“Harry had a dream!” Ginny and Hermione both exclaimed at the same time.

“Er yes.” Wide-eyed from the startling stereophony, Harry nodded. “I sort of had a bad dream.”

Sirius lit a soft glow at the tip of his wand and glanced around at the teens with a raised eyebrow. “Okay, well at least you all have your story straight. Er well, apart from Ron, that is..." He gazed down at the sprawled teen on the floor, whose twitches were now giving way to ordinary snores. "So how did everyone end up here then?"

Ginny edged back from Harry and shrugged innocently. “I somehow sensed Harry's distress. After what he did for me a few nights ago, I — I just wanted to help.”

Hermione nodded. “I woke up and saw Ginny's bed empty. I knew she'd been worried about Harry earlier in the evening, so I guessed she might head up here.”

Sirius nodded thoughtfully. “All right, that checks out with the ruddy traffic patterns going past my door the past half hour.” He shook his head in exasperation, smirked, then raised his wand to levitate Ron back into bed.

“So..." Harry fidgeted, establishing a bit more space between himself and Ginny. "You, uh, believe us?”.

“Hell no — I just wanted to see how sharp you were!” Sirius burst out laughing for a moment then rubbed his eyes and turned back to the scandalized teens. “Good try mates! When I was your age, I never ever prowled about after two thirty in the morning without a well greased alibi. Yours are okay, though personally I never got much traction with anything so sweet and innocent...”

“I beg your pardon?!” Hermione was practically hopping in place. “I'll have you know...”

“Easy tiger...” Sirius waggled his finger. “Save your protests for morning or you'll wake Molly. And believe me, you do not want to face her brand of inquisition tonight.”

Hermione sputtered into silence, glared at Sirius for a moment, then rolled her eyes in capitulation.

With another grin, Sirius tossed a blanket over Ron, then yawned. “Ah well. Obviously right now I'm more interested in getting back to sleep than interrogating you ruffians, so let's just forget any of this happened... on two conditions...”

“Namely?” Ginny inquired.

“If this is all fun and games, then fine. But if you three are up to anything that Albus needs to know about then, as the titular master of this shambolic dump, I expect to be told about it too. Understood?”

“Er, okay...” Harry nodded, albeit with a slight hesitation. “And the second condition is?”

“For Merlin's sake, don't rouse any other redheads next time!” Sirius gave a final glance at the snoring Ron. “Now everybody get to their own bloody beds before we all roast in hell!”

Sirius left the bedroom and headed back to his quarters without bothering to confirm that his order had been obeyed. Hermione had also stepped out of the chamber, but she lingered by the stairwell nearby, uncertain whether Ginny would willingly part from Harry's side.

Ginny was indeed reluctant to leave. Having released Harry from her embrace, she remained sitting on his bed for several minutes, her hand resting lightly on his, gazing out through the bedroom window at the murky night sky.

Harry shifted onto his side and curled his body comfortably against hers as he stared diffusely at dimly lit paint-peel patterns on the far wall.

Neither said a word.

A detailed conversation would come later — Ginny was certain of that because she had so much to ask. For the first night in a while, she had not directly experienced any of Harry's visions. Tonight's first dream she knew only as a sharp but undefined terror that had jolted her out of bed — an impetus to race up the stairs to his side. For Harry's second dream, Ginny had been fully awake, sitting on Harry's bed, silently pleading with him for some sort of response; desperately clutching his rigid, perspiring hand...

Only once before in her life could she ever recall having been so frightened. Even now, the thought of it sent a tiny quiver through her shoulders.

“Are you okay?” Harry whispered.

Ginny nodded. She took a deep breath, and turned to give him a quick, reassuring smile. “Get some rest,” she said softly, squeezing his hand and rising from the bed to make her silent way out of the room.

In truth, Ginny was not 'okay', but she did not want to worry Harry about it right now. After what he has just been through, she sincerely hoped that he would be able to relax and settle comfortably for the rest of the night to recuperate.

What Ginny did not want to burden Harry with was a deep trepidation that... it was her turn now... Just like Harry before her, she sensed that the time had come for her to find her own bed, close her eyes, and proceed, with whatever courage she could muster, into a world of strange, dark dreams.

On Ginny's way to the stairs, Hermione probably whispered something to her, and Ginny might well even have responded appropriately... but she had no recollection. Ginny didn't even recall laying her head upon the pillow, because by the time she was back in her own bedroom, the strength of the urgent summons had risen to drown out her conscious thoughts.

For all the urgency of her dream-summons, the vision confronting Ginny seemed rather anticlimactic. This dank smoky cave in the northwestern fringe of Norfolk was not at all a place Ginny could imagine herself wanting to be.

Although some part of her was fascinated by the mysterious rituals unfolding before her, it took every ounce of willpower to keep herself from bolting back into the evening... to follow the urgent plea of the brooch... back south, to find the Publican... because once again, the man who reminded her so much of Harry seemed in desperate need a princess.

However, so did the queen. For the sake of the deposed Iceni monarch, Ginny stood her ground. She watched and waited. And waited. Ginny even forced herself to remain perfectly still and silent... lest she disturb the eccentric old Druid and once again incur the unnerving scrutiny by his strange, cloudy blue eyes.

Indeed, the famous wandmaker seemed to be a rather moody and sensitive old crank.

Some time ago, when the brooch had first stung Ginny with its dire knell, she had flinched, clenching her fists to dispel the pain. She had thought she had managed to be discreet in her discomfort, but the Druid had spun immediately to her and glared, his disconcerting eyes briefly flaring with... something...

Ginny was uncertain whether the old man had been enraged, frightened, or deeply fascinated, but whatever the response had meant, she had no desire for a repeat performance. Consequently, she held herself rigid; she locked down even her facial expressions, until he had once again fully immersed himself in his labours.

Despite the fact that no interruptions had occurred since then, those labours were turning out to be long and exhaustive.

Matching a wand to Heanua had proven trivial — the Druid had devoted less than five minutes to finding something suitable for the queen's eldest daughter, but the queen herself had apparently posed to the ancient sorcerer a much greater challenge. After almost deciding on one wand quite some time ago, he had put it away, lapsed into a long meditative silence, and had then roused himself again into an agitated state of bizarre magical exploration. Oddly enough, many of the Druid's actions seemed in Ginny's view (through Lanossëa's astute perception) to focus more on raw divination than on Boadicea's magical aura. It was almost as if he was not trying to find the wand that best suited the queen's magic, but rather to discover an instrument that would someday serve a specialized need that the Queen was destined to encounter.

With every moment that the Druid spent on his strange ceremonies, Ginny grew more impatient (and suspicious). Surprisingly, however, the normally abrasive queen stood in silent forbearance.

Finally, after a fire dance in which trails of multi-coloured luminescence trailed the hobbling wizard as he thrice circled the queen carrying several different wands, he lurched to a stop. Crouched in front of Boadicea, he extended one wand — a dark, unusually long and thick stick — toward her hand.

The queen glanced down at the approaching wand and reached to accept it. The instant the wood touched her fingertips, a brilliant flash ripped through the dark cave, a resounding SNAP sounded... and the smell of ozone filled the air.

Startled, the queen nearly dropped the wand, but quickly solidified her grip and raised it aloft, where the wand continued to spark for a moment before settling again.

“A wand, so late to bloom but with untold promise, has finally chosen to commence its destiny.” The old Druid handed it to the queen. “I seek no gold, silver, cattle or grain for this wand, but offer it to you so that the wand may grow to suit your need, until that need has passed.”

The queen frowned. “I do not understand. You seek no payment for the wand?” She examined first the wand and then the seller skeptically.

The man shook his head. “I require only that you return it to me once you no longer have need of it.”

The queen regarded him with raised eyebrow... then nodded. “Once I have regained the staff of my grandfather, I shall indeed return to you this wand. If it has served me well, I shall reward your... kindness...” The queen couldn't help but stare a moment longer at the peculiar wandsmith, as if still probing for deception.

“As you will.” The man gave her a toothy, unconcerned grin. “But long before any of that, you must rest, O' Lady of the Iceni. Go forth from this hallowed cave, and please dwell the remainder of this night in the nearby stable. Take comfort in shelter and dry straw before you depart on your perilous ways.”

“Thank you,” the queen replied in a simple neutral tone as she examined the wand one last time and put it safely away. The tall woman raised a hand to summon her two daughters as she led the way toward the mouth of the cave.

Ginny held back for a moment, watching as the downcast and barely responsive Heanua began to make her obedient way from the cavern. Ginny then turned to follow... but suddenly a hand — a vice-like grip on her wrist — locked her in place. She nearly jumped out of her skin in surprise over the unexplained interference, yet she found herself saying nothing; she offered no protest as the two women walked heedlessly out of sight without her; she did not confront the mysterious old man who had wilfully separated her from her kin. She merely waited, breathless, standing with him until the cave had fallen into complete silence.

“So...” In the absence of the queen's audience, the Druid's voice had taken on an odd quality - almost a purring tone, yet also vaguely grandfatherly, “You are the lioness who speaks with two hearts.”

Two hearts?

Ginny quelled any outward response to the Druid's bizarre statement, but yet again he had succeeded in jolting her. Could he somehow have seen through Lanossëa, and perceived Ginny's spiritual presence within?

Recalling from the twins (both of whom rarely received grades worse than E in Trelawney's divination courses) that fraudulent seers routinely used strange pronouncements to provoke their subjects into providing useful information about themselves, Ginny stiffened herself further, standing in bland dispassion as the creepy character circled around to get a closer look at her.

“You speak with two hearts, and yet you also speak to two hearts...” The Druid hummed to himself for a moment. “And every voice to every heart bids you depart from here with all haste!” His gnarled hand thrust into the air, excitedly, as if he had just solved an abstract riddle.

“Yes!” Ginny nodded, blinking in surprise. Whatever disconcerting game the man might be playing, he was right about one thing - she certainly felt no further reason to hide the fact that she truly and desperately did want to get out of this cave, and longed (in all honesty) to escape the whole region.

The old man cackled in unexplained amusement and tugged on her arm. “Come thither with me, my two-hearted lioness. I will speed you on your way, but first I must introduce you to your steed!”

The Druid led her out of the cave, but instead of making for the small stable that was visible in the moonlight, he veered onto a path leading up into a thorny ravine. “You have seen death, have you not?” he inquired off-handedly as he led her hurriedly through the night.

“Have I what?” Ginny stared at him in confusion.

“Have you laid your eyes upon the dying? Accompanied them unto the moment of their release?”

Ginny would have had no idea how to answer that, but the princess within her did. “Yes, I gave comfort to my grandmother in her final moments and I... I...”

“Do tell me,” the old man urged. “I am not here to render judgment, but I am a curious old fellow.”

“I was not able to revive my father.” Ginny's mind was briefly filled with the image of strong-looking bearded man, pale and feverish... then the vision vanished as the princess suppressed it.

The Druid nodded thoughtfully as he led her past a heavy thicket and into a moonlit copse.

Ginny gasped.

Standing tall in the moonlight before her was a beast of monstrous, nightmarish aspect, yet somehow also very gentle. Horselike, but with an appallingly skeletal head and body, and huge leathery wings folded to its sides, the creature was drinking peacefully from a hillside spring.

The Druid's grip about her arm loosened, and Ginny found herself stepping freely forward. Without fear, she extended one hand toward the exotic being. A reddish eye swiveled toward her, and the beast stirred and raised its muzzle to cautiously sniff her hand.

From behind her, the Druid spoke in soft reverence. “This is a thestral. There is no animal more hallowed to our people, but few that are less understood. A distant kin to the flying horse he is, but this creature has, in all its life, only ever sported two tail hairs. And one of these precious hairs, he has donated one to the wand that just chose your mother.”

Ginny gently stroked the thestral's cheek for a moment, feeling its cool breath on her hand. She then stepped back, curiously, to examine it's peculiar, nearly-hairless form. No more than a dozen hairs clung to the ridge of the animal's neck where a horse's mane would be. From its bony tail,Ginny confirmed that indeed, there now hung only one solitary hair — long and dark, glistening in the moonlight.

Observing her actions, the old man commented. “If a thestral is to surrender even a single hair, it is a noble act of extraordinary generosity. For a thestral may live to ages immemorial, never to be slain by the hands of any man or woman... save by a wand containing one of its own hairs.”

Ginny took a step back from creature, gazing wide-eyed at it, suddenly wondering how ancient it might be; what old deeds and centuries it may have borne witness to.

“But let us not even speak of slaying a thestral.” Surprised by the Druid's suddenly ominous, sepulchral tones, Ginny glanced back at him to see that his stooped form had straightened, and his eyes glinted in the moonlight. He shook his head slowly. “Such would be an act of abomination, with consequences too horrible to contemplate.”

Ginny shook her head vigorously. “I agree. I am certain that neither my mother nor any of her subjects would ever endanger such noble a creature!”

As if weighing her sincerity, the beast turned its large head and met her eyes for a long moment. With a silent exhalation, it then lowered its front haunches.

The Druid gazed appraisingly at the animal, and then toward Ginny. “The thestral deems you worthy. He shall be your steed, my lioness. He will bear you now upon your exigent quest of heart.”

“Now?” Ginny asked.

“Of course! We are all bound to our destiny, and yours lies thither. Your steed awaits, and your patience for lesser matters is very nearly at end.”

“But mother...?”

The Druid shook his head. “The queen requires you not for what she must do now. She will have need of you again some day, but only if you leave her side will you ever be available to rejoin her at the moment of her greatest need.”

Ginny stared hard at the strange sorcerer who stood unflinching as the moonlight reflected in his inscrutable milky-blue gaze. The way he proclaimed the future with such assuredness unnerved her, but the accuracy in which he perceived the present was equally unsettling. Indeed, he seemed to sense her motivations almost as well as she herself understood them… and she had to admit that he was right — unless she turned soon to obey the brooch, it might tear her mind apart.

She focused again on the large gentle animal, which still knelt to her in obeisance and silently welcomed her approach. “Please convey to the queen my sincere regrets,” Ginny said as she gingerly slipped one leg over the thestral's back, and tucked her foot into a fold beneath its wing.

The Druid merely cackled softly in the background.

Resigning herself to the many things unknown, both what lay ahead of her tonight and what was in store for her mother and sister, Ginny finished mounting the animal. As she settled herself into a curved span between the spurs of its large vertebrae, the thestral rose gently to its feet and spread its monumental wings. In the span of several white-knuckle seconds, Ginny found herself aloft — the moonlight and crisp night breeze in her long, flowing hair.

Harry stirred to the sensation of cool air settling across his collar and lightly ruffling his hair. A faint glow of undefined hope had lodged itself in his chest, and the sensation did not depart even after he had opened his eyes to the hard grey stone walls, and a glimmer of moonlight peering in through the heavy iron bars high above him, in what he guessed to be a Camboricum dungeon.

With some effort, he stirred himself from the dusty floor and attained a sitting position. Although his back ached from the close-range stunning spell, it did not seem to him that he had suffered greatly in his abduction. No bones were broken, and the bruising was only minor. A cursory scan of his limbs revealed no major wounds.

Harry knew that a harrowing confrontation was in his near future, but he pushed the unpleasantness of that fact into the back of his mind for the time being, and instead turned to a brief consideration of his captors' possible motives. After several minutes of thought, he decided that he had no idea why they had come here to this far corner of the empire to seek him out. He was fairly certain that he would not like their reason, but beyond that speculation seemed pointless.

Unable to think of any important preparations to make before the coming ordeal, Harry decided to relax. He let his mind drift... to a vague comfort that persisted in his mind.

She will come to help. She always does...

Without conscious thought, he gazed vacantly at the fine dry silt blanketing the earthen floor. His eyes fell upon a small shard of wood that had chipped from the cell's sole wooden bench. He picked up the shard, and lodged it into the curve of his hand with the comfort of a crafted stylus.

Turning his attention back to the silty floor, Harry reached forward with his empty hand and swept carefully across the dirt several times to create a smooth, blank surface. Extending his stylus, he lowered it to a corner of his medium and, with the Publican's practiced confidence as a skilled draughtsman, he pulled the point across the silt to etch a fluid curve.

Other marks followed as a face of strength and beauty — bold and resolute, yet gracefully compassionate — took shape from moon-cast shadows across the small silt ridges. Pausing in his labour of meditation, he stared down upon his creation for a long moment, recalling wistfully the person it depicted. He reached his free hand forward, as if to caress the princess's soft hair...

A brisk, unpleasant voice sounded from a corridor somewhere above Harry's cell. “How long has he been awake?”

“I know not, your honour.”

Harry leaped to his feet. Extending a foot toward the silt, he hastily rubbed out the image. He winced in momentary regret, but pushed the sentiment from his mind and whisked the residual dirt from his hand. He listened carefully as several distinct sets of footsteps descended a stone staircase down into the underground chamber where he had found himself. For a moment, he thought he heard a third, more soft-spoken man, then the louder second (rather gruff) voice raised again. “It has been fifteen minutes since I glanced down the spy hole and noted his motions. I came for you immediately, as you requested.”

The first voice grumbled something indistinct under his breath as a torch came into view, illuminating three figures as they turned the corner toward the cell. A stocky man in Legionary armor turned a heavy metal bolt in the door, and stepped aside.

“Aperiam,” spoke a voice that sounded, to Harry, rather like a somewhat more mature version of his own. The cell door flashed in low incandescence for a moment, then swung open of its own accord. Harry lifted his gaze expectantly. No longer empowered by the element of surprise, the first horseman from earlier in the evening strode into the cell, followed by a second person — a young man, barely more than a boy, with fine, straight brown hair framing a wide forehead and an intelligent, curious expression.

Harry stood in outward dispassion, examining faces that, beneath his polished shroud, stirred intense bile in his soul. Steeling his nerves, he fixed his eyes upon... the Publican's eldest son. “Twelve years it has been, Tio. Twelve years, and yet you seem no more than a manlike form of the boy I left behind.”

The tall, raven-haired man with eyes of deep coal grey gazed at Harry. “Well met, father.” His bland response seemed to convey his limited patience for pleasantries; his focus instead on a silent appraisal of the Publican.

Harry shrugged and turned his attention to the second of the horsemen. “And little Mus, you have grown tall. Were that my last memories of you had been happier.” Beneath the show of calm dispassion, Harry felt a distant, quiet ache from the Publican's bereft sense of family. Not wanting the weakness to show, however, he leveled his voice. “So, pray tell what brings you to far flung Britannia? I had never expected to see either of you set foot beyond the tall shadows and fine marble walls of Palatine Hill.”

The one named Tio sneered. “You misjudge us, as always father. We have traveled far in our young years — searching for the truths that you have always fled. And finally we searched even for you, since our destinies we cannot quite uncouple.”

Harry clenched his fists as the Publican's scorching emotions began to churn to the surface. “Truths that I fled?! There is no truth in children pledging to murder innocents! I warned you never to seek me without recanting the wicked ways of your vile cabal! And so here you are before me. Are you prepared to renounce your society of unconscionable lunatics?! Recant Tio! Recant Mus! Or forever leave me in peace!”

“Recant? Father, is it truly possible for you to remain so painfully misguided?” In the course of his statement, Tio's expression flickered unstably from feigned bemusement to cold disdain and onward to loathing. “My brother and I were misguided once too. Sadly, we led ourselves to believe that you would come back to us and lend your fatherly strength to a just cause. Yet Mother always warned us that you would never cease your pathetic coddling of crass, treacherous barbarians. Mus and I have long since accepted the truth of her words, but after all this time you still believe it possible that my brother and I would surrender our vows of truth and justice for our people, and accede to your pathetic delusion?”

Harry felt his jaw stiffen as he struggled to contain the Publican's outrage. “Misguided to believe it possible that you would rediscover compassion and reason?? No, I never quite dared to believe. And yet, in each passing year I have meditated upon you, seeking in my heart some sign that I might return you from your path of ruination, and save you from your heinous, murderous associates. Many times my heart has quailed as I heard of dark crimes mounting in your footsteps, and yet somehow I never truly abandoned hope. ”

The Publican's eyes bored deeply into his eldest son, daring the icy soul before him to betray some tiny vestige of humanity.

Tio met his father's glare with frigid abhorrence. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly as he stared long and icily into Harry's unblinking eyes. Seconds spanned toward a minute as the pair faced each other, unyielding, until... with a lightning flick of his wrist, the young man's wand was jabbed straight at Harry throat.

“Crucio! ” Tio hissed through suddenly gritted teeth.

Harry's nerve endings roiled in utter violation; his flesh had the sensation of being shredded from his body; he quivered... and yet, a flare of defiance in his soul, coupled with the Publican's inner strength, he defied the torture! Droplets of perspiration sprang to his forehead... but Harry remained standing, glaring into the brutal face before him.

“On your knees, father!” Mus approached his brother and father with a quiver of agitation in his voice. “Down on the floor! Beg of our mercy so we may grant it!” His breath rattling, the young man extended his hand, gesturing tremulously downward.

Within the Publican's feverish mind came the memory of a soothing touch; the gentle healing fingers of his princess. Harry reached into his mind and grasped the recollection of Ginny's embrace; a sensation of her stroking the back of his neck, like cool raindrops on a sun-scorched heath.

Within one man, two hearts bound to two hearts stood tall... rose even taller as Harry and the Publican girded the elder man's pride and stolid heart; giving him the strength to resist; willing him to project thoughts, as pure as Harry could fathom, of compassion and forgiveness — the greatest defences against such savagery.

“To your knees, father!” Mus pleaded one last time. Finally, quaking in unarticulated emotion, the younger son kicked out frantically, connecting with the back of his father's knee.

Harry felt himself lurch, about to topple hard down toward the cell floor... yet somehow he compensated, staggered, and regained his footing; his eyes returning to his shaken sons with a defiant glare.

Tio finally lowered his wand. Chewing his lip apprehensively for a moment, his face slowly morphed into a hard sneer as he closed in on the Publican. “Where is your whore, father?” The young man's voice descended to a snakelike hiss. “Where is your bloody bitch's whelp!!”

Harry blinked. “My what?! What in Jupiter's name are you talking about?” Momentary distracted by the baffling statement (and still recovering from his agony) he reeled and lurched sideways, then caught himself and braced himself fully straight again.

Mus approached him more diplomatically. “Where is your lover? Mother always said that you left us to be with another woman, so where is the mistress?”

Harry stared. He could feel the Publican practically choking in a mixture of disbelief and disgust, before finally finding his voice. “That is a filthy lie! I left your mother because she took from me my two sons, and sold them into virtual slavery in the service of darkness. Finally I left my sons too, for after all my entreaties they came to the junction and chose not a path of decency, but rather pledged themselves to the most repugnant Order of Letum! ”

Tio's eyes flared; he trembled and began to raise his wand again, but Mus grabbed his wrist and the rage subsided into smouldering hatred.

“Tell us where to find the woman and your other son,” Tio repeated with simmering vitriol. “Tell us, and we will permit you, our foolish and unrepenting flesh and blood, to live out the remainder of your pointless days in solitude, far from here.”

“My other son??" Harry blinked in uncomprehending consternation. "I cannot tell you what cannot be told. There is no other son. There was no other woman. I left your mother not in lust but in sorrow. I sought out this distant province to escape the harrowing pain of your constant heinous crimes; to grieve and atone for my inability to save you from your wilfull insanity. I never once sought the pain of bringing into the world yet another perfidious son. I answer not because the answer is none!”

Tio glared at him. “You may dare lie to me, father...” He paused, and a dangerous glint lit in his eyes. “But no man may contradict the Oracle of Delphi!”

“Oracle of Delphi?” Harry frowned in confusion.

Tio nodded, projecting an air of superior conviction. “Yes father, the Oracle of Delphi! There is no higher source of truth available to any man, and while many years now come between oracular pronouncements, the great honour of such truth was bestowed upon me. For in my long pilgrimage, I was summoned to the slopes of Mount Parnassus, whereupon, after fasting for four days and nights a wondrous voice arose and spoke to me of the greatness rendered upon our family and its line. The Oracle instructed me as follows.”

Two chains of power
Faithless, true;

A clash predestined
Must ensue.

The union of the
Brothers two,

Shall fall unto the
Brother new.

Deadening silence fell as Tio's ominous words faded.