told him, sneering.

"You did." He paused. "You still do."

Ginny clenched her jaw tight and closed a barrier around him again.

Harry was watching her expectantly. "I--" she faltered at his eyes, and heard an echo of Tom's snickering bouncing around her skull unchecked, "I reckon I trust them because they're trusting us with their secret--and giving us food, clothing, and shelter in the meantime."

He nodded yet again, and looked away. "They aren't trusting us with their secret until they let us leave," he said.

Ginny sighed. "So you don't trust them?"

Harry rushed up the stairs into the coromindi and said, "I don't know yet."

They strode over the landing and poked their heads into Holly's door--she and the Elf were both gone. The large bed was tucked in and smoothed over once again, and the only trace of a witch's presence was the backpack and wand near one table.

"Well..." Ginny said. She was going to expand upon that, but her mind had gone blank.

Harry checked in the bath and in Malfoy's room across the hall. He sighed, and silently sat down at the foot of Holly's bed. Ginny leaned against the wall, and they waited.

*()%()*

"You said you were going to talk to the elder servants!" Holly hissed as she hurried alongside Anendel, who was taking very long, swift strides. "Where does the queen come into this?"

"I did speak with the elder servants," Anendel told her, in a slightly desperate voice, "and they sent me to the Lady. She is the arbiter of all things such as these!"

"Does the king do anything?" she asked skeptically.

"Certainly he does," Anendel said. He didn't elaborate on what movement the Lord was the bellwether of, or what his cognoscente was.

Holly waited for the Elf to continue, but he didn't. She glanced up at him and wondered whether Anendel had ever been given the chance to rebel against his polity. Or whether he had ever been allowed to wriggle out of the knot that tied him to his services to the Lord and Lady.

Impetuously, Holly inquired, "How old are you, Anendel?"

His pace never slowed, but instead of grilling her with the imperious glare she'd feared and expected, he glanced retiringly at her.

"Sorry," she said, "I suppose an Elf never shares his age."

"No, no, 'tis in order." Anendel took a deep breath, shutting his eyes for a juncture.

Tenderly, Holly said, "Well if it's so hard to say, you don't h--"

"Three hundred and sixteen this past Hísimë," he said, quickly and quietly as though trying to trick her into hearing something different.

"In November?" Holly translated. Anendel nodded. "Hey, me too!" He raised his eyebrows. "Well, not the three-hundred bit, but I turned sixteen last month." She smiled at him. "The second."

"The seventeenth," he told her, confidence building up in his voice.

"Aw, well it's still pretty close." She scratched the back of her head. "Only three hundred years and fifteen days apart..."

Anendel showed a smile wide enough to be considered an elvish laugh.

"You're so old," Holly remarked, quickly adding, "No offense meant." The Elf shook his golden head. "It's remarkable to me--my brain only weighs three and a half pounds... three hundred and sixteen years is hard for me to comprehend." She shrugged, and glanced up at Anendel's dark mahogany eyes and shrugged. "I can hardly handle sixteen."

"Nearly every day I am told by the elders that I still have years of youth to learn the answers--years to become one of the Lord's guard." Anendel exhaled loudly through his nose, looking disconsolate. "Yet you are amazed at the years I have been alive."

Holly sensed a longer, deeper story to Anendel's melancholy tone. She didn't press. "Well you're a heck of a lot older than I'll ever be, I'll let you know," she said. "I just think that the elders don't know what they're talking 'bout."

Anendel smiled a little. "You reckon so?"

"Yep." She looked up at him, examining his staid but angelic face, downcast eyes, and pointed ears. His lips were rather light, and he had high cheekbones. There wasn't a single aureate hair out of place on his head.

"Here we are," the Elf sighed.

If Holly hadn't stopped abruptly, she would have run right into the oak door with a horrible smack.

"The Lady's bedchamber."

Holly gazed at the ornately etched entrance, lips moving to one side of her face. "Is she naked?"

"Doubtful," Anendel stated soothingly.

"Are you coming with me?" She glanced up at the Elf, who looked back down at her with inquiring eyes. "I'm sort of freaked out," she muttered.

"I will accompany you, then."

He pushed the door open, and let Holly in beneath his arm.

She walked into a room of massive size--the floors wide and long, the ceiling high. It seemed to be frozen in the most pulchritudinous winter day--blue, white, and silver draped from every wall. The scent of the crisp winter morning mixed with that of cinnamon gave Holly the uplifting sensation only Yuletide could bring.

On one side of the canopied bed was a small belvedere, a tall table with twisting legs in the center. Atop it was a large stone basin, white as the rest of the room, into which the Lady was gazing.

The Elvish queen was tall as the male Elves--and so beautiful that an outré blur seemed to hang about her lean form. She had a strange face, though--it was thin, and her eyes were very long.

Bits of her hair helped hide her face, and without looking up, she knew who was there. "Holly Black," she said, deep voice carrying through the room like wind, "you come seeking assistance?"

"I do," Holly responded, trying not to stammer. Her legs were suddenly weak beneath her, and her conscience ponderous within her.

"Dedicating one of the Cretionis Lapillus is an arduous task, though you traveled to the suitable place." The Elvish queen put two fingers to her forehead and withdrew a pearly string, which she then released into the basin.

A Pensieve, Holly thought.

"I," the Elf said, "have seen into your soul."

Immediately Holly had an intense feeling of malaise, and as Eowilindë lifted her eyes and she got a look at her heliotrope gaze her heart froze in her chest. The Lady stepped down from the belvedere. Without notice Holly felt limpid and endangered.

"Intrinsic, you have a dangerous heart-- you are ruled by your passions and so you are impetuous. The spirit of Skadi reigns over your emotions and guides your actions." She stepped toward her, and the nearer Eowilindë drew, the guiltier her eyes made Holly feel. "Ereshkigal has a common animus within you."

She wasn't sure what the Lady was saying, but it didn't sound as if she was using her judiciousness to predict good things. "In spite of that," she continued, "your soul is still clean with youth--the blemishes are regretted or forgotten mistakes."

Eowilindë's hyacinth eyes seemed to be looking right through Holly's visage and at the back of her head. "Elyë náe úmë absque i firinga hean andavë," she concluded.

Holly didn't know enough of what she had just said to understand, but she nodded her head anyway. She finally averted her eyes from the Lady's. "Anendel," Eowilindë said, somewhat sharply.

Anendel bowed his head. Eowilindë started speaking to him in steady Quenya, and by the few words Holly caught, it sounded as though she were giving him instructions. He nodded curtly, and bowed.

"Anendel will escort you whither your pendant shall be Dedicated," she told Holly. "Soon you shall be made ready for Geol."

Holly nodded, and managed to stammer, "Hantalyë," before Anendel guided her out of the chamber. She could feel Eowilindë's amethyst gaze on her the entire time, and with one fleeting glance over her shoulder before she and Anendel were out the door, Holly met the Lady's piercing eyes for a moment, the air of her last breath freezing in her lungs, before she was out of sight.

She didn't say a word until she found herself on the porch of a wild-looking log house--the logs appeared to have been fitted directly from being cut down, and what seemed to be bent branches and limbs twisted and turned about each other, creating ornate knots.

"Anendel," she said, "where are we?"

He looked quickly down at her, but when he answered was gazing again at the door. "The abode of Unilmand, a Craftself." Anendel rapped politely on the door then lowered his arm. Hands behind his back, he watched the port expectantly. "His metier handles the precious things. He will repair your necklace."

The door opened. Holly, upon the word of 'Craftself' thought 'sweating, greasy toper' tried not to stare. Even an Elvish metalworker was tall, lean, and held unbeatable blond beauty.

Unilmand was a bit shorter than Anendel it seemed, with silvery hair that hadn't quite reached its whitest point yet. His eyes were light but not greige--though the most solid of stone gray that they seemed bright and cheerful as an afternoon sun. He had a turgid stance and quick eyes. "Anendel," Unilmand said smoothly, slowly taking his eyes off of Holly where they had rested intently for a long moment, "vedui."

"Vedui," Anendel replied modestly. He reached into a pocket of his burgundy robes and pulled out Holly's Cretionis Charm, holding it up by either side of the broken chain. "The Lady has given orders for this to be given to you for Dedication."

Holly looked down at the floor, and busied herself with hiding her trainers behind her gown. "Cennyë," said Unilmand. Holly looked up and saw the Craftself now holding her Charm before him between his long fingers.

She found a little courage and asked, "Can you do it?"

Unilmand gazed intently at her, and she tried to shrink away. Instead of answering her, Unilmand looked back at the gem and gently touched the tips of his fingers to its encasing. "The Charm of Cliodna, created by the Nereids upon her command." He turned the charm over to examine the gold backing. "The avifauna--supreme birds of healing. You are under the superlative protection of Cliodna. You are an O'Keefe?"

Holly raised her eyebrows. "No..." she said slowly, looking curiously up at Unilmand, then glancing over to Anendel.

"She is called Holly Black," Anendel said, and Holly realized that that was the first time she had heard him use her name.

"Just call me Holly," she muttered in addition.

Anendel puffed up a little and continued as though she hadn't spoken, "She is under my care."

Unilmand nodded and motioned for them to follow him. Anendel held out a modest arm for her to go first, and she did, hesitating only a moment.

She followed Unilmand through his house--which was empty of any other Elves--and into a backroom nearly as large as the rest of the home yielding three fireplaces. A large stone table sat in the center of the room, and on the wall adjacent to the doorway were a smaller wooden table and two tall cabinets. Various tools and cauldrons hung just below the ceiling of one wall on a hooked shelf.

"I am able to Dedicate this Charm, and I will also repair the chain--it will be reformed, yet you will retain the gold." Unilmand gently set her necklace on the stone table.

"Oh," she said, not sure whether she had really understood all he had said, "okay."

Unilmand put his hand into a tall, white vase, extracting a handful of red powder. He threw it into the grate, and a crackling blaze fired up immediately.

"How long does this process take?" Holly asked.

Unilmand looked at her. "You will have the Charm in your possession tomorrow morning."

She nodded. Rocking back and forth on her feet, she hoped that she wouldn't have to extract some of her blood or pull out hairs for this process to be completed. "Anendel," said Unilmand sternly, "can I trust you with instructions to mixing a saynlë?"

"Laimë," Anendel assured him.

Unilmand showed Anendel to the wooden table, retrieved a wide, polished amber bowl from one cabinet, and opened the other--showing many shapely jars filled with all sorts of materials. He opened an ancient book inked entirely in Tengwar and pointed to the beginning of a page.

With very fast-paced Quenya and some pointing, Anendel received instructions to make his potion and Unilmand started to slip her chain through the loop in the casing of her Charm. Holly leaned against the wall, looking outside the window at the winter morning, making a start at sorting out events of yesterday.

*()%()*

"Come in here, it is too chill a morning for you to simply stand on our doorstep," Forfiwen hissed, dragging Hermione and Ron inside.

After much bickering over the reliability of the Elves, Hermione and Ron agreed to visit Galórion's home to uncover what they could.

Hermione looked around the familiar cabin and sighed, warmth spilling into her as Forfiwen shut the door. The Elf patted some wrinkles out of her apron and asked, "Is the state of your companions well?"

"Still asleep," Hermione replied.

She nodded and said, "Velicë, they need rest."

"Where's Galórion and Amil-Galith?" Ron asked, theatrically sweeping his gaze around the space.

"Still hunting the Úvanimor," Forfiwen replied, wiping down the dining room table.

"Hunting them?" Hermione said, taking off her cloak after receiving a meaningful look from the Elf. "You mean they'll kill them if they catch up?"

"I am afraid I remain uninformed," Forfiwen sighed. "There is a chance of any possible solution." She swept an arm out, motioning toward the wooden chairs, and Hermione and Ron each took a seat.

"Where were the Malumi kept?" Ron said, cutting right to the point.

Forfiwen looked at them in an investigative fashion. Her eyes seemed to comprehend something suddenly, and she replied, "Within a large norowin outside the village."

"How was it guarded?" Hermione asked, assuming that a norowin was some sort of cage. "Were there guards there, or was it magic?"

Forfiwen looked up from sorting through several ladles with handles of various lengths. "Both, to some degree."

They both stared at her, eyes begging for an elaboration.

Forfiwen sighed and sat down her ladles. She swept over to one chair, sat down, and unnecessarily straightened her gown. "The Úvanimor," she began, "have been dwelling in the farthest reaches of the taurë for years so many I do not recall their appearance."

Hermione sat forward in her chair, listening intently.

"The Elves were never fond of them, but chose to leave them so not to begin battle. The rocconeri, or centaurs, as you call them, were not apt to let the Úvanimor live in their forest, and attempted onslaughts on their race continually." Forfiwen scowled, her ageless brow contracting into wrinkles.

"Y'mean, you wanted the centaurs to leave them alone?" Ron presumed, raising his eyebrows.

"Certainly not, the Úvanimor are by all accounts wretched and a curse on this taurë and the entire earth," she assured him.

Hermione said, "So the centaurs...?"

Forfiwen sighed. "None should claim a forest to their own. Why a forest when not claming the ocean, the mountains, the sky?" She shook her head. "The rocconeri believed that they possessed the wood and all things living within it."

"That's not on," remarked Ron.

"Did the Elves ever--er--quarrel with the centaurs?" Hermione questioned, intrigued.

"Verbally, yes," Forfiwen responded. "Physically... we have tried to avoid it."

Hermione fell silent, momentarily lost in thought, and waited for Forfiwen to continue with her story of the Malumi.

"The Úvanimor," she explained, "are not happy being a race under their own command. They need a leader, a strong leader, to direct their warmongering souls into battle. They senselessly attacked the village several times--and the Lord's guard drove them out using the least violent methods they knew.

"Some time ago, before you were born, the Darkest Man reigned powerfully in your world, and had summoned the Úvanimor to keep as a weapon in his forces. After his fall from power, the Úvanimor came to inhabit this wood once more."

She inclined her head, looking at the floor, and stood up, walking back over to the fire. Hermione had just opened her mouth to find some way to make Forfiwen continue before the Elf's clear voice rang out again. "Their bellicosity seemed to have found a sudden demise, until recently... when their aggressive nature returned with their preferred Master." She paused while striding across the room to the loaf of bread and beginning to gently slice it.

"The onsets returned, and their pugnacious ways became more severe. When, suddenly, they stopped." Forfiwen glanced up from her cutting board, as though to make sure that Hermione and Ron were still listening. She looked back down and went on with cutting her slices into cubes. "A party was sent out, upon the Lord and Lady's suspicions, and the Úvanimor were still present--but all breeds together, and traveling as one. Galórion reported that they appeared to be under a spell of sorts. As though they had been reluctantly answering to a calling until it came upon them like a storm," she interpreted, "bending them to obedience."

Forfiwen scooped the bread cubes onto her apron and strode over to the fire, then dropped them two-by-two into the cauldron hanging within the flames.

"So," Ron said, "You-Know-Who was calling them?"

The Elf raised her eyebrows at him, and upon comprehending said, "One would suppose."

"How does that work?" Hermione interjected, as Ron opened his mouth again. "Amil-Galith said that if an Elf got too close to Voldemort--please, Ron--that they died. How did they capture the Malumi when they were with him?"

"A scout went ahead to find the source luring them whilst the rest took the Malumi back by force." Forfiwen used a ladle to poke at whatever concoction she was stewing.

Hermione heard Ron swallow. He opened his mouth, hesitated a moment, then said, "So the scout...?"

Forfiwen shut her eyes.

"I'm sorry," Hermione began, but Forfiwen shook her head. It was strange, she thought, how society wept most with the death of the young when the demise of those who weren't meant to die at all triggered a similar pain.

There has to be a reason, Hermione thought, why the Creator chose these beings to escape the withers of time--to see all the ages pass by. The Elves have something humans don't--something magic or the Elixir of Life can't provide mortals with. If they avoided conflict, a single Elf might see both the Garden of Eden and the Rapture.

"Legyldur was dear to my son, and my family," Forfiwen said softly. "Each day he is missed. We can only hope that when his soul rests in the freshest trees and flowers that we can feel his presence in our heart."

Hermione sighed and smiled. Ron said, "I'm sure you will," smiling a little.

Forfiwen closed her eyes and took a deep breath. An uncomfortable silence would have ensued if the door hadn't opened. Nyla bopped inside and hung up her cloak, whistling.

"Where have you been?" demanded Forfiwen, her eyes narrowing at the woman.

"Kelpie poker rematch," she evaluated. "The boys were under the impression that I cheated last time." She smirked and shook her head.

"Did you?" questioned Hermione.

"No!" She put a hand to her chest, "That hurts."

Ron inquired, "Did you win?"

"Of course I did." Nyla smiled and pushed her hair over her shoulder. "When don't I?"

Ron opened his mouth, but Forfiwen got there first. "You were to be helping me prepare for Geol!"

"Sorry, Forf'," Nyla said. She rubbed her hands together and walked forward. "What can I do for you?"

"Lead Hermione and Ron to the keeping place of the Malumi," the Elf responded. Hermione looked at her, eyebrows raised. The corners of Forfiwen's mouth twitched. Nyla gazed blankly at the Elf. "They are absolutely dripping with their need to have a look."

*()%()*

Ginny sighed loudly and bent one of her legs, knee pointing toward the ceiling. She was lying on the wide bed with her hands behind her head; she stared blankly at the dome above her and watched the shadows recede as true sunlight began to filter into the room.

"Are you going to tell your family?"

Ginny looked over at Harry, who was sitting next to her with his back against the elaborate headboard. She was going to ask what he meant to stall, but understood exactly what he spoke of--and she was sure Harry knew that.

She turned her eyes back to the ceiling and told him she would.

"When?" he pressed.

She shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant.

"You can't wait until this gets out of hand, Ginny," he said sternly.

She snapped, "I know that!" Ginny looked over at Harry, whose shoulders slumped a little. He looked away from her. "Look, I'm sorry..." she sat up, "this is my problem to handle."

"Fine." Harry didn't look at her. "Just... just handle it before it's someone else's problem."

"I've got it under control," she muttered.

Harry nodded, but he didn't appear to concur. After a junction he asked, "Have you heard him any more?"

"No," she lied. She could feel Tom's snort somewhere in the back of her mind.

Harry nodded again. He sighed, looking distant. "What's his Supantoris?"

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "What?"

"Riddle's Supantoris," Harry pressed, "what is it?"

Ginny had never asked, Tom had never said. She didn't need to hear him then, if he were telling her. Somehow, as though it was knowledge that had always been with her, she knew.

"He's a Healer." Her lips contorted into a grim smile. "Isn't that ironic?" she remarked soberly.

'Not really.'

Harry mirrored the rigid grin. "A little." He rubbed his knee and continued to inquire, "What special powers to Healers have, anyway?" He glanced at her, "Because I know that all the Healers at St. Mungo's aren't born gifted that way."

"Certain tricks that go into potion-making, a few quick-heal skills... I don't know the details."

"So... can they heal with touch?"

'Sorry.'

"I don't think so," Ginny replied.

"How do other Healers get into St. Mungo's then, I wonder?" Harry asked. "Born Healers can't have many skills that the trainees don't."

"I'm not sure."

They fell into a slightly awkward silence. Ginny twisted a piece of her hair tight then let it unravel. "How close is he to the surface?" Harry buzzed suddenly.

Ginny raised her eyebrows and turned her gaze on him. "Excuse me?"

Harry shut his eyes, looking a little exasperated. "Riddle," he said, "is he nearly... out?"

Ginny thought that if Harry didn't like the topic either he could stop interrogating her. Talking about her inner demons--or slightly demonic inner spirit--was anything but enjoyable, and she was about to take measures to avoid it.

Are you nearly out, Tom?

'Nearly out of...?'

How close to the surface are you?

'That's for me to know and you to find out.'

So you're close.

'Perhaps. Not telling.'

Ugh, you're such an infant...

''Infant? Infants can't--'

"I don't know, Harry," she said, "Could you morph into Cornelius Fudge if I asked you to?"

"Probably not."

"Great--that's settled then," Ginny concluded.

Harry said, "I don't want your family to find out that he's still around when he's walking around the Burrow in your robes."

Ginny irritably itched the inside corner of her eye and said, "Neither do I--but we can't prevent against it."

"Ginny, you can't put this off forever!"

"Who said I was?"

"No one--but you will!" affirmed Harry, "You'd hide it forever if you had the chance!"

"So would you!" Ginny found herself on her feet. They'd had this argument before. "It's not as though this is something that can be overlooked!"

Harry scowled deeply, lines forming on his face where he would have wrinkles in old age. "You act like it's just a little black mark on your record that no one needs to know about!"

"No I don't!" Ginny's voice was rising, and she was moments away from shouting. "I told you I'd tell my family! I will!"

"When?!"

"It doesn't matter!" She could feel her face turning red--doubling the speed that Harry's was doing the same. "He's not only your problem anymore! He never was!" Ginny gritted her teeth and took a deep breath, telling herself that going in circles with this bickering wasn't healthy. "Your family isn't the only one that's been split up because of Voldemort, Harry!"

"Voldemort," Harry said, on his feet on the other side of the bed, facing Ginny with clenched fists, "is the one man who will do anything to kill me--every time I take another breath of air I'm risking my neck, Ginny!"

"You think you're the only one Voldemort wants gone, Harry? You're so well protected you don't realize that the 'lesser' wizards who are targeted by the Dark Lord are killed in the blink of an eye!" Every inch of Ginny was trembling. "No one looks after them like they look after you! If--if--" she tried to think of a fit example, "if Voldemort wanted Ron, he'd be dead before the last syllable of that awful curse had left his lips!"

"And it would hurt me more than you know," Harry said, voice calming but eyes still tinted with rage. "But he knows that, Ginny, he knows how to get to me!"

'Well, isn't it obvious?' Tom's smirk flickered through her mind. 'If you must be the hero, avoid keeping close company. If any bloke with a complex like his has a trick heel, it's the friendships. If you ask--yours truly--he should leave you in the Streeler's slime double sharp...'

Ginny pressed her palms against her head and screamed behind closed lips. Tom grasped the idea.

"I'll owl my parents when we get back to the castle, all right?" she snapped, reverting back to how the argument began.

"I think you should Floo--"

"Don't push it, Harry!" she said, voice rising.

She collapsed into a wooden chair, staring huffily at Harry. 'That was brilliant, really. How much are you going to tell them?'

All they need to know. Which will probably include how close to the surface you are...

'I'll surprise you.'

Great. She shut the door on Tom and tipped back her head, closing her eyes.

*()%()*

"All there is left is yávë ón martome," Anendel stated, his index finger on the list.

Holly narrowed her eyes, reading the labels on the shapely jars filled with all sorts of herbs, fruits, powders, and liquids. "I don't see it," she said. She stood back and let the Elf take a peek.

"Perhaps Unilmand has none..." he muttered. "Unilmand?"

The elder Elf turned away from the fire, straightening up.

"Haryalyë aique yávë ón martome?" Anendel asked.

"Ávnyë," confirmed Unilmand. He strode over to them, lowered himself to one knee, and picked a glass container from the bottom shelf, where it had sat behind a vase full of some foggy substance Holly couldn't identify.

"Hantalyë," Anendel said, bowing his head. He sat the cube-like container at the end of the line of jars he'd arranged across the back of the table.

Holly stood against the wall and hummed a tune she knew but couldn't title while she watched Anendel diligently measure out the first ingredient in a minute bowl, much like the basin he was to mix the potion in.

He worked on slowly, clearly a dilettante, brow creased in studious effort. Holly watched him spill quite an amount of dunned silver dust on the table, and asked, "Would ya like some help?"

Anendel shot a look her way, dumping some dust onto the floor this time. He was the clumsiest epitome of grace she'd seen thus far. "Your watching makes me apprehensive," he muttered.

"I'm sorry--I mean--" Holly shut her eyes for a second pondering her words, "you're so much older than me, and this isn't a wizard recipe, and I'm sure you know exactly what you're doing it's just... if you needed help... I could..."

Though it wasn't sharp, Holly shriveled beneath his gaze and stopped speaking.

"Have her grind the mallow leaves, Anendel," came Unilmand's voice.

Anendel pushed her what looked like a large coaster and some implement resembling a wick-less candle. He finished with his gray dust then told her that he needed seven mallow leaves ground. She went to crushing the palmate leaves into powder while Anendel fiddled with a tall, open receptacle of bird feathers.

"What's Geol, Anendel?" she asked after a while.

"It is the celebration of lómë," he explained, bedaubing the contents of the basin with what appeared to be mud.

"The celebration of night?" Holly translated in question. He nodded. "What d'ya mean? The winter solstice or something?"

"Indeed." He peered at the Tengwar book and reached for the next ingredient. "The Elves celebrate Yule on the day of night."

Holly considered the contradictory statement for a moment then inquired, "So you're having a big gala tonight?"

"We are."

"Who all parties with you?" She moved on to her fourth leaf.

"This year," he said, "there are six new Istari joining us." His lips twitched into a reluctant smile.

Holly's insides felt weightless. "Are you serious?"

Unilmand's voice came from the other side of the room. "There is no place to dispose you--we are open to visitors." There was a quiet clanking as the Craftself searched for something. "Some Elves are not."

She nodded to herself. Anendel broadened this and said, "The Elders prefer tradition--humans welcome only when invited."

"How will I..."

"The maids will provide you with dress," Anendel told her.

While the Elf worked with the powders, liquids, and substances in between, Holly shredded pedals off of flowers, cut twigs, and extracted pods from a strange plant she didn't recognize.

In the end, no blood shed, Unilmand threw his red powder into the basin and burned all their work into dark ash, as apparently that was how the mixture was put to use. The Craftself ushered them out.

Anendel and Holly strolled outside. The morning was crisp and bright. Elves were wandering all about the village--their gaze wandering to Holly's dark head--a dirty spot in the crowd. She kept her eyes downcast.

"Can we just walk a while, Anendel?" she inquired.

"Why?" he replied.

"I--just... please?" She struggled to stretch a genuine smile across her face--it still felt a little stiff--and all she managed was a wide Cheshire grin.

Anendel's doleful, walnut-brown eyes met hers. They seemed endless--an eddying pool of the deepest bronze that went on and on. They were warm eyes made to understand, made to retain beauty through all they saw, made to cry perfect Elvish tears. They didn't pierce her and delve into her mind so readily as the other Elvish gazes did, weeding through her collection of emotions and memories effortlessly--instead they only saw her. They took in depth, not secrets. They saw mercy and favor in everything.

Anendel had the eyes of a child: the purity of a young soul, the abysm of a long life.

"Come with me," he said.

Anendel wove betwixt trees, arbors, statues, and Elves--Holly trotting in his wake. He led her to the river, its waters leisurely carrying curved leaves away.

Upriver he walked, and Holly followed. Anendel stopped in front of an oak of mind-blowing size. "I come here to rest," the Elf said. He placed a long hand on the trunk of the tree. Holly may have been imagining it, but it seemed that the oak leaned into his touch with an accompanying moan of stiff, aged movement.

Holly raised an eyebrow at the tree and guessed, "Is its name Oaky?"

"Handë," he corrected her. He looked up into the leaves of the oak. "Náelyë lavmet amba?"

The tree dubbed Handë agreed. Before Anendel spoke another word, the tree groaned and bent its lower branches to the ground. As if the limbs were really many long arms, they curved forward. A bed of golden leaves stood before her, mimetic of extended hands waiting to be filled.

Anendel climbed onto a limb and sat down. "Come," he said to her, as Holly stared at the lithe tree in shock, "there is nothing to fear. Handë will not harm you."

"Are you sure about this, Anendel?" she asked.

He simply extended a hand.

Holly hesitantly stepped forward--she didn't much trust trees that moved. She cautiously mounted herself on a limb. She clutched tightly onto branches on either side of her, and Anendel took up one of her hands. "Elyë ista mana ane áv," he said, addressing the tree.

Handë bumped Holly along the branches until she was sitting right next to Anendel. The limbs suddenly raised, and as they leveled, it didn't stop. Her wood whining, Handë passed Holly to the highest limbs that would hold her weight. Anendel had landed next to her, and Holly found herself clutching onto him and staring, wide-eyed, at the ground.

"See, nothing to worry you," Anendel said kindly, prying Holly's hands off of him. She wrapped an arm around the tree trunk. "Handë enjoys your company." The tree soughed in what she hoped was agreement.

Anendel motioned ahead of them with his arm. "Now you can see the village--where do you wish to go?"

Holly looked down, and between the trees she could see all the little buildings and statues in Anendel's forested community, and watched the fair Elvish heads move about. She had a faint feeling that if she didn't know they were there, she wouldn't see them.

"I'd like to stay up here for a while, thanks," she said. Riding the limbs of Handë wasn't pleasant.

"That is well with me."

Questions milled around in Holly's head while she listened to the sigh of Handë's leaves. When the cold of sitting high in the air on a winter morning was edging on unbearable, Holly decided to speak up.

"Where was I, again?"

Holly wasn't sure whether the Elf would understand what she meant, but he did.

"I Felya óh Quildë," Anendel stated, "The Cave of Quiet."

"What species of dragon was in there?"

"A Blackland Ajatar."

"When did it die?"

"Fourteen yén before I was born."

Holly nodded, taking this in. She tried to do the math, but gave up and came to the conclusion that the Blackland Ajatar had died many years ago.

Holly had not the slightest idea what sort of dragon an Ajatar was, but she didn't press on it for the time being. "Was the dragon the reason...?"

"No," said Anendel, "there is a myriad of ingolë in that cave--I have never been in it myself, but I heard the stories as a child." Holly looked at him to elaborate. "Fog descends from the roof of the cave, and it freezes the skin--then delves inward. The chill grows so heavy it suffocates any new life within the stone walls."

"Pleasant," she said dryly. "How do you know that's what happens?"

"I simply do," shrugged Anendel. "Older Elves utilized that cavern long ago, to collect the poison that dripped from the ceiling... from the walls."

"Hold on," injected Holly, "Poison? I thought that was water!" She blinked and repeated, "Poison?"

"More of a--potion, truly," the Elf replied skeptically.

"A potion?"

"Well--"

Holly waved it off. "Either way..."

"Yes." Anendel drew his eyebrows together in thought for a moment. "Since you have been in the Forest, have you experienced any strange dreams?"

She thought this was an odd question. "Maybe, I don't know," Holly responded. "Why?"

"Some of the werewolves that live here have remarked that the forest has a strange effect on them," he explained, "on their dreams." Holly watched Anendel's eyes with interest--deciding not to ask about the werewolves now, either. "It does not affect the Elves, but the magic of the forest has its hold on the human minds. They dream things of the future."

Holly began wishing she would spend more time reviewing her dreams.

"But, the dreams that wood give are shadowed. Nothing in the visions is clear." Anendel paused, watching her to see if the point sank in, and Holly nodded to urge him on. "Poison leaks from the roof of the cavern--it is said to be the giver of all dreams that quenches the trees' thirst, and lingers in the air. 'Tis pure in I Felya--and, though ignoble it seems now, years ago the Elves used it to gain qualities of one that is prophetic--as the arqueni."

It seemed that Anendel was off on quite the tangent. But then he began to redeem himself.

"One Elf believed that if one were to slumber within I Felya the prophecies would be at their clearest. The night nearly destroyed him. Amolas ordered the cave to be sealed. It was used again to execute the Ajatar--her fault lied in eyesight, and it was simple to lure her into a natural dwelling in sunlight. Today it takes in those whose blood is not of the forest."

"Me and Malfoy," Holly inferred, sensing the end to Anendel's tale. He nodded.

"At least," Anendel added softly, "I think that is how the story subsists."

She echoed, "You think?"

"I have only heard the version of events from Elves my age--informed by their superior kin, and they by their kin," he replied stoutly. "I know what I know."

"Fine by me," Holly told him. "What kind of dragon is a Blackland Ajatar? I don't know of that species."

"Ajatars suckle serpents and cause pestilence and disease." She could see why the Elves didn't want an Ajatar around. "As I said, their fault lies in their eyesight, and they love dark places. I Felya was appealing to this one."

"On the inside of the cave, on the wall..." Holly said, "there were inscriptions. Malfoy said that they appeared, like they were being written."

"What were they?" Anendel asked.

"I Felya óh Quildë," she started, "I sangwa ya antai. I hísë ya niquëi." She racked her brain, frowning. "Um... oh! I ninquë ya quoror." Holly looked at Anendel. "That's it. I couldn't translate much of it... but I kept saying it to myself so I'd remember to relay it so I could get it translated."

Anendel smiled a little. "The Cave of Quiet," he said, "The poison that gives. The fog that freezes. The chill that chokes."

Sentence fragments are so much more effective, thought Holly. "I'll have to remember all that." Anendel looked away. "You have werewolves here?"

"We do," he said evenly.

"How many?" she inquired.

"Seven, I believe."

"Hmm." Holly scratched the back of her neck. "Why are they here?"

"They wandered in the forest during a full moon... they all needed shelter."

"Oh." Holly bravely rocked her dangling legs back and forth. She continued with her interrogation. "Why does Eowilindë remind me of winter when your kind clearly embraces autumn?"

"Because she is the daughter of Lord Lómomir and Lady Lómundra--of the mountains." Anendel motioned toward the mountains in the distance. "The Ghyem Elves entwine their ways with winter."

"Hmm." She pushed her hair over her shoulder. "Why is Eowilindë here, then?"

"Because she married Lord Amolas."

"Oh." Holly looked at her shoes. "Why?"

"Because she loves him."

"Hmm." She knitted her eyebrows and asked, "Don't the winter Elves have different colored hair?"

Anendel's answer took longer this time. "I believe they have black hair." His eyes narrowed. "That is strange..."

"Yeah...." She shrugged it off. "You're Autumpne Elves, right?"

"That is correct."

"With blond hair."

"Yes."

Holly considered this. "I think the Autumpne Elves should have brown hair, the Ghyem Elves should have either white hair or black hair, the Wesr Elves should have blond hair, and the Sem Elves should have red hair."

"Why?" Anendel asked.

"Color-coded with the seasons. Fall--brown. Winter--white, or black... since it's sort of... the end. Spring--yellow. Summer--red." Holly shrugged. "It just makes more sense that way"

Anendel goggled at her.

"Okay, never mind."

The Elf continued to look at her as though she weren't very stable for a while. After a junction of silence between them, in which Handë's leaves sang in the breeze and water trickled serenely beneath them, Anendel asked, "Have you decided where you want to visit?"

"The stables," she revealed.

In a moment, Handë had lowered them back to the ground, and Anendel was leading her back into the village.

*()%()*

"Well, here it is," Nyla said. She stood akimbo in front of them. "Look all you want, I don't know what you'll find."

Hermione stepped forward. Nyla had led them quite some way out of the village to the retired keep of the Malumi. Tall, thin trees stood side by side, creating a natural set of prison bars. The norowin was circular, and behind the trees was yet another perilous wall of thorns, which curved to match the shape the trees had already made.

They walked along the edge of the keep. Several paces later, they stopped. A gaping hole had appeared in the thorns, and the thin trees were broken and stomped into the ground. It looked as though something had exploded there--leaving the powerful thorn wall that Hermione wasn't able to penetrate with any spell looking weak.

"Well now we know how they escaped," Ron remarked from behind her.

Stepping past Nyla, (who promptly warned her not to go inside the cage, as the thorn walls would probably sprout anew trap her within) Hermione looked through the hole and inside the Malumi's prison.

It appeared that the monsters had been attempting to free themselves of this place for some time. Holes had been dug all along the walls, creating makeshift trenches. It seemed that the Malumi thought they could dig their way out--but the thorn wall didn't end.

The ground, which had been trampled by many feet, was devoid of any evidence that something had been there not more than a day before. There was no scrap of clothing, chain link, or weapon left in their camp.

"Interesting," she muttered, defying a possible hyperbole.

Behind her, Nyla whispered, "Now what could have done that?"

Ron replied, "One bitchin' big Reductor Curse."

Nyla snorted.

"Amolas' guard was watching over this place?" Hermione asked.

"Five or six of them, I think," Nyla answered her.

Hermione rubbed her hands together. "Where are they now?"

"All in a deep sleep." Hermione turned to look at the werewolf. She shook a black braid out of her eyes and explained, "It sounded wizard-induced to me. All of them--snoozing cozily on the ground when a seemingly impassable wall of thorns explodes and five trees snap in half."

"More like the angel rolling away the stone..." Hermione murmured. Both Ron and Nyla raised their eyebrows at her. "The Elves back in the village could easily hear an explosion. Something close by had to have done this."

Hermione crossed her arms in front of her. "Power superior enough to drop several Elves to the ground is strong beyond belief. Either one very powerful wizard came here yesterday, or several combined their skills to make it happen from a distance." She sighed, her eyes traveling down the path of trampled snow. "I know the Malumi aren't stupid, but there is no way that so many creatures of that nature could pass by quiet enough to trick Elvish ears. The same power had to have silenced their movement."

"We've got the idea that You-Know-Who did the job, Hermione," Ron said. "What we need to figure out is how he did it."

"Nyla," she said, ignoring Ron, "do you have a camera?"

She responded, "Somewhere."

"Would you lend it to me, to take photos of this?" Hermione inquired. "I need to analyze it closer... my memory isn't that accurate."

Ron snorted, "Okay, then."

"Sure, Herm'," Nyla said, smiling a very white smile. "I'll have to search a while... but I'll dig it out for you."

"Thank-you... very much." She looked at Ron. "Have you seen what you needed to?"

"I reckon I can't look into this much further than you can," he shrugged.

Nyla looked back and forth between them. "Are you ready to go back, then?"

They both nodded.

As they walked back to Forfiwen's, Hermione mentally scanned the titles of curse-related books she'd seen in the library. She was still doing so when they were standing in Nyla's bedroom, and she was picking through her wardrobe, finding Geol dress of years past.

Ron was already examining a large variety of Isaac and Galórion's old Geol ensembles with distaste. "Are you sure I have to wear one of these?"

"Yep," Nyla replied, holding up a sweeping red dress she'd picked out of her wardrobe and examining it. She raised her eyebrows encouragingly at Hermione before setting this one down on her bed, too.

Ron grimaced.

"All right," she said, extracting the last of her outfits from the wardrobe. She picked them all up off the bed, told Ron to take his, and walked into the room that Hermione and Ron had slept in the night before.

Nyla was nearly out the door when Hermione said her name. The werewolf turned around and smiled. "I was wondering," she began, "do you have... strange dreams when you're in the forest?"

"Ah, you mean those vivid things--vague on the details?" Nyla nodded. "All the time. Get a bit annoying after a while... must be something Forfiwen slips me at dinner." She shrugged, and left. "I'll look for that camera!" she called a moment later, from the other side of the cabin.

Hermione turned, thoughtfully picking up the first dress on the pile--a violet one. Over it, Ron was giving her a look. "What is it?" she asked.

"I told you they meant something," he said. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Just because they're strange doesn't mean that they have substance, Ron," she told him, putting down the violet dress for a green one. They were all deep colors--Nyla said the bright ones tucked away were for the summer solstice.

"You heard her!" he insisted. "She has them all the time--vivid dreams, vague on details.

Hermione set the green dress off to the side and went for a blue one. "Do you know what hypnagogic imagery is?"

Ron raised his eyebrows at her. "Could you use it in a sentence?"

"They're vivid sensory images... dreams that are more like hallucinations in content." Ron shook his head, indicating that he didn't understand. Hermione set down the green dress and sighed. "There are four stages of sleep. REM sleep is when most dreams occur--and that usually doesn't start until about ninety minutes since you first fell asleep."

"But these dreams happened right away!" Ron stated, "I'd been drifting off, and I was in a dream a second later."

"I'm getting to that, Ron," she told him. "Hypnagogic imagery are particularly vivid dreams that happen double sharp in sleep onset. It's a feature of narcoleptic REM naps." She picked a leaf off of a maroon dress and said, "You do know what narcolepsy is, right?"

"I know what norcleepsy is," Ron snapped, rolling his eyes.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive." Hermione looked at him. "Pretty sure." Ron's forehead relaxed and he looked down at the bed, "Definitely not."

"Narcolepsy," she enunciated, "is a sleep disorder. Among other things, narcoleptics may have an abnormal tendency to pass directly from consciousness into REM sleep."

"So you're trying to tell me that we're all norcleeptic?" Ron inferred.

"Narcoleptic," she articulated. "And, no," Hermione stated slowly, "I'm just giving an example, to show you that this happens and may have nothing to do with the forest."

"Either way," Ron said, "I didn't go from wakefulness right into sleep, I felt myself drift off. So did Ginny. And either way, this isn't normal REM dreaming--d'ya think it's normal that you could tell Galórion and that other Elf--Cadrieldur--where Holly and Malfoy were?"

She sighed, and looked at him. "No," she said, "not really." She pushed away the maroon dress and examined a bronze one. "But that's different."

"It's different?" Ron asked, his voice going up an octave. "How is that different, Hermione?"

She grit her teeth. "It's different because I saw something that was real. What season was it in your dream, Ron?"

"It was summer."

"And where were you?"

"At home." He frowned deeply at her.

"Is that real?"

"It could have been," he said stoutly. "It might have been an old memory."

"Exactly," Hermione said. "That's what dreams are--your mind relaying things that have already happened. Ginny's dream wasn't reality either," she continued. "I hardly expect that all of us that are in the forest right now would be in the middle of a grassy valley somewhere, and when she picks a flower everything crumbles. It was just a nightmare."

Ron shook his head. "I don't mean to be Trelawney's advocate or anything, Hermione, but it's hard to think that all dreams are just a melting pot of memories, anymore." He blew dust off a burgundy ensemble. "If you can dream the truth, Hermione, so can we."

She exhaled through her teeth, moving another dress to the side. "It's not what you think," she whispered.

*()%()*

The elvish stables were a set of long, open buildings. The twisting arcs that made it up were overgrown with ivy, hiding the ornate design from the outside.

Holly had imagined that the horses were freezing, but when they stepped inside elvish warmth swirled about them.

Grass still grew persistently on the ground beneath them, long and rolling, like locks of wavy hair. Instead of being separated, the horses all lay about on the ground. Unlike the Elves, the horses reflected diversity with many breeds of all colors. Later Anendel would inform her that the royal horses, kept in a separate stable, were all white.

"Gythien," Anendel said, looking toward the other end of the stable, "tulin omentë quén," A dark horse that was lying where his gaze was fixed got to its feet. It quickly wove around the other horses, and stopped in front of them.

The Elves showed no evidence of even the assimilation to typical human culture--they were even further from it than the wizards. Their ways were not transient, yet they didn't estrange those whose ways did change with time. There was no negligence of any life in their world where as their own concepts and culture had been thrown aside by humanity long ago.

Anendel reached out his hand, and the horse leaned into it, eyes shutting. "This is Gythien," he said, "she is the horse I trust."

Gythien was blacker than night, with a sleek mane and mournful ebony eyes that reminded Holly of Anendel's. "Sina ná Holly, Istar-nildë," he whispered, leaning toward the horse. One of its sad eyes looked at her.

"Go on," Anendel said, stepping back, "pet her."

Holly had never touched a horse outside of a county fair--and then they were always behind a large, sturdy door. Gythien, though beautiful, looked wild. She timidly reached out, and as her fingertips neared the horse's face, she bumped Holly's fingers with her snout.

Holly jumped back. She loved animals--more than most humans, in fact--but when they were so much bigger than she was--she got scared.

"She is impatient," Anendel said, guiding Holly forward.

Gythien nudged Holly's shoulder with her snout. Holly reached out and patted her mane, which was softer than her own hair. She touched her palm to the side of the horse's head, and she nickered.

"You are partial to animals," Anendel inferred when Holly laughed as Gythien nudged her face, "I can see it. She can sense it."

Holly wanted to touch another horse, but she noticed that many of them had colts nearby--and didn't want to upset a mother.

When she looked at the young horses, her eyes reverted back to Anendel. If he was a "young" Elf--chances were his family was still around. She asked about them.

"My family?" Anendel said. He sighed and began, "My mother and sister work in the house of the arqueni. My grandparents live in the village still. I have cousins, aunts, and uncles here. Any other family member has left for a different land, long ago, or met their demise in war."

Anendel walked up to Gythien, and she set her snout against his chest. "Your father?" Holly said, quietly.

"Defeated by injury," he replied.

"I'm sorry, Anendel," she said, looking up at him.

"Ammë believes I should be like him," Anendel stated. "A courageous warrior, a master of the quinga and the macil, and a respected Elf." He fixed a bit of Gythien's mane. "I do not know whether she understands that I can never be who my father was--even if she can see him in me. I can do all he could, but I will always be a child in the eyes of those who knew him." He patted Gythien's snout and whispered, "Emmë maurtuo autasí."

Gythien nudged Anendel and Holly in turn, then made her way back to where she had laid before. Holly said, "You know, I don't get it."

"What do you not get?"

"Anendel, you're an adult times, like, seventeen," she started, "and the reason the other Elves can't see that is beyond me."

Anendel didn't look at her. He bent over and parted the grass below him, extracting a shaggy-haired thing that was about two feet tall with a large nose. It held tight onto Anendel with its stubby four-fingered arms and cloven feet, cowering away from Holly.

"Is that a Porlock?" Holly asked, feeling awful for clearly frightening the little thing.

"Yes," confirmed Anendel. "They are very shy around humans."

"I see that," she remarked.

Anendel released the Porlock and it immediately dove into the grass and hid itself again. The Elf led her out of the stables.

"What you need to do," she said, picking up where she left off, "is make yourself an adult."

"I beg your pardon," he said. "What?"

Holly stepped over a dip in the ground and said, "You can't go on acting like it's all right that they treat you like you're a kid. You need to show them that you're three hundred sixteen, which is about three hundred years past the beginning of adulthood."

"What would the Elders like to see me do?" Anendel asked, turning to gaze at her, "Capture the Úvanimor single-handed?"

She didn't know what he was talking about, but replied, "It would be a start." Anendel looked away again. "After that, you should stop listening to people three hundred years younger than you are." He looked suspiciously at her. "It makes you look bad."

"I shall remember that."

"Good."

They walked the corridors through the elven palace, and entered her bedchamber. Holly didn't notice anything different, and started to dig in her backpack for a hair-tie. Anendel, on the other hand, remarked, "Someone has been in here..."

"Oh, yeah, another Elf had tidied up the room when I had breakfast," she said, her search thus far unsuccessful.

She began to extract things from the largest section of the backpack, and groaned when she discovered squashed breakfast roll. Holly gave up her search, and stood. Anendel was touching the bed.

"It is warm..."

She raised an eyebrow as Anendel walked over to the chair against the wall that he'd been sitting against before and touched it. Holly rubbed the bedcover, and felt nothing.

"Two were here recently," he murmured.

"Don't worry about it, Anendel," Holly said.

At that moment two female Elves appeared in the doorway, dressed in the servant-customary claret-red. One, with golden hair glowing brighter yet than Anendel's, looked strangely familiar.

"The Lady sends dress for Geol," the other Elf said. She wore an egotistic teal gaze.

The younger Elf held up the dress that had been draped over her arm. It was a very long thing, the deepest of mulberry, with a wide neck like the nightgown Holly was wearing then.

Holly looked out the window. It looked like noon, but in winter weather one could never tell. "Do I have to put it on now?" she asked, switching her gaze back to the Elves in the doorway.

"Yes," said the gilded-hair Elf, her plangent eyes pinned on Anendel. She looked over at Holly. "They are the Lady's orders."

"I can take care of it myself, thanks," Holly said when the Elves asked her to follow them behind the screen. The elder Elf shook her head. "Anendel, tell them I'm a big girl--I can put on my own dress."

"They need to tie it, moina," he said earnestly.

"Can't I pull it on myself, then have them help me tie it?"

Anendel looked meaningfully at the two lady-Elves and the elder one sighed. She signaled for the familiar-looking Elf to hand Holly the dress.

She took the dress in her hands--it was unusually light. She nodded her thanks, and slipped behind the divider. She traced her fingers along the back of the dress, searching for the hidden ties. After finding a pattern of string with her fingertips, Holly loosened the ties and set it over the screen while stripping down.

Old gown on the floor around her feet, she pulled the dress over her head, working her arms into the sleeves. It had looked long enough for an Elf before, but since Holly was less lean than the typical Elvish woman was, the gown hung the perfect height above the ground.

She swung her nightgown over the screen, wondering vaguely where her other clothes were, and called the other Elves in to help her. Holly prepared to wince as they tightened the bodice so that she felt trapped in a corset, but that didn't occur.

As they methodically tightened each string, Holly examined the front of the dress. The sleeves of the dress fanned near the bottom and each narrowed into one long strip--a foot of thin fabric tailing her hand's every move. The bodice of the dress was discreetly sewn with golden thread, tracing a spaced pattern along her stomach that was perfect to each explication. The neck of the dress hardly caught her shoulders, and showed a lot of collarbone.

There were many layers of plum and mauve around her legs and falling from her shoulders, making Holly feel like something between a pretty fairy and a medieval princess. She grinned to herself just as one of the Elves announced that they were done.

Holly stepped out from behind the screen, and held her arms out a little as Anendel looked up from the other side of the room.

"Anwarcel vanya," he remarked, smiling endearingly.

"Considering you have beautiful Elvish women around you all the time, you have awful taste," Holly said. Anendel raised his eyebrows. "Nan," she said on second thought, "hantalyë."

"Anendel," said the younger Elf, who had just finished folding Holly's nightgown, "Ammë merëi na cenelyë."

He nodded and said, "Fárë téra."

Holly was still working on what the lady-Elf had said, Mother... wishes to... see you. She looked again at the Elf, and then back to Anendel, and saw a clear pattern repeating itself in their features.

"I need to leave," Anendel said, turning to Holly and lowering his head. "You must stay in the coromindi."

"I'll sit around," Holly agreed. "Quetvedui na amillya nin," she told him.

"Náenyë," he said. The two servants looked keenly at her when they walked out. Anendel nodded politely before following them.

Holly tapped her foot on the floor and looked around her chamber. She found herself wandering into Draco's room. Holly started whistling Liz Phair. She nodded to the Elf sitting near the door, and her eerie sage-green eyes followed her progress.

She slid downward, back against Draco's bed, carefully arranging the gown beneath her. The whistling came to a stop, and she started to sing--quietly, but hoping for Draco to hear and awake nonetheless.

"I don't need a support system.

Put your hand on my heart and listen.

What I need is a dedication to last me all the way through...."

Holly examined her fingernails, frowning at the dirt visible beneath them.

"Pointing the finger, I'm counting on loving you.

Over and above the passion,"

She drummed her fingertips on her knee.

"I'm connected to you."

The song was over, and Holly heard the guitar fade out somewhere in the back of her mind, where her accompaniment kept her in tune. Before she could think of another song to start up, Draco spoke from behind her.

"What angel wakes me from my flow'ry bed?"

Holly rocked to her feet and turned around, squatting, to face him. She fell forward onto her knees and looked at him.

Draco was lying on his side, a small smirk leaving his lips upturned. His hair was somewhat untidy, and that combined with the shine of the golden elvish light made him look strangely lovable.

"If you just quoted Shakespeare, I'll bite you."

Sleekly, Draco opened one ashy eye and then the next. He began to turn onto his back, and affirmed, "I like it anywhere, and I like it when it hurts."

Holly chose to ignore this. "You don't strike me as the poetic type," she stated.

Neutrally, he replied, "Behave and I won't have to strike you at all." Holly rolled her eyes. Draco turned his head on his pillow and leered at her. "People who don't like poetry don't understand that it's all about seduction."

Holly raised an eyebrow and considered this, nodding a little. "You do have a point."

"When don't I?"

"And yet," she added, briefly holding up a finger, "that was Muggle poetry."

"A dirty habit I just can't kick," Draco muttered.

"One of many, I'm guessing," Holly said sagely.

His slate-gray eyes crinkled slightly in reply. "That's a pretty dress," he remarked, gaze roving over her garb. And, as though he felt he was being too kind before, he added, "It'd look a lot better on you if your chest wasn't on backward."

She attenuated her eyes and said, "Are you familiar with that children's fable... 'The Tortoise and the Pain-In-the-Ass?"

"No," Draco said. He propped himself up on his elbows and added, "Enlighten me."

"Well, the tortoise and Richie engage in a race," she began her canard. "Richie, after flying his top-of-the-line broomstick at its highest speed the entire time, takes a rest. The tortoise, catching up, snatches Richie by the ankle, drags him past the finish line, and then commences in ripping out his jugular and stuffing the cavity full of grass." Holly leaned forward and stretched her lips in a candied smile.

"Pleasant," he affirmed warmly, his eyes traveling over her face. "All fables have a moral, however..."

"Ah, yes." Holly peered toward the ceiling, straightening up, then decided, "The only way to win is by killing your enemy."

"Brilliant. Advice worthy of any Malfoy," Draco replied. "But, I don't think you mean that."

"Really?"

"That's right, Black," he said. "You have a heart as big as your feet," he said theatrically. "You wouldn't hurt a Chizpurfle, love."

Holly raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. "So," he went on, "looks like we got out of that cave."

"I Felya óh Quildë," Holly recited. "The Cave of Quiet. The poison that gives. The fog that freezes. The chill that chokes." Draco ogled at her. "I asked Anendel."

"Who's Anendel?"

"Nice Elf... looking after me. He left a bit ago to go talk to his mom."

Draco nodded. "Why are you wearing that dress?"

"It's a gown for Geol."

"Geol?"

"The combined winter solstice and Christmas celebration of the Elves," she said, "it's gonna be lots of fun!"

"I'm sure it will be," he drawled.

"Oh, lighten up, Malfoy--"

"How long are we supposed to stay here?" he asked.

She shrugged. "'Till tomorrow, I think." Holly turned her head and looked at the olivaceous-eyed Elf, but she didn't confirm anything. "If not," she began, turning back to Draco, "we might have to start working on our brilliant attempt at escape right now."

"Right." Draco looked at the ceiling. "Where are we?"

"In the coromindi--a section of the palace here."

"And 'here' is...?"

"The Elvish village... kingdom... city..." she hazardously gesticulated to the area around them. "I don't know. In the forest?"

"Ah." Draco pushed himself up. Sitting with his back against the headboard, he smiled winningly at the Elf who sat rigidly near the doorway. "Vedui," he said, "manen nar elyë?"

As the Elf's ears seemed to prick up, Holly spun and nailed Draco with her gaze.

"Nányë mára," the dour-looking Elf replied, looking at him in interest. "Arlyë?"

"Velicë," he told her, nodding. The Elf smiled a little in response. Draco turned to look at Holly, eyebrows raising when he met her stare. "Yes?"

"You know Quenya?" she asked hurriedly. "You didn't know Quenya before!"

"Don't get your knickers bunched, Black," he said, "I don't know Tengwar. And basically all I know in Quenya is how to say and reply to 'How are you?'." He leaned forward, face close to hers, and gave her a puppy-like expression. "What... were you afraid I'd beaten you at something?"

Holly's expression remained blank, and she said, "No."

Draco smirked and pulled back. "My father has said that you should be familiar with every language around you. He says that a man who knows four languages is worth four men." Holly raised her eyebrows in interest. "He thinks that if you understand the tongue of the enemy, you comprehend more than just their words. Their language is who they are," he continued, "their fears, their strengths, their weaknesses."

Holly sat back, watching him keenly. Draco took a shield of his father's wisdom wherever he went. He continued, "The limits of my language mean the limits of my world."

Holly sensed movement at the door, and she looked up. In the doorway stood a very tall Elf with fair blonde hair pulled away from his face much like Anendel's. He held an extremely medieval-looking ensemble of midnight-blue, and was watching Draco superciliously.

She glanced up at the vainglory Draco, who was looking at the outfit in veiled disgust. "And the limits of your vogue mean the limits of social acceptance."

Briefly he narrowed his eyes at her, and then asked the Elf, "Do I have to put that on?"

He nodded shortly, his smart golden eyes meeting Draco's meaningfully. Draco sighed, and slid out of the bed. He was wearing a white T-shirt that must have been underneath his robes the day before and long, leathery pants that sagged a bit. His hair was very disheveled in the back, sticking up nearly as wildly as Harry's did. He strode to the door barefoot, took the clothes in his arms, thanked the Elf, and disappeared behind the screen divider.

The other Elf left, clearly not feeling the need to help Draco into his ensemble, and the Elf who'd been sitting near the door the entire time folded Draco's clothes as he swung them over the edge of the screen.

"How's it coming?" Holly asked, getting to her feet and unnecessarily brushing off her gown.

"It's... difficult to say," came his voice. It was a junction later when he asked, "Líclyë hosan ni?"

The Elf stood up to assist Draco, as he had wanted. A moment later he emerged from behind the divider, frowning slightly and gazing down at his garb.

He wore an open tunic with small, black toggles over a very thin, waist-length caftan. He had on long trousers that looked like a fabric somewhere between velvet and leather. Brightening the deep navy, he had a verdant belt tied about his waist.

"Potter should bloody well have to wear one of these," he snarled under his breath. Draco looked up, his gray eyes turned steely purse against the color of his clothing.

"I'm sure he will," Holly said reassuringly, "and might look even more ridiculous."

"I wouldn't talk, Titania."

"Shut up, Malfoy."

*()%()*

Harry fumbled with the thin, smooth string of belt. He managed to tie it loosely, and then dropped his arms. Looking down, he examined the ensemble he had been forced into. Evergreen tunic, sheer vert undershirt, and long elvish slacks that he had to roll up a few times. He had a stringy, braided belt of amber thread and a gold clasp fastened to the collar of the tunic.

"C'mon, Harry, let me see!" Ginny said.

Harry poked his head around the screen and desperately asked Belebridien, "Do I have to wear this?"

"Yes."

He dove back behind the divider and held out his arms, the sleeves sagging from his wrists. "You can't be serious," he muttered.

"I am," she answered.

Harry let out a resigned sigh and stepped out from behind the screen, not daring to look at Ginny.

She snorted, and quickly covered with, "What? It's not that bad..."

Harry looked up. Ginny was looking very tall in a sheer golden dress, its many folds and layers falling around her legs and the collar splitting in a wide V, wrapping loosely around her freckled shoulders. She was straightening a long, scarf-like navy belt that hung somewhat crookedly around her hips.

She smiled at him as Belebridien began to braid back her hair, her long fingers ably turning the pieces into perfect twists. "I feel sort of like a princess, myself," she told him.

Ginny looked like one too, standing stiffly in good posture so not to hinder the progress of her hair being fixed.

His better judgment said to compliment her, but his self-conscious instinct prevented him from doing so. Instead he pushed up his glasses and felt himself go red as she looked over his garb and giggled.

Belebridien finished with Ginny's hair, tying the upper half that she had braided back with a thin gold chain and leaving the rest to hang around her shoulders. She curtsied herself out just as Ron and Hermione walked in.

Hermione looked agog. She was bedecked in a dark magenta gown with a bodice stitched with silver patterns, curving elegantly this way and that. Her hair had been tamed and swirled up into a careful knot on the back of her head.

Ron looked much as Harry felt, standing uncomfortably in his brown and burgundy thing, adjusting the tunic shiftily.

"I'm so excited," Hermione told them, "it should be so interesting! An elvish festival... I can hardly wait... they're supposed to be wonderful."

Ron seemed to snap out of his timorous state. "Maybe in Toolqueen," he said bitterly, "What real Elves actually disembowel us then cook our hollowed bodies over a bonfire? Hm?"

"If that were the case, I doubt they'd make us so pretty beforehand," Harry remarked dryly.

Hermione and Ginny had commenced in sincerely complimenting each other on their superb ensembles. Ron glanced at the two of them, and leaving their own outfits out of the limelight he said, "Nyla led us to the place where they kept the Malumi."

"Did she?"

Ron nodded. "Big thing made of thorn walls and trees." Harry gave him a look to continue. "There was a huge hole blown into one side, trees knocked down, thorn remnants nowhere to be seen." He raised his eyebrows at Ron, and he returned the gesture. "Nyla says that the Elves that were keeping an eye on the place are all in a magic-induced sleep somewhere in the palace, here."

"Does anyone know how the whole thing happened?" Ron shook his head.

"Nyla said she'd give Hermione her old camera so she could take some pictures and try and figure out what did it." Ron corrected himself, "Or, rather, how it was done."

"The Elves are willing to let Hermione take pictures in their village?" Harry said incredulously.

"I guess."

"Hm." Harry glanced over Ron's shoulder at Ginny, who was laughing with Hermione over something he didn't know. When he realized he wasn't watching her and thinking of her secret, he quickly forced his gaze away.

"What about Galórion and his son?" Harry asked, "Are they back from their searching?"

"Nope." Ron sighed dejectedly. "It doesn't look as though any of the Malumi are still around."

"They could be with Voldemort right now," Harry murmured.

Ron, recovering from his flinch, glancing at Harry in a somewhat pitying way. Harry overlooked this and said, "How long do you think we have until Geol starts?"

"Why?"

Hermione and Ginny were listening now.

"Maybe we could find those Elves that had been guarding the cage--what if they're just Stunned or something? We could pull them out of that."

"I doubt that they're only Stunned--I think it'd take something more powerful to overtake immortals."

A voice at the door said, "I agree." They all spun around, to see Holly standing there with a very lazy posture, mulberry dress swishing around her legs in the light breeze. Relief washed over Harry. "If you want something that's lived for over two centuries to go down, you'd better hope they're wrapped in a dozen sweaters in a nursing home."

She looked away from her hand and asked, "What are we talking about?"

They ignored this. "Holly," Ginny breathed, "how do you feel?"

Holly toyed with the flowing layers of her dress and said, "Like the queen of Avondale." She smirked at them. "How about you?"

"Great, now," Ginny answered.

"You were fine long before I came 'round," she said, "don't even try that crap out on me." Holly smiled and stepped into the pavilion. "Yawl look so pur-ty," she drawled, twirling a spare ringlet around her finger and jutting out one hip. She flopped down onto Ginny's bed.

"What's up?"

They all ogled at her. Every time Holly woke up--especially now--it was like seeing the dead on their feet. Her color looked as though it had gone past normality--she seemed to glow golden like everything else in that strange place. The smile slipped off of her face, and she cleared her throat.

"Okay," she said, her voice small, "what am I missing?"

"It's nothing, Holly," Harry said.

Holly's eyes switched keenly between all of them. "What?"

"It's just," Hermione began, treading carefully as Holly's eyes fixed onto her, "everything would be simpler if none of this had ever happened."

Harry saw Ginny wince, and he held his own breath. He looked at Holly, whose cheeks had sunken in. Her eyes were trained on Hermione, and her shoulders were tense. "If none of this had happened," she echoed.

Don't try to explain it to her, he thought frantically, just let it alone, Hermione, just let it alone....

"I didn't ask you to come with me," Holly said, contumacious kicking in.

"That's not what I meant," Hermione replied quickly.

"You brought yourself into this," Holly snapped, shutting her eyes in distaste.

"I'm not blaming you, Holly," she attempted. But Harry sensed that Hermione was getting a taste of her own medicine--Holly might have been reading her better than she knew.

"It was my foolish decision that got you in here in the first place," Holly reminisced. "If you hadn't acted on my choices you would have nothing to be worrying about right now."

"Of course I would have something to worry about--" Hermione told her, "you'd be nowhere to be found."

"Oh, dry up, things would have gone much differently if you--" Holly cut herself off abruptly, and stood.

In a split-second she was gone from the pavilion.

Ron held up his hands, sat on Harry's bed, and said, "She's all yours."

Harry cast a glance between Hermione, who was looking forcibly calm, and Ginny, who had an expression of mingled discomfort and pity. He sighed to himself and tore after Holly.

He caught up with her in a long corridor, and grabbed her arm. Holly whirled on him, but stopped, glaring. "What?" she snapped.

"I was the one who followed you, Holly," he said desperately.

"A lot of help it did me, too," she retorted.

"Look, I'm sorry if I interfered with your plans," he said, grabbing onto her shoulder as she made to walk away, "but I just wanted to protect you."

"Protect me?" she repeated. "You put me in a boat with Malfoy and sent us down a river at the head of the line. Yeah, five stars..."

"I'm sorry, Holly," Harry said. By the look on her face, she was hearing him. "I know I should've let it be," he lied, "but I couldn't. You and Ginny were gone, and I followed."

"Fine," she barked, "just don't act like you didn't choose to get wrapped up in whatever is happening which, by the way, I still don't know!"

Holly was breathing heavily, and Harry watched her carefully. After she calmed down, he said, "Do you know what Malumi are?"

"Duh."

"The Elves kept a large number of them in captivity here, and they've all escaped somehow. Voldemort wants them."

"Oh." Holly wrinkled her nose. "That sucks."

"There's more, but I'll leave it to Ginny to give you details."

The Elf who had sat with Holly through the night came around the nearest corner. Holly looked up at him, and smiled genuinely. "How's it goin', Anendel?"

He stopped in front of them, nodding once to Harry. His sad, endearing gaze traveled back to Holly, and he said, "Your comrade wonders whether you have a hairbrush."

Harry stared at Holly. Her comrade? He must be making a mistake...

The corners of her mouth twitched. "Tell him there's probably a comb in the front pocket of my backpack," she said, "He needs to work through that nest."

Anendel nodded. "You will be returning shortly?" he asked.

"Yep."

"Mára apa arin," he closed.

"Mára mesta," she replied.

Anendel inclined his head and left. "Pretty language," Harry said, "You're quite good with it."

Holly looked sideways at him. "You just heard me say two words, and suddenly I'm 'quite good with it'?" She snorted.

"You must be good enough for him to know that you'd understand what he said."

"I know the basics," she replied, shrugging, "I'm still working on it." Holly started to walk again and added, "The limits of your language are the limits of your world, y'know."

"I didn't."

"You learn something new every day."

Harry walked along with her. She seemed to know the corridors to take back to the coromindi. "Er," he said after a moment, "when he called Malfoy your 'comrade'--he did, erm, have the wrong end of the stick... right?"

"What, are you dictating who I'm friends with now?" she laughed. He looked at her seriously, and Holly's smirk went out. "You've got to be kidding me."

"I'm not dictating who you're friends with it's just... you can't... you can't be friends with Malfoy. That's all."

Holly's eyebrows rose. "Why not?" she asked coolly.

"Because he's Malfoy," Harry said, expecting this to be a good enough explanation for her.

"I see," remarked Holly. "What if," she said slowly, raising one finger, "I wanted to be friends with him?"

"I wouldn't let you," Harry stated in a matter-of-fact voice.

"Gotcha," she said. There was a challenging look in her eyes that Harry didn't like, however.

They were in the coromindi now and Holly stood akimbo, facing him. "I'll see you at the festival, then," she said. Holly disappeared through the door into her rotunda.

Harry sighed, sensing the storm.

*()%()*

Anendel, dressed now in evergreen, led her across the palace. He'd braided back her hair for her, and they seemed to be the only people who weren't yet at the dinner.

Can't be friends with Malfoy, she thought bitterly. Who does he think he is? God? Pff. I can hang out with whoever I want. I wasn't planning on being friends with Malfoy in the first place.

Yes you were, rang her conscience. He's smart, handsome, and smooth. He's a critic--it's just what you want.

No, no, no, she thought, squeezing her eyes shut, I don't need a critic.

He's real, fought her mind. Working against your better judgment doesn't matter--your instinct wants him.

She wasn't positive which form of conscience was working here, but she didn't like it anyway. The only thing her instinct wants is to be the best at something.

I could be his best friend--no! Aaagh, shut up, Holly! You're freaking yourself out. Holly lifted up her dress so she wouldn't become tangled in it as she walked down the stairs at Anendel's side. They were in a section of the place she didn't recognize.

He stopped at a towering arced door, carved with a lot of Tengwar and symbols she didn't recognize mingled in between the lines. She could hear voices on the other side.

"Mardë óh i Ilwë," Anendel said. "The Hall of the Heavens."

"I don't think the bouncers will let me in," Holly muttered.

Anendel, clearly not understanding this, overlooked it. He gave her a last, raking look, checking for mishaps in her appearance, then patted down his own tunic. "Anywhere specific you would like to be seated?"

"Put me by Malfoy," Holly said, smirking grimly to herself.

Anendel pushed the doors open, and Holly gasped as he led her inside.

The Hall of the Heavens was colossal--with one long table stretching so far that she could hardly see the end of it from where she stood. Trees that leaned over the Hall screened the windows in the ceiling, and gilded sunlight filtered in between the leaves, illuminating the entire Hall beautifully.

Grates crackled with merry flame every several feet along either wall. The fireplaces were adorned with a curtain of shining white fabric that hung above and beside each grate and reflected the light of the sky above and the flames. Betwixt each fireplace was a pillar that protruded halfway from the walls with gold laid into them in pretentious forms and textures.

More draping cloths hung between some of these pillars, falling in smooth folds along the walls. Beads of pearls and golden chains were tied around some of these sheets, matching the ones that pinned back the fabric around the grates. She wondered how the Elves had access to such things.

At the end of the hall opposite her were four tall, thin windows that covered the height of the structure. She couldn't imagine the long travail that befell for this structure to be erected.

The Elves (and few humans dotted among them) chatted happily, munching on the food stacked on numerous plates in front of them. No servants bustled about, every Elf sat down with the others.

The only division was that the royal Elves sat at the head of the table. It looked as though Amolas and Eowilindë had several children, as they drew nearer. Holly spotted Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Hermione sitting together on the opposite side of the table. As she and Anendel passed them, Holly watched Harry out of the corner of her eye.

Anendel stopped, and motioned forward. Draco was in front of them, now, and there were two empty seats on his left. "Are you going to sit with us?" she whispered to Anendel.

"My ammë wishes for me to sit with her for the dinner," Anendel said, atrabilious eyes gloomy as ever. "Apologies."

"No, no, that's fine. I'll talk with you later."

Anendel inclined his head and strode away. Holly slipped into the chair next to Draco and smiled at him.

Reluctantly, he returned it. "Yes?"

"Nothing, just trying to piss off the Trio." As Draco's eyes moved away from hers Holly scanned the supernumerary mass of food in front of them.

"It's working." He explained, "Potter looks like he's stuck with a Trainee Healer for blood samples... Weasley looks constipated."

Holly broke a large cracker-like piece of food in half and took a bite. Draco continued, "The Mudblood appears to have been slapped in the face... Little Weasley doesn't look too terribly concerned."

"Is she sitting next to Harry?" Holly asked, carefully dishing herself something that appeared to be soup and smelled wonderful. She picked up her spoon, and stared at it. It appeared to be something between gold and crystal--it was slightly translucent.

"Yep."

"That's why." She spooned a mouthful of the soup into her mouth, feeling a little guilty for getting her germs on something so pretty. The soup seemed bland for a split-second before it became spicy sweet like some foreign nectar. She pointed to the basin containing it with her spoon and said, "That's good. Try it out."

Draco looked questioningly at her. She swallowed another mouthful of soup and raised her eyebrows at him. "What?"

"You're going to stay sitting here?"

"Would you rather brood in silence?"

"I would," he confirmed.

She whispered, "Too bad."

*()%()*

The sun was sinking fast now, and Ron and Harry alternated throwing dark glances toward Holly and Draco, who sat a way down on the opposite side of the table, gabbing with one another like old friends.

"That's... twisted," Ron concluded. "She knows what Malfoy's like and who he's in with! Does she have a death wish or something?"

"She knows better," Harry replied, sipping the fluid from his goblet. It tasted somewhat like watered down orange juice, but very sugary. With every gulp he felt more alert. "She's just trying to make me mad."

"Are you sure?" Ron said. He motioned their way, and Harry squinted to watch them. It appeared that Holly had just gotten some food in Draco's hair, and was leaning away, over the next empty chair, laughing. Draco dipped his hand into the food on a dish in front of him, leaned over, and smeared whatever it was on her cheek. Holly frantically grabbed one of the cloth napkins in front of her and scrubbed her face, scowling. "It doesn't look like she's just pissing around to me."

Harry watched Holly attempt putting a pea in Draco's ear, and he tipped backward and held up his fork in self-defense.

Ginny, who had looked up now said, "Just let it be."

They stared at her. "What?"

"You heard me."

"Ginny," protested Ron, "you know perfectly well how--"

"Yes, I do!" She struggled with getting a slice of pie on her plate. "And whether she's messing about or not, she'll manage to turn it on you if you tell her off for it."

"What are you on about?" Ron said, craning his neck to get a better look at Holly and Draco.

Ginny sighed, and gave up with the pie slice. "If either of you tell her that she can't be friends with Malfoy she'll say that you can't restrict her, and you've been doing it since she came around. Then she'll dig up an example in which you made it very clear you didn't care for her, and ask why you do now." Ginny picked at a different cake. "Then she won't speak to you and brood over it whenever you're around until you provide her with a sufficient apology." She dabbed the corners of her mouth with the embroidered napkin. "I was under the impression that you knew how these things went."

Ron sighed. "I reckon I shouldn't have expected anything different."

Hermione, who had been speaking avidly with a fair-eyed Elf at her side tuned into the conversation. "Why don't you talk to her, Ginny?"

"Oh no, I'm not getting involved."

"Why not?" inquired Harry. "You're, like, her best friend!"

"All the more reason," she stated. "Then I'll not only look like the jealous one, but I'll pull her out of what could be an improved attitude. I'm hoping against recidivism, how about you?"

Hermione said, "She's always happy when you're around. She likes you. And, clearly she trusts you." She motioned around to the high-reaching elvish hall, indicating the riches and the forest beyond. "You should talk to her."

"I won't do it until I see something off with it."

Ron gaped at her. "It's Malfoy. What more could be 'off'?"

"Plenty." Ginny sat her hands in her lap. "If I sense a plot with Mister Malfoy or someone bigger yet behind the curtain, then we'll get serious."

"And what if the plot is already underway?" Harry asked.

"It's not," she said, "Lady Luck has already given the Malfoys more than their fair share. If the plot starts, Holly will know. No one's that tricky. Trust me."

"How do you reckon?" asked Ron.

"Holly's a sharp girl, she'll see it. She's not in love with him." Ginny's genially indifferent expression suddenly slipped into a slight frown, as if another thought had occurred to her. A moment later her frown disappeared again, as though she'd shaken the scenario off. "Let's talk about something else, shall we?" She poured herself some of the nectar-water and took a sip. "I'm tired with all of this serious chat--we're supposed to be celebrating!"

She smiled around at them all, and Harry could have sworn that he caught a metallic glint in her eyes that didn't fit her at all. Later on, he forgot about it.

*()%()*

"Toffee... almond... I don't know, nibble on yours s'more."

Holly looked back down at her own toothsome cake, cut off a bit with her fork, and slid it into her mouth. "I can taste the almond, yeah..." she tried to separate the food in her mouth with her tongue, "it tastes sort of like bread dipped in coffee... but not disgusting."

Draco shut one eye then said, "I'm tasting oranges..."

"Me too... what is this stuff?!" None of the Elves were rearing to answer. "I dunno," Holly told him, "but it is freaking awesome."

He nodded fervently. "I'd take more if I didn't feel like a Non-Explodable Luminous Balloon that's about to... well, explode." Draco pushed his plate forward and averted his eyes, holding his stomach.

Holly concurred, nodding, and pushed her own dish away. She leaned back, trying not to slouch and glanced around the hall. There was so much rapid Quenya ringing around her that she may as well have been in an empty room. She gently touched her stomach, hoping that the stuffiness would lessen into satiety.

"Where's your Elven fellow?" Draco asked.

Unabashed, she answered, "Sitting somewhere with his mom and sister."

"Saving time for his mum when he's coped with her for centuries..." Draco said, "what a sweet bloke."

"Unlike you," she pointed out, "who can't spare time for your mother over Christmas break after less than two decades with her."

"Or you," Draco replied, "who can't track down her dad after she was reunited with him only half a year ago."

"He's away for business."

"In London," he said, sneering, "the city where the Hogwarts Express makes its stops."

"Screw off, Malfoy, where do you live?"

"We're in the process of moving," he told her elusively.

"You're going to move out of the Manor?" she questioned incredulously. "Hasn't it been owned by your family for a couple centuries?"

"Why would we move out of the Manor?"

Eyebrows arced, she said, "You're moving the Manor?"

"Of course." Holly knitted her brows. Draco rolled his eyes and said, "You're not much of a Pureblood, Black."

"Sorry," she hissed.

Draco explained, "Father just feels we should find somewhere less congested with mountains, lakes and so forth." Holly was going to retort, but held her tongue, settling on a good scoffing noise. "Boundaries like these are bridged every day," Draco said, "moving mansions, lighting rooms without lanterns or fire--"

"Electricity," she interjected.

"--unsticking Permanent Sticking Charms, tracking down homes bewitched with a Fidelius Charm without communicating with the Secret Keeper..."

"I get your point," she barked, thinking of her home--hidden by that very sort of Charm. Draco backed off. "So... where are you moving, exactly?"

He shrugged.

"I telda firin orywa vannë," called Amolas' ringing voice from the head of the table. Holly looked at him--he was standing up, his arms swept wide, and a timeless smile on his face. "Andúnë ná menna! Kalessë i asar yessëa!"

The Elves stood as one, Holly and Draco struggling to their feet after them. Amolas and Eowilindë left the hall, three servants in their wake. Two of the servants opened the tall doors for the Lord and Lady; the third followed them outside.

The Elves on the table opposite them began filing out of the hall. "Where d'ya s'pose we're going?" she asked, tipping her head toward Draco and speaking from the corner of her mouth. She knew that all the Elves in a wide radius could probably hear her clearly, but she may as well give it a go.

"I'd think you follow whoever is in front of you," Draco said.

That wasn't what she had asked, but she let it be, as their line was now processing to the door. She passed under the arc of the doorway, glancing up and just making out Tengwar carved into the stone, before they were rushing down a corridor. Through two more wide, open rooms, down a winding corridor, and outside.

It was the bluish black of early night, and Holly could see the little light they had fading with every second that passed. The brumal evening was so cold it felt like Holly was inhaling ice, and she crossed her arms, hugging them tight to her chest and shivering.

They were in a section of the village, cobbled with ruddy, bronze, and jetty stones cleverly arranged in quaint circles. The Elves were lining up, side-by-side, on the strips of black. Holly stood between Draco and the Elf who had sat by her in the Hall of the Heavens, named Celemir.

Holly felt herself being pushed to the side. Anendel had appeared, squeezing himself between her Celemir. "The Lady," he said, finally managing to get a spot, "wishes for me to keep you in close sight."

"Yes, one eye needs to be on Black at all times," drawled Draco. "You never know when she'll do something incredibly stupid."

"Hoviel is allowed time with her verno," Anendel told him, "you are under my watch now as well."

Holly leaned over and leered at Draco, who shot back a nasty look. She straightened up and tilted her head a bit toward Anendel, who towered over both of them, and asked, "What's going on?"

"Just wait," he told her.

Dissatisfied, Holly scrunched up her shoulders and shivered more. All the Elves around her stood tall and graceful, hands at their sides, heads held high. She felt like an unwanted stain, pretty dress or not.

She could see Amolas and Eowilindë out of the corner of her eye. Amolas had his arms held wide, and Eowilindë stood with her cool eyes closed patiently.

Amolas quickly raised his arms high, and there was a deafening blast. Recovering from nearly jumping a foot in the air, Holly realized that large fires were ablaze along the stone, and the frigid air was immediately filled with cozy heat. The golden leaves of the trees around them shimmered and reflected the solace-inducing fires, and a great sigh of relief seemed to cross over all the Elves.

"Liltalyë!" Eowilindë's voice rang out.

Holly looked closely at the Lady. She was bedecked in a sweeping aureate and white gown, some manner of headband or tiara on her head, the delicate pearls resting against her forehead. Eowilindë's lilac eyes fixed onto Holly, and sensing that she'd gazed too long (along with a sick twist in the pit of her stomach) she looked away.

*()%()*

Music started up from a band Ginny didn't see. Strings and woodwinds--they formed a beautiful melody that breathed of Yule. She knew that she had never heard the tune before, but it struck a cord somewhere in her heart that felt similar to recognizing an old song and reliving the memories that went with it.

Ginny loved it here in this Elysium where she hoped her heart might one day rest. It was as if living in a city of angels, their beauty, grace, and mystery could only be paralleled by those heavenly beings'. The food was exquisite, the dress made her feel like a princess, and through doleful eyed and too tall for their own good, each Elf constantly had some aura of lasting celebration and felicity around him or her, as though their shadows were constantly dancing in their wake. Each building, even the huts off to the side of the village, was an edifice, and their language was lovely and harmonious.

Maybe if she were rusticated she could run here before being put on the train home.

Each Elvish denizen around them began to hop, twirl, and sway--long, lithe forms moving with the music in perfect time. Ron and Harry froze; they weren't partial to dancing, she knew.

But Hermione snatched Ron's hands before he could retreat, and they began to move clumsily with the tune.

Ginny looked around at Harry, who seemed to be searching for the source of the music. 'You know you want to,' said Tom.

Shut up, Tom.

Harry met her eyes; her, the Elves, and the fires were reflected clearly in his glasses. She opened her mouth, but he got their first. He stammered, "I--uh--I guess I'll just be... over there..." and left.

'Too late,' said Tom.

She watched Harry weave around the Elves until he made it to the side of the festivities. There he turned, trying to find pockets to slide his hands into. His eyes scanned the sea of blond heads for a moment before he turned away.

Would you leave me alone?

'Can't, love, terribly sorry.'

Ginny turned around on the spot, searching for a familiar face. She wasn't going to dance alone--who did that?

'I'll dance with you, Gin,' Tom told her. It sounded as if he was laughing.

Really? And how do you suppose you'll do that?

She felt a wave of something go through her mind, and her answer came when her shoulders shrugged involuntarily. Hurriedly Ginny shut him out. She took one last look around all the dancing forms, and had moved to leave just as a hand caught her on her forearm.

She turned, shutting her eyes. She didn't know how Tom would be able to dance with her, but she prayed that that long hand wasn't his.

Ginny reopened her eyes and they met the chest of an Elf. She tilted her head up and met his smiling face.

"Hi," she said, somewhat breathlessly. It was difficult talking to any of the male sort of Elves, each time she bumped into one it was like running into a tutelary spirit.

"My name is Elvaldur, the Lady wishes for me to keep you in my company."

He had silver hair and long, smoky cyanic eyes. Her gaze darted over his features, expecting to see some trick of Tom's reflected in the eyes that she watched the fires dancing in. She didn't see anything.

Tom, you still there?

'So it would seem.'

Elvaldur smiled kindly down at her. "In the meantime, would you care for a dance?"

The tune still flowed on, joyous and warm.

She glanced back at Harry, who was looking away, turned back to the Elf (who seemed to be gazing at her in the manner that she would look at a little child) and nodded. "Sure," she said, smiling widely up at him and laughing a little. She felt strangely weak at the knees.

Elvaldur took Ginny's hands in his, and she felt even smaller in the world when she looked down at his long, smooth, elegant hands gingerly grasping her suddenly tiny, stub-nailed, freckled ones. Her fingers were so cold they seemed lifeless beneath his.

He guided her around, dancing nimbly and managing to not look absolutely ridiculous, and she felt her own feet wanting to move with such exuberance and grace, and slowly bent to the instinct that the music stirred up in her.

*()%()*

Malfoy, surly even with the new warmth, light, and music, had retreated back into the shadows. Holly had shrugged it off, not feeling the need to cling onto him much longer for Harry, Ron, and Hermione to get the point.

Anendel, then, had swept her up and encouraged her to dance with him. She felt strange not working with her hips and shoulders to move with the beat, but rather letting herself go where she wanted. The melody played by a small band of Elves with a manner of fiddles, harps, violins, lutes, and the like eclectic with a variety of reed instruments varying from what looked like whittled flutes to extremely long clarinet-like woodwinds.

Their music was uplifting, making her feel careless and lighthearted. Any recent stress or haunting memory had risen and dispersed with the smoke of the fires, which themselves seemed to be cavorting. The Elves, even the white-haired elders, didn't appear to mind the humans' presence any longer. Holly had once bumped into a pretty black woman with long, tightly braided hair, and upon apologizing received a tight hug around her middle and a warm greeting.

She'd jitterbugged away, leaving Holly dumbstruck, but it wasn't long before Anendel snatched her wrist and spun her around.

She hadn't been aware that a long period of darkness called for a celebration that would be quite so merry.

Anendel pulled her over and told her to follow along. The harmonious strain ended, and Holly found herself lined up with many other Elves, in a system of interconnected circles.

"What do I do?" she hissed desperately up at him.

"You will catch on," Anendel assured her.

Another song began, slow and soothing, and she did her best to follow the movements of the Elves around her.

*()%()*

Harry sat off to the side of the festivities, trying to find something to do with his hands. He watched the Elves (innocence pockmarked with the occasional human) moving as one with the new tune. Kick, hop, turn, clap, taps--the same motions repeated as the circles moved around counterclockwise, everybody skipping sideways to keep between their partners on either side.

Harry didn't want to dance--not with Ron or Malfoy watching. Ginny would think he looked foolish, Holly would probably make a point at exaggerating her laughter and pointing sharply at him just to tear at his confidence for the joy it gave her. Hermione wouldn't mind, and would surely mention later that dancing was good for every aspect of the thought process, and by so doing he would be stimulated to do well in his next Potions exam.

Malfoy... well, he didn't even want to imagine what he would do.

Holly was certainly just trying to mess with his head. He tapped in the impression of protection, guidance... and somehow she felt harassed and controlled. Holly wrenched away from a guiding hand on her wrist, and ran into the gray zone only so the guardian would be forced to follow her into what he dreaded, to find her and drag her back out again.

Harry watched Ron and Hermione move by in one circle of Elves, struggling to keep up with their footwork, but laughing nonetheless.

Who did Holly think she was? Making ties with the rival, the enemy... there was no way she would really do that, was there? Holly wouldn't wrap herself in the affairs of the Malfoys on a whim, initially attempting to get Harry on the edge of his seat but eventually being sucked into their world.

She couldn't.

He can't control her, no, but there's a point where Harry draws the line. Draco Malfoy--he is the one Hogwarts student that he could forbid her to see in a light other than that of a nasty, sneering git. The son of Voldemort's top supporter and his narcissistic wife. Pureblood, but dirtied, brilliant but continually incorrect. Malfoy was no more than muck under their feet.

Ginny twirled nearby, scarlet hair glowing in the firelight, smile bright. She radiated with content belonging, guided by a silver-haired Elf. She didn't bother with the correct way to move with the tune; she simply skipped along between the Elf on either side, satisfied with any caper to the song.

Holly wouldn't be able to stand being in Draco's presence much longer than a few minutes, he thought, they were absolute opposites.

He tried to shut out his better judgment, which told him that the strings of Holly and Draco's being might coincide quite peacefully. Tricky versus manipulative. Sharp-minded and spike-tongued facing quick-thinking and sarcastic. Aggressiveness on either side, but one lost control, the counterpart remained indifferent and smooth. Their souls would create a perfect equipoise to denote a loyal friendship.

But, one whose wand defended the innocent, the other whose weapon stood with Voldemort.

Harry caught sight of Holly--her dark head bobbing next to Anendel's golden one. She was carefully memorizing the steps she was to take, and turned in time with the other Elves, watching her feet.

The melody had been steadily speeding up for some time, and as it reached its highest tempo, it slowed again. The Elves broke off from their circles, and Holly and Anendel remained in front of him.

She lifted the folds of her gown and swayed. The tune began to quicken again, and soon she and Anendel were copying one another's flouncing footsteps, hopping this way and that. The melody struck again, speeding along, and they skipped circles around one another.

Holly was glowing with a joy Harry had never seen within her. As she jumped and twirled, spirals falling out of their braids, her face was fixed in an exuberant smile. It was so genuine that Harry suddenly felt as though he'd neglected to see that Holly wasn't happy. It was as though she had her own, less prominent "fits of the sullens," as Sirius did. Though with wit bordering on making her positively obnoxious, she would retreat to her dormitory, then sneak down into the common room and stay up late on her own, reading or, as he'd seen her once or twice, sitting in the chair staring blankly forward.

He tried to say that it was just her concentrating on planning her mission to visit the Elves, but it couldn't be.

What was making her happier--finally being in the village, dancing with a handsome immortal with the look of perfection, or finding Draco's influence?

No, Harry thought, she was playing with fire anger him--to make a point. That couldn't make her dyspeptic attitude dissolve. It couldn't compel her emotions to run concordant and produce such a beaming smile...

*()%()*

Hermione felt like she was trapped within the walls of a fairytale.

The Elves were perfect models of the sort of patron beings that Muggle fantasy readers idolized: immortal, beautiful beyond perception, and innocent. They could stage a sudden onslaught on a race of creatures, massacring the entire settlement of them, and retain some manner of perfection--the bloodstained blades still in their hands. Their stoic nature dissolved as they danced joyfully for the length of night.

En masse, they were angels.

It was a microcosm of a medieval Heaven.

The comfortable heat of the fires and the uplifting music ate away at her worries, and she only felt the desire to jig until her legs couldn't hold her weight anymore.

She sensed magic falling in a cataract upon them--the confluence of Elves, wizards, and a winter solstice seemed to conjure up a spirit of bewitchment that hung over them, occasionally trickling down and making itself known.

Hermione didn't sense any malignity in the air that hung about them, and if there was, she wasn't sure she could detect it anyway. Even Ron seemed to be loosening up to the music. He moved with her, dancing the only way they could. They were certainly a speckle of opposition among the crowds of tall, limber, statuesque Elves--but they didn't mind.

She smiled and closed her eyes, relishing in the felicitous light-heartedness that this rare occasion brought her.

*()%()*

Draco leaned against a tree off to the side of the festivities. Of course he could dance--give him a style, and he could demonstrate. But, Draco didn't hop about with Elves to their lutes and flutes.

He watched them, though, and it did appear that they were enjoying themselves. Holly's dark head bobbed into view from time to time, as did the fiery hair of either Weasley, or Hermione's curls. There were other witches and wizards among the bunch; Draco had maybe spotted four or five. Werewolves, he presumed.

One blond head that stood a bit shorter than the rest bounced in and out of sight from time to time. Once Draco got a full view of the thing--a handsome centaur with a palomino body that he knew he'd seen before.

Now Draco caught sight of Holly, who was doing a complicated, staccato two-step with her Anendel. He narrowed his eyes at her, and contemplated how the clockwork in her mind might turn.

She's messing about with her only friends, making her godbrother angry, her ex-lover jealous, and her miniature superior run it all over and list pros and cons on a roll of parchment, no doubt. Ickle Red... well, who knew what she had to cope with, Riddle in her head and all. He wondered off-handedly if she realized that the powers of that diary weren't temporary. Either way, she was basically innocuous.

Anendel and Holly spun this way and that, her laugh reaching his ears when she stumbled over her own feet. Draco didn't fancy being used like an Inflatable Enchanter--available when alone, abandoned otherwise. Unless... he smirked... unless he could use her in return.

There was a range of possibilities. Holly was a tall bird, broad enough to not go without a fight, and was quite flat--with those minute dragon pox and all. She was leggy, he thought, watching her disappear back into the crowd of Elves, and definitely had enough hip to make up for her flat-as-a-book upper body.

Black didn't have the look of a witch with strength. With emotional strength--with the ability to keep a secret, to stand like a stone when the right key neared her lock, dangling tantalizingly close. A compliment here, a winning smile there, and an occasional gift in between--Draco would have her wrapped around his little finger. She was breakable--fragile, even.

Venal.

It took two things to make a man (or woman, in Holly's case) strong: tragedy and training. Holly hadn't experienced tragedy, which was simple to see. Training? No--she would burst under pressure, like any Inflatable Enchanter. Basically, Holly Black was a nebbish.

Strength was in her blood. A pureblood, and a Black. Merlin knew that hippogriff-headed stubbornness and a sizable ego was the side dish of that family name. According to report, the Black chromosome within her was dominant enough for her to retain much of her father's disposition (pegged with folly) even with prolonged separation from him.

But she didn't spend years with the dementors in Azkaban, never broke out of the prison, and never went up against such monstrous troubles as Sirius had later encountered--making her a bit of an idiot with some potential. An execrable being.

Then there was the fact that she was Potter's godsister, constantly under his eye. Nothing would make Potter blow up more than seeing someone close to him choose Draco Malfoy over his favorite ginger-haired hobbledehoy or some other mindless Gryffindor.

Potter's godsister, he thought again, always protected from harm. But protected by whom? By Harry. Draco could lure Potter into any situation in which Black might be in danger... hell, he could lead Harry into any circumstance in which Holly was with someone he disapproved of.

Woo her into it, and she'll spill the Floo powder about anything he wants to know. Draco smirked. Once he had the key, he also had his bait.

But, to whose advantage would this maneuver be? Though it meant spending more time with Black, her connections were a prize. He could turn her in to her father as a tool, maybe even directly to the Dark Lord. He could keep her for himself, then turn Potter in to Lucius or the Dark Lord--job already finished with the exception of two words.

This all seemed too simple to be true--there was nothing that could hinder his plan.

*()%()*

Ginny's feet were beginning to feel sore, and Elvaldur led her around slower than before, their dancing turning into a casual sort of waltz. The back of her neck also ached, from tilting her head far back to look up at him.

Suddenly she was hit from behind. She stumbled forward and whipped around. Holly was standing there, frozen on the spot. "Sorry!" she hissed over the music.

"Hey," Ginny said, breaking away from Elvaldur and seizing Holly's forearm, "come over here for a moment, would you?"

She motioned her meaning to Elvaldur, Holly shrugged at the golden-locked Elf behind her and allowed Ginny to pull her out of the crowd.

When they were standing outside the celebrating Elves in the dim light of the fire, velvety darkness on their other side, Ginny turned to Holly. She was looking down at her with raised eyebrows.

"Your godbrother's in a right state," she informed her.

"Not the first time that's happened, is it?" Holly replied, nonplussed. "What do the others think?"

"Er, about the same. Like you're betraying them," Ginny explained.

"They can get used to it," muttered Holly, turning to go back.

Ginny reached out and snatched her arm again. "Don't you walk away from me," she said. Holly pulled away and stared at Ginny, standing akimbo.

"What d'ya want?"

"To tell you what I think," Ginny said calmly.

Holly dropped her arms and said, "Fire away."

"You do what you like with Malfoy," Ginny said fairly, "I'm not going to stop you, mostly because I don't want you going into those bloody temper tantrums with me--the whole Black lot has that attitude, and it drives me Fwoopers."

Holly opened her mouth, then closed it again.

"I'm not saying I like him, but I'm not holding your leash."

She mouthed wordlessly again, then managed, "Uh--thanks, Ginny."

Ginny gently massaged her own neck with one hand. "Yep."

They stared at each other for a long, silent moment before Holly said, "Are you having fun?"

"Oh! Yes," she nodded, beaming. "A lot."

"Good." She teetered back and forth on her toes. "Who you dancing with?"

"Er, Elvaldur. You?"

"Anendel."

Ginny nodded. "He's handsome."

"Aren't they all?"

She cast a look at the bouncing blond head of the many Elves trotting about and replied, "Nauseatingly so."

They nodded at one another, took turns laughing sheepishly, then decided on reentering the crowd.

Holly's pejorative malcontent with her new life had faded. Something told Ginny that things weren't quite right--but nothing was tranquil anymore.

*()%()*

Hermione squinted around Ron's arm. "Well there you are, Holly's talking to Malfoy."

They'd avoided the topic, and had bounced about in preferred silence. "What?!" Ron yelped. He made to whip her around so that he could see, but decided against it. "What're they saying?" he hissed urgently.

"I don't know," she told him. She was viewing this from quite a distance.

"Well what are they doing?"

Hermione gazed a bit suspiciously at Ron, but looked around him again to see what was going on.

"Talking," she replied. "Holly's talking with her hands, Malfoy looks smug."

She glanced up at Ron again, and saw that a very bitter expression had contorted his visage. She sighed. She didn't much like the prospect of anyone that was innocent being within a ten-foot radius of Malfoy herself--but Ron was overdoing it.

"Ohp, now they're kissing," she said.

This stanched his dancing. Ron nearly picked her off of her feet, and really did whip her around to take a look himself, scowling.

"Only joking," she murmured.

"That's not funny, Hermione," he growled.

She smirked. "Don't get so worked up over it, Ron. At this rate, Malfoy might actually find himself a real friend. Otherwise, he'll end up childless and alone," she remarked.

"Well, fingers crossed, yeah."

"Let's just do like Ginny said--let it be. Keep an eye on her at all times. This could work to our advantage."

Ron looked down at her, dubious. "How do you figure?"

"I know you're thinking that he'll end up using her to get to Harry," Hermione said calmly, "but Holly could just as easily suction information off him."

"You reckon she'll pull a Snape then and start reporting back to the Order?" Ron said incredulously. "Out of her own volition?"

"Not without influence, of course not." Hermione could sense Holly's happiness from where she stood, and sensed that the abrupt end to her fractiousness wasn't only derived from finally finding her Elves. But, it was patent that this couldn't be indelible. "If anything, maybe she can proselytize the blood-sucker."

"Who will get her to come forward, then?" Ron asked.

"Family, maybe," said Hermione, "or the desire to bring honor upon her own name..."

"And you think she'll betray Malfoy?"

Hermione paused, watching Holly beckon Malfoy toward her, motioning to the other dancing Elves.

"Of course she will," she told him, "Revenge. He has betray her first."

*()%()*

"I'm not dancing, Black," persisted Draco.

He was leaning against a wide tree, arms crossed. The moon had come out, illuminating the shadowy space where Draco stood.

Holly's arms fell limp at her sides and she glared at him. "Why not?"

"I don't dance."

"Not vertically, anyway," she elaborated, mimicking his drawl.

Draco smiled. "Wow, Black, you're on a roll." Holly shut her eyes, flouting, shaking her head a little. "How about a walk?"

Her eyes snapped open again, and she ogled at him. "Are you serious?"

He leaned away from the tree and stood up straighter, extending a bent arm. Holly wanted to take it, but didn't. Instead she declined. "No, I think I'll go back..."

She took a step backward. "Fine," said Draco, "I'll still be here when you get back. The offer still stands."

She mockingly tipped an invisible hat toward him and worked her way back into the crowd.

Seeing Ginny only moments before had reminded her of the cave--the incessant invasion of her mind. It wasn't the first time she'd felt the sensation; it had been going on for months... but never so strong. The tingle at the base of her skull, the strong feeling she was being watched--she'd become accustomed to it.

But maybe it wasn't just tension, as she had before predicted. What if it was Voldemort?

Holly shook it off, telling herself that there was no way that that was what was happening. The weight didn't slip off her shoulders, however. The aches in her feet and legs became more prominent, her eyelids drooped a bit.

"Anendel," she said. The Elf turned to her and his eyes widened questioningly. "Anendel, what else are we going to do tonight?"

"You feel weary?" he conjectured, looking concerned.

"It depends on what else is going on," she told him, stretching her lips into a smile.

Anendel sighed audibly, and the tune died away. "Nothing that will be meaningful to your eyes," he explained.

Holly pressed, "Does it look cool?"

"Somewhat," he replied.

Holly pondered this for a long moment, then Anendel said, "I shall prepare you a bath. Follow me."

He touched a nearby Elf on the shoulder, motioned to Draco, and said, "Tirin ors nin."

*()%()*

"Come on, Harry, it's fun!" cadged Ginny with an encouraging nod.

"No, really, I'm fine here..." he insisted.

"Just one song... please?" she pleaded, persistence otiose.

She puffed out her lower lip, allowing her chin to quiver. Harry glared at her for a junction before hissing, "Fine!"

She grinned widely and snatched his arm, dragging him toward the other Elves. The melody slowed then faded out. Ginny awaited the next tune, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet, when she noticed the Elves around her all walking in one direction.

She turned her eyes onto Harry, narrowing them, and he smirked sheepishly. "Look," she said bitterly, "we missed it."

"Sorry," he responded.

They joined the bulk of Elves moving toward the center of the cobbled space. The largest of the fires burned there, kindling stacked in a teepee-like frame. Servants bustled around the flames, throwing a variation of dust into it, causing sparks to erupt from wherever the dust came in contact with the wood.

"What's going on?" she whispered. Harry shrugged.

The Elves began to settle down, sitting cross-legged in wide circles around the fire. Harry and Ginny followed suit, sliding down to sit between a regal-looking argentine-locked Elf in a plum gown that pooled around her when she sat and a fair-haired Elf who sat with one hand on his knee, looking thoughtful.

Amolas and Eowilindë were standing about the fire now, gazing into its depths. Amolas appeared to be grasping two handfuls of sage along with a stone basin of it near his foot--Eowilindë held a velvety sack of late-blooming mallowsweet. Harry spotted Firenze sitting among the crowd, his height conquering that of the Elves while seated. He was watching the central fire with calm interest.

With a wave of her arms, Eowilindë extinguished all the smaller fires, and cold overtook the bodies sitting further from the fire. The only source of light now was the deflagration. A tower of smoke billowed up from it, releasing as a dark cloud in the sky, high above the trees.

Harry wondered whether anyone ever noticed this--the clear sign of life within the forest. The single pillar of smoke rising from the center of the trees, their music echoing through nearly the entire wood... how could you miss it?

Harry was about to mention this to Ginny when he realized that silence had closed over all. He leaned back away from her and watched the Lady, who gazed around at them all with her strange, all-seeing eyes. A shadow fell around her wise, queenly visage--but her sharp eyes still shone bright.

"Ingolë nárya poldatul lómëmas," she said, her voice carrying out to their ears like wind. "Kalessëmmë tirin i eleni," she motioned skyward, "ar i yúlse óh i úr," she held an elegant hand out toward the smoke of the fire.

Eowilindë turned and released the mallowsweet into the flames. Amolas walked a circle around the fire, lighting the tips of the sage then dropping them, so they just caught the edge of the fire, expanding it. When he had finished, both he and Eowilindë took two handfuls of another powder substance that was held out to them by a servant. This ingredient sparkled like crystal in their palms.

The Lord and Lady stood on either side of the deflagration that was devouring the sage among its borders with speed. Harry could see Amolas, who raised his hands and released his fists, palms up. The dust fell through his fingers, and when he turned over his hands to release the last of it, the flames began to glow red.

The Lord and Lady stepped away, Eowilindë sprinkling a handful of myrrh in the flames as an afterthought.

Harry remembered burning sage and mallowsweet in Divination, and the pungent fumes that nearly made his eyes water as they all tried to see things within the smoke. But due to the powder Eowilindë and Amolas released into the flames, most likely, the fire burned with sweet, cinnamon-like attar.

The Lord and Lady stood off to the side of the fire. Whereas most of the crowd (Firenze included) were looking intently at the smoke for any recognizable shape or sign, the Lord and Lady leisurely glanced at it from time to time as if they knew all that was in it.

Nothing happened for a long time, and Harry's concentration strayed. His gaze wandered over to Ginny, who had her knees pulled close to her chin. She was watching the fumes assiduously, her dark eyes moving this way and that, regarding the smoke closely.

Just as her black cherry eyes met his with a quizzical look, Harry felt a yanking urge to close the space between them and close his lips over hers. His hand began to rise, without his command, aiming to reach around her head.

Harry leaned in to her, shutting his eyes. He heard Ginny's breathing, now louder than the crackling of the flames.

The tips of his fingers just touched the nape of her neck and--

BANG!

Harry and Ginny jumped apart. He shouted, but didn't hear it.

The sound of a gunshot magnified a hundred times had exploded from the fire as though a large, aluminum ether can had been thrown into it.

The flames of the fire, now positively scarlet, had jumped higher, and the smoke began to expand outward, swirling over their heads. It was tinted roseate. The vapor above them thinned, and clear shapes formed pictures above their heads.

*()%()*

Hermione let go of Ron's wrist and tilted her head back in awe. The smoke twisted into a show above them--and Hermione strained her eyes to see portent there.

The form of a human loomed over them. It became more defined--the folds of the robes hung off of its thin shoulders, and an arm holding a long wand was extended. The face remained blank.

Hermione opened her mind so as to remember this--this was Divination at its clearest.

From the solitary wizard broke off troops and troops of other wizards. Their forms changed to those of various creatures. They marched forward, the smoke moving over them. With each footfall there was no sound, but a puff of vapor around each foot signified its power.

The smog from each footfall began to accumulate, the group growing larger and larger until it formed another wizard. Again faceless, but formed in much the same manner as the first. From him sprouted an army of beings more defined. They kept a consistent shape--wand and sword-wielders, winged beasts, and four-legged creatures.

The two armies met above their heads. The soldiers of either side clashed with the others, until the vigilantes melded together into a swirling cloud of smoke that nearly appeared solid--like dust.

The vapor split into sections. One shaped itself into a weeping willow tree encircled by a ring moving in a steady, river-like current. The next became a budding white birch. One section was moving like a never-ending ripple. The fourth corner appeared to be a valley betwixt mountains.

In the center of all was a flag of sorts, emblazoned with a pattern Hermione couldn't make out. It seemed to be a myriad of things--in the center, a hand.

A bird with its wings extended in flight escaped the flag, moving first to the willow and river, then to the mountains, then onward to ripple, and finally meeting the budding birch tree. Along the way, each of the four corners released something from within--a charging, horse-like mist deracinated for Purpose... A messenger, she thought. Finally the force met in the middle, melting into the flag. Following them came the four nature symbols, until it all transmogrified into one shining star.

The star twisted, and became the battling armies again until it all pulled away and became light mist with the exception of two bodies that had met in the middle. One body crippled and disappeared, shortly followed by the next--which gradually faded into nothingness.

Then it was done. The fire withdrew, back into its normal state. The pink fumes were gone, replaced by the usual gray smoke, carrying sparks up into the sky.

Hermione looked around at Ron, slightly breathless. He gazed over at her, wide-eyed. They stared at each other in silence for a long moment, communicating their shock without words.

Quickly, Hermione thought to glance at Eowilindë. The Lady was still standing in the same place, looking supremely unconcerned. She knew, Hermione thought. She had already seen all of this... and she knows before and beyond the fall of the spearheads.

"Blimey," Ron remarked. Hermione looked over at him, and he was shaking his head at the sky where the smoky forms had just been clashing. "I wish Divination was that solid."

*()%()*

Anendel pulled forward a dividing screen and gingerly draped another nightgown (tinted powdery blue) over it. He had started a fire in the tall, ornate grate, and lit lanterns that hung from the walls and the candles that sat high on their stands all along the edges of the room.

He pulled open the doors of the oak cabinets on the wall, extracting what looked like two wooly, claret blankets. He approached her and asked, "Where would you like them?"

They were possibly the biggest towels she'd ever seen. Holly snatched the washcloth atop the towels and threw it into the bathtub, where it floated momentarily on the surface of the water before it absorbed the fluid and sunk. She took one towel and opened it, lying it down on the floor next to the tub then pulled the last one away, tucking it under her arm and smiling up at Anendel.

He slowly turned around, eyes on her, and opened the second cabinet. It was packed with a gallimaufry of soap bars, vials and vases of colored liquids, candles, and jars of herbs. He stood aside for her to have a better look at the polychromatic contents. "You may choose your own manner of cleansing," he told her.

"Hair and body?" she asked, pointing to the vials and the soap bars, respectively.

"Correct."

Holly looked at the different cleansing agents, taking in their vivid colors. "Any suggestions?"

"No, none," Anendel said. "I have never used these soaps."

She inquired, "What are the plants for?"

"Scenting the fire."

"Oh." She considered the soaps for a moment, then asked, "Can I smell these?"

"Whatever you please, you are the itlyna," Anendel said humbly.

"Oh stop with the 'you're the guest' crap," she said exasperatedly. "Stop treating me like I'm the one three-hundred years and one foot the superior."

Anendel looked somewhat hurt. "I'm sorry, I mean, it's really great... seriously, wow, I've never been treated so nice. You're very sweet. It's just--" she paused for a breath, and turned her head up to get a better look at Anendel. "You can't be afraid to tell people what you think."

"I am not afraid," he claimed.

"You are, though, Anendel. You're submissive." She sorted through some vases off-handedly. "Servant to the royals or not, you can't bend over backward to do what everyone asks with your mouth shut all the time." For caveat she translated, "You shouldn't try so hard to follow orders." Holly picked a loose hair off her sleeve. "Just... don't you get yourself in trouble."

Anendel's lips nearly dared a smile. Then he pulled a vase of a pink liquid and two soap bars--one green, the other an off purple--from the cabinet.

"Thank-you," she said. "I would have stood here for two hours sniffing each thing over and over until I decided to use a bit of all of them."

"Do you need anything else?"

"Nope," she said, taking the vase and the soap bars. "You go back and find yourself a pretty Elf girl to dance with."

"I shall return later," he assured her, bowing himself out.

Holly stumped over to the pearly-white bathtub, which was full of steaming water, and sat the soaps down on the towel she'd spread on the floor. She took the other towel with her behind the dividing screen.

Holly pulled her arms out of her sleeves. But when she made to slide the dress off--it stuck. She jerked it down, and yet it hardly moved. Holly looked over her shoulder and saw the strings stitching up her gown. She groaned and hurried to find the arms of the dress as she jumped out from behind the screen.

"Anendel!" she called. "Anendel!"

He reappeared in the edifice in a split-second. "Yes?"

Holly resignedly turned around, and she sensed his approach rather than hearing it. "Just loosen it up for me, could ya?"

"Of course." His fingers quickly undid the knot and loosened the crisscrossing threads. "Is that fit?"

"For a queen," Holly assured him. "Hantalyë."

He nodded and disappeared once more. She stripped herself of the dress behind the screen, looking behind her occasionally, just in case. Holly carefully hung the gown over the screen, not sure what else she could do with it, and wrapped herself in the blanket-sized towel.

She stumped into her bedchamber, which was still lit by the fire in the grate on the wall, and found her wand. Back in the bathroom she tapped the hot water with her wand and made herself foamy bubbles to hide beneath.

Holly looked out the door for a long moment, watching for Anendel or some intruder with prying eyes. She told herself that she was being stupid and to just get in the tub, and that's what she did (though very fast, in any case).

She sunk into the water, which at first seemed to scald her flesh. Her skin quickly became accustomed with the heat, however, and Holly lowered her head back into the water, wetting her hair and listening to the echoing that could always be heard with one's ears when submerged.

Holly sat up again, her back against the smooth tilt of the stone, and as she pushed stray hair behind her she wished that she could stay with the Elves and be treated like royalty like this forever.

*()%()*

Ginny and Harry sat together among a small cluster of Elves. They listened to the story of an elder Elf with long, hoary hair that sparkled in a grandfatherly manner; yet, he bore no sign of dotage. He was energetic, and seemed much less pompous than other of his race.

They had not the slightest idea what he was saying, but from his hand-demonstrations they each inferred the story of a great battle that took place when he was but a young warrior. He imitated struggling to fit a bow, having the hilt of a blade slip from his hands, and dropping his quiver on the ground.

The Elves around them all laughed as he covered his eyes with one hand and dodged a blow from some sizable opponent.

"I love this story," Ginny told Harry, laughing with the other listeners. "I've never heard tell of an Elf who wasn't perfect in every way."

"Maybe he's talking about a Muggle who teamed up with them," Harry remarked.

Ginny shrugged and stated, "Either way it's entertaining."

She seemed to have forgotten completely about the attempted kiss earlier, and Harry wasn't sure whether he was thankful for that or not.

They observed what was left of the Elf's tale, and they joined in on the plaudit with the rest of the audience when he concluded, "Ar sí ni ná anne enwina ane mahta ranqui aique imára."

He bowed to them, then walked away to join a female Elf with equally pearly locks who was chatting with a wizard with chopped gray hair.

Harry and Ginny sat alone on the hard ground now, probably looking either lost or simply very foolish. He watched Ginny pick up a stray fallen leaf and meaninglessly toss it into the air. "Care for a walk?" he asked her.

She looked at him, as if she were trying to determine whether or not he was being serious. "Sure," she said.

They got to their feet, then stood stationary. "Where should we go?" Harry asked.

"I don't know," replied Ginny.

They stood there for another moment before Harry suggested, "How about this way?" pointing weakly to his left.

"That way is great," she assured him.

They perambulated in that direction, moving away from the fires and into the moonlight. If it weren't so cold, Harry would have forgotten that it was winter. The snow-less grounds were nice to walk on, nonetheless.

They wandered away from the festivities with no destination in mind, and little to talk about.

Soon they found themselves on the bank of the river, which reflected the moon and every star in the sky. Leaves boated by lazily on the current, and the trees above them sang in the playful breeze that Harry couldn't feel where he stood.

"Nice night," he remarked.

"Yeah," concurred Ginny. "You still didn't dance."

"Well, what? Would you like me to dance with you right here?" he asked loudly, motioning at the area around them.

"That would be so clichéd," she scoffed. "Cute," Ginny added as an afterthought, "but clichéd."

"You're not a fan of the cliché," he inferred.

She confirmed, "I'm not."

"Do I owe you a favor now?"

She theatrically crossed her arms and turned her face away from his, nose in the air. "Yes, you do."

"Ask and get it over with," he snapped dramatically, "whatever it is, I'll do it."

"Great," she said, looking at him and uncrossing her arms. Ginny pointed forward and said, "Wade into the river until the water is up to your waist."

"What?!" he yelped, "No! Do you want me to get pneumonia?!"

"I have no idea what newmooniya is," she informed him in a light voice, shaking her head to get the point across.

"Well you don't want me to get it, because I'll become hypothermic then contract pneumonia and get steadily worse if I so much as plunge my little finger into that river!" he exaggerated. Any spark that was between them had dissolved into a child's sport.

"Hm."

Ginny bounded forward and grabbed Harry's arm, dragging him toward the water.

He struggled, but allowed her to pull him forward, toting him like a sack thrown over her shoulder. When they reached the bank, Harry grabbed her free arm with his and threatened, "If I go in, you're coming with me."

"Yeah, well," she said indifferently, playing a card trumping to her kiddy attitude, "either way you're going in."

"I could throw you."

"No you couldn't--" Harry wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, and lifted her off her feet. She bent her legs as he stepped toward the bank, like a baby protesting against a bath.

Harry dangled her over the river, and Ginny threw her weight backward. He overbalanced and fell with an "Oof!" as she came down on his chest.

Ginny rolled off and stood, extending a hand to him. "Fine," she said, pulling him up after he hesitantly took it, "you'll just have to owe me a favor since you're afraid of getting newmooniya."

"You're just afraid of going in there with me."

She wore a childish glare that matched the scenario. "So?" she spat.

Harry just noticed, again, that they were very near one another. Ginny grinned weakly up at him, eyes reflecting what she saw just as the river reflected the sky. He leaned nearer, tilting his head, and was an inch away from closing the space between their lips altogether when a strong voice reached his ears saying, "Harry Potter."

He opened his eyes, as did Ginny, and Harry sighed, pulling away. He recognized Firenze's voice, hooves making him known. Soon the centaur emerged from behind a hedge several feet downriver.

"Hi, Firenze," he said, trying to sound less dejected than he truly was. "What are you doing out here?"

"I should ask the same of you," the centaur stated, walking nearer to them. "However, I am simply seeking a preferable place to stargaze."

He tipped back his head. "Ma'iio appears to remind us of Coyote tonight," he said, pointing southward. "Svaha shines on the tip of the horn," he continued, "she reigns over the young next solstice."

He stepped to the other side of Harry and Ginny, tilting his head curiously to one side. Harry hated the eerie, vague predictions that the centaurs loved to serve. "Jupiter is dim... no control... no justice..." Harry and Ginny looked at each other, nonplussed. Firenze insinuated, "Neptune's folly is ever alive."

Centaurs' allusions were notoriously loose, yes, but now Harry sensed that Firenze was giving the more clues to his meaning than usual. He tried to place everything he had learned from each foretelling that night in his memory somewhere, but it was difficult to keep it all straight.

Firenze finished his narrative with one Harry remark recollected. "Mars is bright tonight."

*()%()*

"I hear the clock, it's 6 A.M.

I feel so far from where I've been.

I've got my eggs and my pancakes too,

I got my maple syrup, everything but you."

Draco had waited until he saw Anendel return to the crowd without Holly before he left. He tracked his way through the palace, until he was at the coromindi. He ascended the steps and sneaked through the doorway as quietly as possible, wondering what he'd catch Holly doing.

She was in the bath, singing.

"I break the yolks and make a smiley face,

I kinda like it in my brand new place.

I wipe the spots off of the mirror,

Don't leave the keys in the door.

I never put wet towels on the floor anymore, 'cause..."

He watched Holly pick up a handful of suds and start to stretch them between her fingers reposefully.

"Dreams last for so long,

Even after you're gone.

I know--you love me,

And soon you will see:

You were meant for me,

And I was meant for you."

She tried to blow the suds out of her hands, but they didn't move, so she resulted to rubbing her hands together until they all dissolved.

"I called my momma, she was out for a walk.

Consoled a cup of coffee, but it didn't wanna talk.

So I--picked up the paper, it was more bad news:

More hearts being broken, more people being used."

Yes, Black, thought Draco, your life is a sad, sad song.

"Put on my coat in the pouring rain.

I saw a movie, it just wasn't the same.

'Cause--it was happy, oh, I was sad,

And--it made me miss ya... oh so bad 'cause..."

Draco was just outside the bathroom now, standing in the doorway and wondering how long it would take Holly to notice him there.

"Dreams last for so long,

Even after you're gone.

I know, you love me,

And soon you will see:

You were meant for me,

And I was meant for you."

She pushed herself up so she wasn't slouching so much and continued,

"I go about my business, I'm doing fine.

Besides, what would I say if I had you on the line?

Same old story, not much to say,

Hearts are broken every day."

He'd had enough. Draco strode through the doorway into the bathroom that was considerably warmer than the landing. Holly looked over at him, and in a split second had disappeared from sight.

He drew nearer and saw that she had nearly completely submerged herself--only her nose, eyes, and forehead were visible over the sudsy-bubbled water.

"Evening, sugarplum," he wheedled.

Holly narrowed her eyes. She exhaled sharply through her nose for a response, blowing the bubbles near her face in all directions. Her hands appeared above water, pushing the bubbles back together so as to hide herself more efficiently.

She stared at Draco for a junction before he decided to drop the soap bars on the floor into the tub near her chin.

They caused the water to ripple, getting some up Holly's nose. The rest of her head and shoulders shot out of the water, the lower half of her visage concealed by a lather beard. She blew out of it, wiping it free of water, disbanding her beard at the same time.

Holly reached over the edge of the bath and seized her wand. It wasn't before she had covered the entire surface of the water with a few inches of thick bubbles before she spoke to him.

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

"You aren't still angry about me not dancing, are you?" he asked.

"No," she replied. "It's just I prefer to bathe alone." Holly held up her index finger to get the point across. "All by me onesy."

"You're no fun," he observed. She didn't respond. "Interesting bit of magic going on out there," he told her. "Fire exploded, sent smoke making all sorts of shapes."

"You mean they did the Nárëi óh Hysel?"

Draco shrugged. "Sure."

"No fair!" she said shrilly. "Anendel should have known I wanted to see that!"

"Hey now," said Draco, "don't blame your fellow for not knowing how your clockwork turns. Not all Elves understand the arcane." A thought occurred to him, then. "Speaking of your mind..."

Holly caught on to his meaning immediately and said, "I don't wanna talk about it." She sunk lower in her bath.

"Give it a rest, Black," he said. "If your brain is being invaded you better turn yourself in to--"

"I am not going to St. Mungo's!" she hissed, eyes wide, tone appalled.

"Well I don't think a professor here could manually suck a spirit out of you," he told her, "as Lupin previously demonstrated."

"I don't think they could do much there either."

"And yet," he persisted, "they can identify the cause of your little fits and either give you medication for some strange little disease you've contracted--"

"Or lock me up in a permanent ward," she finished bitterly.

He looked at her for a moment, feinting sympathy. "Or teach you some insanely strong form of Occlumency."

"Occlumency, shmocclumency..." she muttered, face contorting.

"Black, you need to see a Healer," he insisted, holding firm by his purpose.

"Why do you care?"

He sat down on the edge of the bathtub. "It's just concern for your well-being, fancy." She rolled her eyes. "And if things don't pan out nicely, I can have some hit-men do a little fancy Memory Charming and we can run away together and start our own little village. How does that sound, Holly berry?"

Holly watched his eyes for a long moment. Then she kicked hard him in the side.

Malfoy skidded off the edge of the tub and onto the floor. He scrambled to his feet, one hand clutching his bubbly, dripping tunic, massaging his abdomen. "What the fuck was that for?!" he spat at her.

"You--are annoying the hell out of me," she snapped matter-of-factly.

"Damn it, what's your problem, you cow?" he said, at the edge of his rope. "I was just demonstrating a little solicitude."

"Demonstrate it some other time," she told him. "I'm not in the mood to be told what to do and I'm really not in the mood for pet names."

"Bitch," he muttered, turning and walking out of the bathroom. He sensed Holly evincing a very rude gesture at his back.

*()%()*

Amil-Galith and Galórion had returned. They were dressed for Geol--apparently they had found their way back some time shortly after sunset, then blended themselves into the crowd.

Hermione and Ron listened, hiding just inside the door of the bedroom they shared. Forfiwen was speaking with them. Nyla and Isaac were in the room, and so they were benefited by the use of English.

"You did not find them?" Forfiwen said.

There was no answer.

"Amil-Galith, you had said that a large group of them had been overcome by Istari ingolë. How could they have escaped?"

"The hexes must not have been strong enough," Isaac said. "Wizard magic can't always constrain the powerful."

"The only Uvanim we found was the one we had seen was killed by a blade and an arrow-wound," came Amil-Galith's voice.

"Could you track the rest?" asked Nyla.

"Their tracks led out of the forest," Galórion told them. "We lost their trail once the prints disappeared upon entry into a village."

Someone gasped. "Had they terrorized the settlers?" inquired Forfiwen.

"No, it did not appear so," Amil-Galith replied. "Their goal was set."

Silence ensued. Hermione turned to look up at Ron, a desperate sort of sadness in her eyes. "He's gathering an army," she whispered, "Harry was right."

They turned away from the door and sat next to each another at the end of the bed. Ron gingerly set his hand atop Hermione's and wrapped his fingers under her palm. "Try not to think about it," he said as comfortingly as he could. "It's not for you to worry about."

She exhaled loudly and nodded.

Nyla popped her braided head around the door. "Would you two like anything to drink?" she asked. "I have tea or coffee..."

"I'll take some tea, I suppose," Ron said.

"I'm all right, thank you, Nyla," Hermione told her.

Nyla grinned and left. Hermione lay down on her back, placing a hand over her eyes.

"No one goes unaffected by it anymore," she said. "Not even the Elves."

*()%()*

Belebridien had led them back to the teltacoa, where they had been given nightclothes and encouraged to change into them. Harry had, however reluctantly. The ensemble was much like the one he was forced into wearing for Geol--just without the additional tunic, the belt, and in colors less rich.

He and Ginny had chatted aimlessly for a while after Belebridien left. But it was after midnight, and soon Ginny had drifted off, curled up beneath the bedcovers, asleep on her side.

Harry had rolled over onto his back long before, but couldn't catch a wink. Finally he decided on getting out of bed and going for a stroll.

It was black as velvet and freezing outside the teltacoa. Harry rushed into the main landing of the palace, expecting it to be alive with Elves clad in burgundy rushing this way and that. Instead, it was empty. Only every other lantern on the walls were lit, leaving the hall cool and dim.

He continued to walk anyway, intending to pay Holly a visit.

But it was difficult to navigate the floors of the palace at night. When Harry found himself in a hall comprised solely of beech trees where he knew he hadn't been before, he turned around.

Backtracking, however, didn't prove to be as simple as Harry had anticipated. He found himself in a low corridor ending in an open doorway that he knew he hadn't come through.

He saw light in the chamber beyond, and began to move toward it--hoping to find an Elf who could direct him.

When he reached the doorway he saw that there were Elves there, but none of them in a fit state to assist him in finding his way back to the teltacoa.

There were six cots, sat in two rows of three. On each of them was an Elf sleeping on his back, a blanket pulled up to his shoulders. Harry cast a hasty glance around the room. The light was coming from the fires, recently tended and alive in the grates on either wall. The adjacent sides of the room were covered from wall to wall with tall cabinets.

Harry stood at the bedside of one of the Elves. He had fair blond hair that was a bit shorter than that of most Elves and a handsome face that reminded him much of Cedric. The longer he gazed at the Elf, the more he seemed to become a doppelganger of the murdered Hufflepuff. He timidly cleared his throat. The Elf made no sign of hearing him. "Excuse me... sir?" Again, nothing.

Harry knew that the Elves' senses were high-tuned, and that if these Elves were of the same blood of the rest he'd met, they would have heard him approaching a corridor away.

He kneeled at the side of the cot and looked closely at the Elf. In the flickering illumination of the nearby fire he could now see that the Cedric-Elf was pallid and appeared sick.

Cautiously Harry reached out a hand to touch his face. His fingertips came in contact with the Elf's cheek--it was bitterly cold. At that moment, his scar twinged. He pulled his hand sharply away from the Elf in shock of both the cold and the sensation that still lingered on his forehead.

He placed the edge of his thumb on his scar, replacing the lasting feeling with a new one. Harry looked at the Elf whose face seemed to bear more and more resemblance to Cedric's than before in horror.

He scrambled to his feet, and a voice echoed in the doorway. "You understand, now, why they slumber so deeply."

Harry turned his head so quickly that his neck cracked. Lady Eowilindë stood there, like an oracular angel of light.

*()%()*

Draco could hear her singing again.

"I brush my teeth and put the cap back on.

I know you hate it--when I leave the light on.

I pick up a book and turn the sheets down,

And take a deep breath--and a good look around."

He supposed that he could only get out of it what he put into it. Draco languidly stood from the bed and strode out of his room.

"Put on my Pj's and hop into bed,

I'm half-alive but I feel mostly dead.

I try and tell myself it'll be all right,

I shouldn't think anymore tonight.

'Cause..."

Draco wasn't sure how long someone could take a bath before actually turning into a raisin. He would have figured Holly's bath water had become cold long before this, but she did happen have her wand in the room.

"Dreams last for so long,

Even after you're gone.

I know... you love me,

And soon I know you will see:

You were meant for me,

And I was meant for you."

She moved her finger to indicate the inclination and drop of her voice when she sang, "Yeah..."

Draco stopped in the doorway and watched her. Holly was braiding a section of her hair, and as soon as she finished with it, she pulled the twist out. "You were meant for me,

And I was meant for you."

"I come with good intentions, tulip," he lied, stepping inside the bathroom. The embers were dying in the ornate fireplace--the mantle above the grate seemed to be depicting a story of sorts, but he didn't understand the symbols. Holly looked over at him.

"That's reassuring," she said in an arid tone, turning her eyes away from him. Once again Holly thickened the suds atop the water she bathed in with her wand.

"Let me see your hand...."

Holly lifted one hand out of the water, and understanding what he wanted, flipped it over so he could observe her palm. It was extremely wrinkled, the lines of her hand standing out clearly against the rest of her palm, the tips of her fingers lined with many circles enclosing each other.

"Nice," he remarked.

"I know," she replied, tucking the hand back into the water. Draco wasn't going to touch on the topic, but she did. "I know someone who's been--you know--"

He guessed, "Possessed?"

She looked keenly at him then concurred, "Yes." Draco crossed his arms. "If anyone can confirm what's going on, it's her." He nodded. "Besides," she added, sinking a little deeper into the bathtub, "Nothing's happened since yesterday."

Suddenly, something occurred to Draco. "Black, do you know how those Elves found us in that cave?"

She opened her mouth immediately to answer, then closed it. "No," she said, sounding astonished that she had never wondered the same thing herself, "I don't."

Draco sat down on the edge of the tub, and was steady until he curled his fingers around the lip at the end of the bath. His hand slipped, he overbalanced, and with a sickening sploosh he found himself sitting in the tub, his knees bent over the edge of the bathtub and water up to his chest.

Holly had bent her legs, knees peeking out of the bubbles, just in time.

Draco yelled and strained to pull himself out of the deep bath. It took a minute, the whole time Holly laughed hysterically, one hand gripping the edge of the tub for support, the other beneath her throat.

When he finally extracted himself from the bathtub, he was soaked from his upper abdomen halfway down to his knees. He glared at Holly, who submerged herself in the water for protection, her cackling still audible.

*()%()*

Galórion came in with Ron's tea.

Even though he had been running around after Malumi all day long, Galórion still appeared marvelously handsome and perfectly intact. He was dressed in a rich, ocher-colored ensemble.

"Hey, Galórion," Ron greeted him as he set the tea down on Ron's bedside table.

The Elf inclined his head politely to them. He held a beat-up Polaroid camera out to Hermione and said, "Nyla wishes for me to deliver this contraption to you."

She thanked him, smiling sincerely.

Galórion's wise cyanic eyes flicked sagely between Ron and Hermione, and he lowered himself onto one knee in front of them so he was nearer their height. "I know the causes of your disquiet," he said quietly. "And they are not without substance. For now you should attempt to abandon your worries, for you are young and even the wisest of your views may go on disregarded."

He looked between them for another moment so as to drill in his point, then stood swiftly and was out of the door in a second. Ron grabbed his tea, and Hermione ran Galórion's advice over in her head. He's right, she thought, we could uncover the secret to ending this war and the Order would feign deaf ears.

She turned the camera over a couple times in her hands, and wished that all of this madness would soon come to an end.

*()%()*

Eowilindë strode into the room, white gown reflecting the cupreous flames. Her heliotrope gaze saw every inch of Harry's self just looking into his eyes. The potentate made him feel impure and frail; his legs shook slightly as her frosty eyes looked into his heart.

"They're not--?"

"No," she answered, "not dead." Eowilindë stood over the bed of the wraith-like Elf, his Cedric, very tall and potent, and said, "You sense who cursed them so."

Harry nodded, reflexively touching his scar.

"The Darkest of your men caused this dangerous respite."

"Why are they--?"

"These Elves were Amolas' soldiers that guarded the norowin."

Eowilindë's pale sheet of hair was pulled back into a loose, untied braid. As she drew nearer to Harry, he could see her sublime, demure face had no patina old age; however, a veil of wisdom told him that she'd seen more years of this earth than what he could comprehend.

And yet, she seemed impassible.

"They were sent to look after the Malumi?" Harry inferred.

Eowilindë didn't answer, but one sharp, piercing gaze told Harry all he needed to know.

"Isn't there anything anyone can do?" he questioned.

"Nothing we know," she said solemnly, gazing around at her Elves.

Harry felt jumpy, and he promised, "I will search for a cure for this when I get back to the castle."

Eowilindë looked around at him, and Harry feared that her answer would be, "You are not going back to the castle," but it wasn't. Carefully, she said, "Thank-you." The Lady looked back down at the sleeping Elves and added, "You may find help for them."

Harry stood there, trying unsuccessfully to find trouser pockets to keep his hands in.

Eowilindë turned to him, irrefragable evidence of reign in her face, and said, "Come with me."

She strode out of the room, and with one last look at the Elf with the facial features of Cedric, he did too.

The Lady led him through the palace, until they were in a cold, open belvedere, overhung with a type of flowering ivy that he wasn't sure he'd seen before. She led him down the steps onto the ground, and pointed leisurely at the sky. The firmament above appeared to sparkle brighter as Eowilindë walked out beneath the stars, as if the heavens, too, were a component of her ambit and the stars evinced themselves so she could gaze easier upon them.

"There are six bright points," she said. Eowilindë pointed out three that sat in a straight row, then showed him two that branched off along with one nebula, above the first line. "This constellation is I Má, part of Orion. The wrist of I Má is his belt."

Harry looked around the wrist of the constellation she was showing him, and sure enough, spotted the archer.

"What does it mean?" Harry asked.

Vaguely, Eowilindë explained, "I Má has been fulgent as of late." Harry waited, a little impatiently, for the Elf to continue. "It symbolizes harmony between the gods and the people, and the might and assistance of the young."

Harry looked from the sky to Eowilindë's hortatory gaze. Her eyes delved deep into his soul, so her words stuck with him. "Darkness has come," she adumbrated, speech seeming to echo all around the wood with cool force, "and Darkness will fall." Harry held his breath. In sotto voce she concluded, "You must decide when it ends, Cálëanta."

*()%()*

Draco feverishly rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath, the perfume of bergamot and lilies on the air. He opened his eyes, looking around Holly's rotunda--windows dark in the early morning, the walls lit with a coppery glow.

He heard voices at the door.

Draco sat up and saw Anendel's back in the doorway. He was speaking in rapid Quenya to a silver-haired Elf with dark, stone gray eyes.

At Draco's right side lay Holly, back to him, hair a bit matted from going to bed with it wet. For a moment he thought they were under the same blankets before he remembered dragging his bedcovers in from his chamber across the hall.

Many times had his father said, "God gives every bird his worm, but He does not throw it into the nest." Draco wasn't sure of what the Malfoy family had ever really had to work to achieve, but this was something he couldn't pay someone else to do for him. So, that night, he'd reluctantly lied down on the opposite side of her bed and held a lengthy conversation with Black.

He didn't want to become another aficionado of Black, but repining for her friendship seemed to be the only way to get it.

She spoke less than he, shutting her eyes and 'mmph'ing when he inquired as to whether she was still awake did. He decided to sleep in there, hoping for a good reaction from Holly in the morning.

"Áva lelya, nányë tanca vai merëi ane hanta elyë..." Anendel said, motioning toward the bed.

"Terevel," the Elf sighed, stepping into the rotunda.

After greeting Draco with a soft "Mára arin," Anendel kneeled down in front of Holly.

He lightly touched the tips of his fingers under her closed eyes, and as soon as he pulled them away they flickered open.

She looked about ready to groan and roll over before she caught sight of the other Elf standing behind Anendel. Holly sat up so quickly that she teetered dangerously, holding her head.

"Unilmand," she said, staggering to her feet. "Mára arin, tano," she greeted him, smoothing her nightgown and hastily pushing her hair out of her face. "H-have you finished?"

"I have," the Elf said. He held up her necklace, round, amethyst gem dangling on the center of the chain, that was longer and thinner than before. "It is ready."

Unilmand closed the Charm in a fist and held his arm out to her. She readily put her cupped hands under his, and he lowered the necklace into it. Holly gazed at it for a moment before saying, "Oh, hantalyë, Unilmand. Hantalyë!" She looked about to throw her arms around him, but then thought better of it. The Elf takes a night tinkling with her necklace and when he returns it to her it's suddenly largess.

"I have repaired your chain," he explained, "so it is not brittle."

"Thank-you so much, Unilmand, this means a lot," she said sincerely.

"It was not a hindrance, but a pleasure," Unilmand replied, bowing slightly.

"Hantalyë a thousand times," said Holly, inclining her own head.

Unilmand smiled and left the room without a sound.

"Come, now," said Anendel, "you must prepare to depart."

"Already?" Holly and Draco said in unison--sadness in her voice, oscitancy in his.

"Yes, yes," Anendel said, sounding suddenly hurried. "Your clothing has been washed and brought back to your rooms," he told them, "and breakfast will be here any moment."

"Why so early, Anendel?" Draco heard Holly ask as he left the rotunda with his bedspread.

"You should leave before the kelvar are awake..."

*()%()*

Hermione rushed back to Galórion and Forfiwen's cabin, fanning several instant photographs in her hands. Even when they weren't completely developed, she could see the contents moving.

She hurriedly tucked them into her robes as she ascended the steps onto their porch. She felt like she was betraying the openness of the elusive Elves, taking these pictures. It was almost like expropriating their secrets; therefore, she continually reassured herself that they were for her to see only.

Hermione pushed open the door, greeted the cheerful Forfiwen, then slunk into the bedroom where Forfiwen, presumably, had lit all the lanterns. Ron still lay in bed, one arm thrown over his eyes and a perturbed scowl on his mouth.

He lifted his arm when she came in, and asked, "Did you get the photographs?"

She put a finger to her lips to shush him, then sat the camera down on the dresser and nodded. "We're leaving soon," she told him, "they want us gone before someone can spot them, I suppose."

Nyla stumped into the room at that moment, braids frizzy and a mark on the side of her face that had been on her pillow. "Who'd like some coffee?" she asked, itching her nose.

"I would, thank-you, Nyla," Hermione replied, handing the werewolf her camera at the same moment. Nyla nodded to her with a smile then looked over Hermione's shoulder at Ron.

"How about you, Weasley?"

A muffled sound escaped his lips and Hermione translated, "He'd love some."

"I'll be right back," Nyla told them, exiting backward out the door.

Hermione hadn't gotten much sleep the night before, and the buzz that the cold morning air had given her was wearing off fast, now. The little sleep she had gotten, however, was not plagued by strange visions, though she did recall dreaming something about Holly buying a mansion with what was left of the Black Gringotts account with a vampire secret agent for a roommate or some nonsense....

Nyla returned with a steaming cup of coffee in either hand. Hermione took hers, and Nyla proceeded to the bed to prod Ron into consciousness and give him his drink. "What are you doing up so early, anyway, Nyla?" she asked her.

"Well I needed to see you two off, didn't I?" She patted Hermione on the shoulder and said, "I need to get dressed yet. S'cuse."

She left the room again, and Hermione took a sip of coffee, which was rather strong. Her eyes scanned the room for anything she might be forgetting. It was dreadful having to leave the Elves, and even worse somehow knowing that she couldn't speak freely of them to others.

*()%()*

Behind him, Ginny ran into something and groaned. There was an additional noise as she kicked whatever it was across the kiosk.

After Eowilindë had silently pointed out the way back to the teltacoa, Harry had gotten very little sleep. He'd run her strange words through his head over and over, picturing her solemn face and lilac eyes each time her voice reechoed through his mind.

He'd forgotten all about visiting Holly, and could only wonder how he was supposed to unleash this panacea he held, and decide when Darkness would be overcome. She could have been more specific, he thought bitterly. And do they really have to ascribe everything to the stars?

He pulled his cloak over his shoulders. Belebridien had been in just a few minutes before--they were to leave the forest very soon. Harry couldn't see any light outside the kiosk, and he could feel that it was still very early in the morning.

Eowilindë wished to see them all once more, Belebridien had said. Harry wasn't sure whether he wanted any more of her eerie prophecies, but seeing her beautiful, solemn face one last time couldn't hurt.

*()%()*

Anendel led Holly down the corridors, Draco and Hoviel not far behind, which were once again bustling with burgundy-clad servants moving this way and that.

They stopped at the entrance into the Hall of the Heavens, and Anendel looked around at her. "Mára mesta," he said solemnly to Holly, whose mouth fell open.

"What do you mean, 'good-bye'?" she demanded, "You can't come with?"

"You are to meet the Lady in the Hall, and then you and your companions will be escorted back to the edge of the wood." He took a step backward. "I am needed in the kitchens."

"But--but--" Holly scowled, "Fine."

Anendel made to leave but she called, "Hold on!" The Elf turned back to her, thin eyebrows raised. "Thanks."

"For what?"

She wrinkled her nose at him. "For everything," she elaborated, as though this were the most obvious thing in the world. "Taking care of me, toting me around everywhere, being the most selfless thing I've ever met, yadda, yadda."

He looked curiously at her.

"Can you read English writing?" she asked him.

"Yes," replied Anendel slowly. "Why?"

"I'll send you a letter sometime, all right?" He nodded. "Can I hug you, or is that against the rules?"

"I--I do not believe so..."

Holly moved from one side to the next, trying to find the most desirous position to wrap her arms around Anendel. She couldn't really see one--he towered over her by at least a foot, which was very unusual to Holly. She finally resulted on simply wrapping her arms around his lean waist.

He timidly set his hands on her back, and Holly said, "Thanks, Anendel."

She pulled away and said, "If I ever see you again, I want you to be part of Amolas' guard, okay?"

"Do not have high hopes," he said dejectedly.

"Mára mesta, Anendel," she said.

"Mára mesta."

He inclined his head, and Holly watched him walk away until his goldenrod hair disappeared around the corner.

She sighed sadly and pushed open the high door leading into the Hall of the Heavens.

*()%()*

Ginny and Harry were the last to enter the room. One of Eowilindë's servants with fading blond hair situated them to stand side by side in a line.

The Hall was mostly dark, the only illumination coming from the fires lit in every other grate. There were six servants present, along with the Lord and Lady, who stood near the long tables, which had been cleared of the food and dishes that were there the night previous. They each shone as paragons of goodness, but none so much as the frosty yet pious Eowilindë. Amolas, on the other hand, had a slight air of an Elvish martinet.

Ron had been swept into the arms of Nyla and Forfiwen all at once before they had left the cabin--Isaac had shaken his hand firmly and given him a staid, fatherly look. They had gone through so many rounds of good-byes that Ron wasn't sure who had gotten in the last word.

Galórion was to be one of the Elves that led them back out of the forest, so he hadn't said anything yet.

Now Ron stood at the right end of the line, next to Hermione, gazing forward and wondering what they had been summoned there for.

"Present them with the Enyalsalpëi," commanded Eowilindë.

The six servants stepped forward to each of the students, their heads bowed. Each Elf held a small stone basin in his or her hands, deeply engraved with many symbols and runes that he couldn't decipher on both the outside of the basin and the inside.

Ron took his from the female Elf with pale silver hair and murmured his thanks, perplexed as to what he was holding. In the very bottom of the bowl was a small puddle of silvery water that sat and twinkled up at him like the lake on a calm day. Or perhaps the contents were a strange crux of smoke. He looked closer--and yet he couldn't decide.

At his left Hermione whispered, "A Pensieve! I should have known..."

Ron looked back down into his own basin at the swirling contents within. A Pensieve, huh? he thought, I know what these are... He checked to make sure no one was watching, then gave it a little shake--just to see what happened.

The contents covering the bottom of the basin moved but did nothing spectacular.

"Each Enyalsalpë will expand to contain your memories," Amolas said, looking around at them all. "A gift, made for you by our finest Craftselves. We bestow them upon you in hopes that they keep your heavy memories pure."

The six servants bowed their heads lower and stepped back from the students in unison. Eowilindë explained, "Place which thoughts you wish to be relieved of in your Enyalsalpë. They shall plague your mind no more, but never could you erase the event from time. Enyalsalpëi are not meant to allow one to escape from the footprints sunk into sands of time."

Ron was gazing intently into his Pensieve, and he didn't notice the Lady standing in front of him until Hermione whispered his name. He looked up at the queen Elf and blushed crimson, preparing to avert his eyes again.

A kind smile graced her lips then, and Ron felt himself staring, transfixed, at her face. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen a woman so gorgeous as Eowilindë, who had a statuesque beauty about her waist-length white hair and pure, ageless visage. Not a dapple or impurity was visible on her features.

When she spoke to him, eyes boring down into his, Ron's knees became weak, but not because of her beauty, but because of the power in her voice. Her every word seemed to engrave itself into his core.

"Plagued by choices, Ronald," she said. Ron didn't flinch at hearing his full name spoken, which was unusual. "Never distrust your intuition," Eowilindë advised, "as you have in the past. It shall rarely guide you down the wrong path." She closed her eyes and whispered, "When darkness falls, oialë kalessë órëlya nia sanda."

The Elf lifted his chin with her fingertips, which seemed to shock his nerves into numbness. "Forever may your heart be true," she said softly, her frosty, violaceous eyes watching his. She lightly touched his cheek, which were hot with a new flushing, then stepped away to speak to Hermione.

Ron felt dirty and unworthy of being spoken to by the Lady, and her heliotrope gaze remained in his heart, like a new conscience reminding him to follow his intuition. He would hear her strong voice in his mind, repeating her advice, forever.

*()%()*

Hermione felt very small, Lady Eowilindë was nearly two entire feet taller than she was. The Lady radiated power and wisdom--she had an air of knowing that blew Hermione away. She was an exemplar Elf... and in her mind Hermione could easily relate her to Galadriel.

When her voice sounded, Hermione felt like each word cut into her and impinged her space, but healed her heart rather than wounding it.

"Hermione," she said, dropping her voice, "your gift is not a curse. Fear it not, never abuse it. Release the secret, for soon it will cause the pain of others." The Elf delicately placed one hand on Hermione's shoulder, fingers carefully wrapping over it, but it felt like the heavy weight of Hagrid's dustbin lid-sized hand on her, causing her knees to quake.

"First they will not understand," she told her quietly. "Náelyë carin ta terë," the Lady continued, sweet voice seeming to sing the flowing words. "You shall make it through."

Eowilindë lifted her hand off Hermione's shoulder, and she seemed to take a great burden of Hermione's with her.

*()%()*

Draco braced himself; he was next. The Elven queen stood in front of him, glittering in all of her majesty. Next to her superlative beauty and under her hyacinth gaze, Draco felt suddenly insignificant. Eowilindë was the only one in the Hall, the only thing in the world that mattered. He waited in anticipation for her words.

"You isolate yourself from your morals, Draco," she scolded, "It must stop." He felt the urge to immediately comply. "When the earth has her revenge upon you, what is most important in your life will make itself known. Never abandon it." She paused, shoulders drooping slightly as she exhaled, frowning slightly at his being such a profligate.

"You will feel despair, but know that to feel despair means that one has once felt hope. An evening star shall shine upon you, and guide you on your lonely road through the dark."

Like she did to Ron, Eowilindë lifted Draco's chin so he could better see her, her touch speeding through every nerve in his body. "Fëalya avá nól ane rómellya," she explained, words imbuing themselves deep into his heart. "Your soul does not agree with your will."

She closed her lavender eyes for a moment, sighing, before touching his cheek and moving away, leaving Draco's mind and heart convoluted.

*()%()*

Holly exhaled, trying to soothe her senses and clear her mind as Eowilindë drew nearer. When they stood face to face, Holly tipping her chin up to look at her, she fidgeted with her hands nervously.

"Holly," she sighed, and immediately Holly felt like she'd done something terribly wrong. The firelight glittered off the Lady's white hair, possibly making her pale eyes even eerier. "Your disposition changes, you inveigh against your heart. Do not allow yourself to be overcome by misfortune, secure your ways in faith and moral aspiration before time has its way."

Eowilindë looked sternly at her, and Holly felt a stabbing pain somewhere in the region of her heart, and she tensed. "When shadows call, fly away." The Elf's eyes softened and she was serene once more when she whispered, "I anwa ná lá ve ta yéten." The ache lessened and the Elf concluded her foresight in a whisper, "The truth is not as it seems."

As the Lady stepped away Holly gently touched her chest just beneath her collarbone, exhaling a shaking breath she had been holding for some time.

*()%()*

As Eowilindë neared Ginny, she felt her heart beat faster. And as the Lady's eyes met hers, Tom's voice burst through her head. 'She knows I'm here. She can see me...'

"The paths chosen by those around you will not be the paths you elect, Virginia," Eowilindë said. Later Ginny would wonder how she knew her name, but at the time all she could think was that she had never heard her praenomen so beautifully pronounced. It nearly sounded like an encomium. "Take care in who you befriend, and mind who you trust. The world changes around you and within you, but your soul remains virtuous. Modification looms nearby."

She gently cupped her warm hand against Ginny's cheek, and her words drove themselves into her memory. "Uin lavs ane ahyalyë," Eowilindë commanded. "Do not let him contravene you."

*()%()*

Harry hadn't yet grown accustomed to Eowilindë's presence. She seemed to throw everything in a near radius of her in a strange silent warp, her power shivering on the air and making all else subservient. He clutched his Pensieve tightly in his hands wishing that just holding it would bring him succor.

Her message for him was the shortest but nevertheless obfuscating. "Cálëanta," she called him again, her voice soft and etched with sadness, "a promise lives within you now." Her eyes danced over his and she stated, "Pelúna ar elyë náe hiruva i tië."

Slowly Eowilindë leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the cheek, without a sound. Harry felt his knees weaken considerably and his heart jump from leaden to light as a feather. The single peck held the amity of two worlds. She whispered, "Believe... and you will find the way, my Cálëanta."

*()%()*

QUOTE: "Friendship"-George Washington (1732-1799)

SONG(S):

A/N:

"Lindo" (Anendel's surname) means 'singer' or 'song bird' in Quenya.

A yén is an elvish century--about 144 years. Roughly, the Blackland dragon died 2500 years before the events in this chapter took place.

The Blackland Ajatar: Ajatar--an evil dragon from Finish legend that suckles serpents and causes pestilence and disease. Blackland Dragon--a Yu-Gi-Oh! monster that dwells in dark places whose fault lies in its eyesight (I knew my little brother's obsession with that entire phenomenon would help me somewhere along the way).

"...you are ruled by your passions, and the spirit of Skadi reigns over your emotions and guides your actions." Skadi (also known as Harm) is the Norse goddess of wintertime, destruction, rightful retribution, mountains, the hunt, justice, vengeance, and righteous anger. ...Charming.

"Ereshkigal has a common animus within you." Ereshkigal was the ancient Sumer goddess of the underworld--she was stubborn, temperamental, and could be very difficult to please. Hymns and offerings to the dead could help to improve her mood, however.

"The Charm of Cliodna, created by the Nereids upon her command." In Greek mythology, the Nereids were sea-nymphs, daughters of the Doris the nymph and of Nereus. Sometimes seen frolicking on the surface of the water, the Nereids (whose name means 'wet ones') lived in the underwater palace of their father.

"...You are under the superlative protection of Cliodna. You are an O'Keefe?" Cliodna is the guardian goddess of the O'Keefes.

On that note, this is one version of the Chocolate Frog Card Cliodna (spelt Cliodne here): http://www.hp-lexicon.org/14-cliodne.jpg. In the CoS PS2 video game, she is described as the druidess who discovered the magical properties of moondew. I went by the description of Cliodna (and her avifauna) that I'd found on websites in the process of research.

"What angel wakes me from my flow'ry bed?" --William Shakespeare. Titania, woken by Bottom's singing, in A Midsummer Night's Dream, act 3, scene 1.

"The limits of my language mean the limits of my world." -Ludwig Wittgenstein, Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus (1922)

"God gives every bird his worm, but He does not throw it into the nest." --P. D. James, Jonah the tramp, in Devices and Desires, chapter 40 (1989), quoting a wayside pulpit.

And, of course, your Quenya translation--just in case some dialogue happens to be nagging at you: Coromindi: cupolas / Teltacoa: 'telta'- canopy 'coa'- house (hence, pavilion) / Manen nar elyë?: How are you? / Mára: good, fit / Serinel: rested / Velicë: great / Hantalyë: thank-you / Hísimë: November / Cennyë: I see. / Saynlë: potion / Laimë: yes / Norowin: cage / Rocconeri: 'rocco'- horse 'neri'- men (hence, centaurs) / Ávnyë: I do / Handë (name of Anendel's oak tree): Understanding / Náelyë lavmet amba?: Will you let us up? / Elyë ista mana ane áv: You know what to do. / Ingolë: magic / Arqueni: nobles / Tulin omentë quén: Come meet someone. / Sina ná Holly, Istar-nildë: This is Holly, a wizard-friend / Quinga: bow / Macil: sword / Emmë maurtuo autasí: We must leave now / Moina: dear (best translated in the familiar, friendly sense) / Anwarcel vanya: Very beautiful. / Nan, hantalyë: But, thank-you. / Fárë téra: All right (literally; all straight) / Quetvedui na amillya nin: Say 'hello' to your mother for me. / Náenyë: I will / I telda firin orywa vannë: The last ray of sunlight has disappeared. / Andúnë ná menna: Sunset is upon us! / Kalessë i asar yessëa: May the festival begin! / Verno: husband / Tirin ors nin: Watch over him for me. / Ingolë nárya poldatul lómëmas: Magic is at its strongest tonight. / Kalessëmmë tirin i eleni ar i yúlse óh i úr: May we observe the stars and the fumes of the fire. / Ar sí ni ná anne enwina ane mahta ranqui aique imára: And now I am too old to handle arms any better. / Nárëi óh Hysel: Flames of Future / Áva lelya, nányë tanca vai merëi ane hanta elyë: Don't go, I'm sure she wishes to thank you... / Terevel: Very well / Enyalsalpë: Recall Bowl or Bowl of Memories (hence, Pensieve)

Big thank-you to reviewers!: Aarmen Bloodmoon, Ann, Dunmare, Eerie, eloisamuggle, erica_brown_05, FirePheonix, gilaesther, Gryffinpuff, hermione512, Hermoninny, hpf, infratuatedemma, JeaniyTheScienceGuy, Jessi Mae, k_potter (I got there, didn't I?), Katie Weasley, kdalemama, Kenshin42, Kilkieran, Lilia, Luver, MadAboutHarry, Melissa Wood, NecessaryEvil, neha_dkulkarni, NeonLight, Ophira, peach brandy, Phire Freak, pixie307neon, RuBbErDuCkIe, SiriusFan, SlowFox, Sparkles, Srox4690, SwaummyJs06, SwissWitch, Tricky_41, Vashjinn, wrenbirdy, and yohannayork.