Have to say, I'm beyond pleased with the response this story has had! To be honest, before I posted it, I seriously considered sending a PM to a few of my most thoughtful and opinionated readers asking whether the story had any chance of taking flight. Well, it looks like we're flapping along happily for the time being!
Big thank you to Wolf Scream for pointing out a glitch in my Roman military nomenclature. Basically the village in Chapter 3 should have been swarming with Legionaries (foot soldiers) not Centurions (officers).
On another semantic note, I am using the Roman definition for the 'league' unit of distance. Their league was less than 1.5 modern miles -- less than half the distance that a league represented in later eras.
Chapter 4. Enemy Eyes (August 9, 1995)
Harry pulled his tunic close against a cold East Anglian rain. Memories of a sparkling spring morning seemed impossibly distant as deep grey billowed down from the north, but he was buoyed to realise that he, Ginny, the Icenian royalty were alive and free. For the moment, they even seemed quite safe.
Nonetheless, every ounce of Harry's body ached from half-healed bruises and fractures, and the strain of an arduous flight through ancient Suffolk wilderness. Encountering yet another coarse thicket, he crouched for a moment, resting his hands on the pair of sturdy (if tired and scraped) Roman knees.
Straightening up, he looked around. From this high hill above their campsite near Great Ouse River, he could make out dim shapes of the surrounding landscape, noting with satisfaction that they had come a good distance.
Rather than make their escape via the meandering rivers, they had gambled on a hard overland march from the Little Ouse. The short cut had served them well. It had seemingly helped them escape unmarked, and he estimated that they were now little more than a league from confluence of the River Cam. At first light tomorrow, they could simply rejoin the waterway and expect fairly easy passage to Camboricum.
Although most Romans preferred to travel by roads and paths, Harry (i.e., the Publican) had learned the benefits of using the native currach – a light hide-sewn boat that drew little water and could easily navigate small streams. With a simple spell, the currach could propel them upstream, and give them long periods of rest – something valuable for all of them; especially the queen's eldest daughter who was desperately ailing.
Harry picked up the two hares he had ambushed earlier in his reconnoitre, placed their still-warm bodies into his pack, and pushed on through the thicket, heedless of thorns that scored several new raw marks across his legs. Within minutes, he had descended through the seclusion enchantments he and Ginny had set around the camp perimeter. He was greeted with the glimmer and welcoming scent of a campfire, and the evening meal that Ginny was preparing.
Rejoining the campsite, he gazed around at the stoic group – Ginny stirring the conjured cauldron, while the queen silently held the sleeping Heanua and stared grimly at the fire. Harry coughed slightly to announce his presence, and smiled. “I haven't seen any sign of people in our vicinity. It would appear I must have truly managed to stun the Legate before he could set anyone on our tail. A lucky strike that was!”
“Whether luck or skill, it was bold and valued.” Ginny gave her co-conspirator a meaningful glance as she added a branch to the fire.
Queen Boadicea nodded. “Both the Publican and my second daughter have proven immensely courageous and resourceful.”
In spite of her glowing words, the queen's tone seemed guarded. “Yes, the Publican risked his life and livelihood for a person to whom he bears no true formal allegiance. And my brave Lanossëa – small in stature, yet towering in heart – acquitted herself with the prowess of an Icenian hero of legend.” She gazed thoughtfully at Ginny. “Your magic, my daughter, has unfolded as a tree of great splendour. I still to this moment cannot grasp how exactly you saved the Publican from his descent. It must have been a spell of great power and sophistication. Most impressive...”
The queen continued to examine her younger daughter analytically for a moment. Ginny did not meet the woman's sharp gaze, but rather averted her eyes and focused on the stew.
It wasn't clear to Ginny if the queen expected an explanation, but none would be forthcoming because, in all honesty, there was nothing to offer. She did recall raising her wand, but the final moments of the incident were gone from her memory. The magic she had unleashed to save the Publican had seemingly dazed her, knocking her off her own feet. Moments later, she had been lifted from the ground by the Publican himself who, while sincerely grateful, was equally hazy about what exactly had happened.
The queen caught a flicker of a glance between Ginny and Harry, then withdrew her scrutiny and stared into the fire. “I shall reward you both handsomely some day.” Her eyes flashed in fire-lit pride… then dimmed. “As long as Amaethon deigns to guide me back to my sovereign station.”
Harry nodded as he conjured bowls and spoons. “Yes, and for that I wish to help. I recommend we hasten together to Camboricum where we can dispatch a petitioner to the Proconsul to register your grievance. We are sixteen leagues from the garrison and may make most of the journey by water. Aided by magic and a good night's sleep, we should reach it comfortably before tomorrow evening.”
Boadicea stiffened. “You may reach it, Publican, but my daughters and I will go no further west. I have permitted you to lead us out of imminent danger, but from here we shall stray no more from the lands of our people.”
“But your presence will make the argument more compelling!” Harry protested. “Faced with the mighty Queen of the Iceni, I am certain the Proconsul will uphold the treaty and order the Legate to stand down.”
The queen's eyes smoldered and her voice rose to brook no dissent. “No, Publican, the throne of the Iceni is not a token to be confiscated or bestowed by any perfumed Roman peacock. I know exactly how to regain control of my people. But for one item, regardless of the will or wiles of your treacherous Legate, I would still at this moment be Queen of the Iceni!”
“My sincerest apologies if I offended you.” Harry bowed his head humbly. “I assume you speak of the Staff of Scavo?”
“Yes.” The word spoken low and dangerously, the Queen returned her gaze to the fire to which it was drawn. Her voice resumed, barely audible. “Were I wielding the staff right now, all of my subjects would follow me through any flame or shadow. I would bring a new dawn of glory.” Her chest swelled... then withered. “But as you see me before you, bare of hands, bereft of majesty, I can lead nobody... except my loyal daughters.”
Harry and Ginny glanced uneasily at each other.
“When we break camp in the beckoning glimmers of tomorrow's twilight, you may return to your garrison in Camboricum as you intend, Publican,” Boadicea declared, “You may pursue those interests that you, in your kind, wise and imminently pragmatic soul, believe are the best service to your empire. Perhaps it shall be that your interests and mine will once again converge – then or in the future. In which case, Publican, I will welcome you with open arms as a cherished friend. But until that time, my daughters and I must make our way back across the lands we have traveled. We timid rabbits have thrown off the hounds, but now we must become three lionesses to stalk the woods, restless until we have devoured our prey...”
Eyes gleaming dangerously in the firelight, the queen clasped her hands, palm over knuckles, as if she was still wielding the copper horse-head grip of her people.
Harry shook his head. “Please reconsider. I suggest you accompany me at least as long as it takes to find wands for you and your eldest daughter. There is a well-respected wand-seller near Camboricum, and I believe he can find you...”
“No, Publican.” The queen's imperious tone closed the debate. She reached to thrust a burning log deeper into the flame. “I have my own means to secure magical objects. I have contacts who have never sullied themselves in dealings with Romans, and never will.”
Harry took a deep, patient breath. “I have one final entreaty, your majesty, and then I will hold my peace.”
“Proceed.”
“I beg you do not drag Heanua along with you on your desperate quests.” Harry gestured toward the frail young woman slumped against the queen. “Her soul is unwell. It matters not to me whether we seek a Briton healer or Roman, but she is in dire need of care.”
“Heanua is the daughter of Queen Boadicea of the Iceni, my dear Publican,” the queen replied coldly. “She is built of stern fibre, and will recover her strength to fight valiantly at her mother's side.”
“At least permit Lanossëa to apply her healing skills to the girl.” Harry eyes swept to Ginny, striving to shroud the dejection in his voice.
Ginny said nothing. Continuing to tend the stew, she sensed that the queen's wounded pride would not brook advice from a daughter.
Boadicea stared hard at Harry for a long moment, then looked away and nodded. “Granted. Lanossëa will tend to her sister as we make our way back east.”
Cradling her eldest daughter in a manner that no longer bore any semblance of motherly nurturing, the queen turned back to face the fire to reclaim her silence.
The Publican and Lanossëa caught each other's eyes – a seasoned man from half a world away; a young woman from a land that welcomed few strangers... In barely more than a day, they had progressed together far beyond the simple acquaintance that once they shared. As the day's final greys turned dark, their hearts lowered into wells of uncertainty and regret.
Pressed against Ginny's heart, in that boreal valley, and in an Islington bedroom of another era, the silver brooch whispered in timeless, enigmatic sorrow.
Harry was not the only one to awaken early the next morning. As he was beginning to warm a pan on the stove in preparation for another round of Grimmauld Place breakfasts, he was surprised to feel a small hand come to rest on his arm, and a cheek press itself into his upper back.
He extinguished the flame on the stove, and turned his focus instead to the soft warmth radiating into him. A surge of emotions streamed through his mind. There was a visceral thrill to know that a beautiful girl had just clasped herself to him and was in no hurry to let go. But that was tempered by the melancholy pouring from her.
“I feel so hollow.” Ginny's whisper drifted up to him. “So drained. Things seem hopeless for them.”
“Them? Oh, you mean the...?” Harry hesitated.
“The princess and the Publican, yes.” Ginny's head nodded slightly against his back.
Harry sighed as a weight of recognition set in and images from last night's dreams began to filter back. It was then that he realized that he was now starting to remember more of the nightly adventures. The images no longer faded into a vague disquiet within minutes of awakening. In fact, the dreams were beginning to feel like an extension of reality – as if they had tangible implications to the waking world.
More immediately important to Harry, though, was the apparent effect the dreams were having on Ginny. Given her obvious sadness, it pained him to wonder if, somehow, he might be peronally responsible for pulling this vivacious girl into a tense, ponderous otherworld?
“Right. The princess and the Publican. Lanossëa and Peuerellius.” Harry frowned as he pieced together the dilemma they faced. “So, I guess you're worried that the queen... or circumstances perhaps, will pull them apart?”
“I can't see how they can avoid it.” Ginny took a step back and gently pulled Harry around to face her. “The Publican must alert his Proconsul ; the princess is bound to follow her queen...”
Harry exhaled wearily.
“And, for the record...” Ginny uncoupled herself from him and began pacing. “This time the dreams do not feel 'right'. I'm not sure why, but I've gotten myself convinced that you and I have a personal stake in this. We can't let the princess and the Publican lose each other. There's no way that the separation will be good for anybody – not for them; not for the queen and Heanua. Who's to say it mightn't even be harmful to us, Harry?”
Harry stared, catching a sharp flash of anger in Ginny's face – the momentary glint of something harder that mere Weasley ire; a flame more resembling a certain woodland princess. Impulsively, he stepped to intercept her stride, taking her slightly by surprise. Reaching for her hand, he held it for a long moment, and watched with relief as her anger fell away; the momentary hard pallour restoring to Ginny's normal healthy tones.
Harry led Ginny to the table, where the two teens faced each other, feeling for all the world like operatives assigned to avert some crisis... except for the strange fact that they were confronted with events that had already taken place – more than nineteen centuries ago.
“I agree with you,” Harry said, pouring tea for Ginny and himself. “I feel that same sort of personal stake in all of this – maybe because I can't imagine why we would both be having these dreams if they weren't somehow important to us.”
Ginny nodded, adding milk to her tea.
“I don't know who's right.” He tapped his warm cup thoughtfully with his finger. “I don't think the Publican should be quite so willing to place such trust in his garrison. I realise that their spell repertoire back then was quite different from ours, but surely there were dark wizards who had nasty tricks like Imperius curses, right? If so, who can anyone really trust?” He blew on his cup, then continued. “At least some of what the queen said sounded logical to me. To truly reclaim her throne, it may well be that she does first need to recover the staff – whether for magical power, credibility, or both.”
“The words that came out of the queen's mouth sounded logical, but...” Ginnys voice faded into pensive silence.
Harry gazed at his friend as she frowned in deliberation. “But...?” he prompted after a while.
“But I think she's losing it, Harry.” Ginny's knuckles were white around her mug. “She's a bit unhinged.”
“Who's a bit unhinged?” Remus Lupin entered the kitchen; a look of concern spreading over his face.
“Oh!” Uncharacteristically rattled, perhaps from weariness and disrupted sleep, Ginny took a second to shift gears. “Oh, we were talking about someone named Queen Boadicea, who apparently was a powerful Druidess and queen in early Roman Britain.”
Smiling surreptitiously at Ginny's mental agility, at her improvising with a near truth, Harry cleared his throat. “Yes, Ginny and I were discussing a historical account that we found up in Sirius's library.”
“That's a relief!” Lupin chuckled. “For a moment I was worried you were referring to your mother.”
“My mother?” Confusion flickered over Ginny's face. “She's not my, uh...”
“Molly?” Harry calmly poured a cup of tea for Remus. “Goodness no, Remus. Ginny and I can see what she's going through, and truly feel for her. I'm sure Mrs. Weasley finds it incredibly stressful to be exiled here in Grimmauld, but she seems to be trying hard to adapt to the situation.”
"Exactly." Ginny nodded, restoring her stage presence. “Professor Lupin, have you ever seen my Mum when she's truly unhinged?” Ginny passed him the cream and sugar. “To be honest, I'd say she's actually taking things surprisingly well so far.”
Lupin smiled. “Okay, point well taken! Anyway, I'm glad, at least, that the two of you are giving her a benefit of the doubt. I have deep affection for Molly, but this is not her ideal environment and it rather shows. She's rather rubbed Sirius the wrong way, and Ron and the twins start glowering at the very mention of her name.”
Harry shrugged. “Yes, well unfortunately it takes some people a long time to realize that the one thing worse than a frayed parent is no parent at all.”
Lupin and Ginny stared at Harry, startled at the neutral, off-handed remark. Harry paid no attention, rising from the table to resume breakfast preparations.
Lupin nodded silently to himself for along moment, his face hinting at sad memories, then he stirred and turned to Ginny. “So.... you're reading about Queen Boadicea?”
“Yes.” Ginny nodded, meeting his gaze. “You've heard of her?”
“Of course.” Lupin leaned forward with an engaged expression. “She was a fascinating and tragic character. It is such a shame that Professor Binns seems incapable of expanding his curriculum; there are so many amazing stories in magical history that students, sadly, may never learn at Hogwarts. It is laudable that you two are taking the initiative to broaden your horizons.”
Harry finished pulling several plates out of the cupboard, then paused his efforts. “Er, I'm sure we're get to this soon enough in our, uh, research, but what sort of tragic end did the queen come to?”
“Ah.” Lupin paused for a moment as he replenished his tea. “She led perhaps the most infamous revolt against the Romans in British history. Her Iceni army and their Trinovante allies sacked several large Roman towns and led to the loss of more than fifty thousand, and perhaps nearing one hundred thousand, Roman citizens.”
Lupin acknowledged Ginny's sharp intake of breath with a sombre nod. “Very grim story indeed! Yet, it's not easy to feel sorry for the Romans. Even their own historians are in general agreement that the rebellion was precipitated by very poor decisions on the part of local Roman administrators.”
“You don't say.” Ginny concealed a scowl behind her teacup.
“Indeed.” Lupin steepled his fingers. “Most Muggle and Magical historic accounts are based on the writings of Tacitus, who recorded that Romans seized Iceni lands without provocation, confiscated great quantities of wealth, captured and flogged the queen and, uh..." Lupin fidgeted. "Well, they supposedly raped her daughters.”
Harry and Ginny exchanged wide-eyed glances. Catching this out of the corner of his eye, Lupin cringed slightly. “Sorry. I firmly believe that history is a very important subject, but it can get rather... ugly at times.”
More puzzled than appalled, both Harry and Ginny frowned. Ginny blew on her tea pensively. “Yes, well the ugly incidents are obviously the ones our society must try hardest to not repeat.”
“Exactly.” Lupin nodded vigourously. “So while the Romans began the episode shamefully, the queen reaped no glory either. She very likely was, as you so eloquently phrased it, rather unhinged by the Roman attack. Her eventual response seemed to be driven much more by wrath than political calculus.”
“Ill-advised,” Harry opined as he flipped several eggs.
Lupin nodded. “Unfortunately, yes. Basing a military campaign on rage alone is a very risky proposition – especially against the Romans who were the masters of cold calculation. Unsurprisingly, the Icenian rebellion faltered. After destroying Camulodunum, driving the Romans from Londinium and then sacking the wealthy town of Verulamium, Boadicea's warriors were met with a disciplined, war-hardened Roman force in northern Hertfordshire. Badly outmaneuvered, and with her forces being slaughtered and dispersed, the queen supposedly committed suicide. Her body was recovered by parties sympathetic to her cause, and she was buried in reverence, but the defeat demoralised all British Celts south of the Highlands. The Romans solidified their power, and no more major rebellions would occur in England for hundreds of years.”
“Hmm, well regardless of emotional instability,” Ginny remarked, “it seems strange that the Iceni revolt should have begun in such strength, dominated through several major battles, and then suddenly collapsed in misery.”
“Fascinating observation.” Lupin pursed his lips in thought, nodding absently to Hermione as she entered and took a seat.
“Yes, very interesting to put it that way.” Lupin beamed a professorial smile. “I suspect that part of the difference was a matter of Roman leadership. The initial Iceni strikes exploited the tactical weaknesses of Procurator Decianus, whom Tacitus seemed to regard as criminally incompetent. In the final battle, however, the Iceni faced a Legion of exemplary preparedness, led by Proconsul Paulinus, whom historians view far more favourably.”
“Okay, so you said that Roman leadership was 'part' of the difference.” Harry's voice raised as he clattered about, assembling four plates. “What's the other part?”
“Ah yes.” Lupin scratched the stubbly beginnings of a beard on his chin. “Pure speculation on my part, but I rather believe that the rest of the story had a magical component. I'm guessing that in the early going the Iceni held a singular advantage in the magical prowess of the queen herself, but by the end, the Romans had found some way to neutralize that edge, or reverse it.”
“Interesting.” Ginny stirred her tea absently. “Harry, have any of our History of Magic lectures ever mentioned magical and Muggle forces fighting alongside in the same battles?”
A guilty twinge flickered across Harry's forehead as he reflected on how few of Professor Binns' lectures he'd been awake for. “Er, not that I can remember. Hermione?”
“You remember correctly, Harry.” Hermione's face held the hint of a smirk as she replied. “In all the time I spent in that class, I never heard any discussion of joint magical-Muggle campaigns. I admit that I missed some class time in my second year, but the notes that I borrowed from Parvati were nothing but the usual Goblin Wars drivel.”
Lupin sighed. “Well, in this case, it's actually not Cuthbert's fault. The International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy actually contains a clause that governments have used to... well, downplay... old records of cooperation between the magical and non-magical communities.
“Downplay?” Harry's eyebrow raised suspiciously.
Hermione gave a cynical shrug. “I think that's Professor Lupin's euphemism for 'suppress'.”
Lupin chuckled. “Well, we would have to wake up earlier than this to pull wool over Miss Granger's eyes. But, from what I can tell, there were numerous instances of collaboration prior to the Statute. Records and accounts of such cooperation still exist, but you won't find them in libraries or book stores. I suspect there are relevant documents in the Ministry of Magic Archives, but they can only be viewed by appointment.”
“Professor...” Ginny peered incisively across the table. “Have you ever wondered what that initial magical advantage might have been, and how it got taken away?”
Lupin regarded her thoughtfully. “Are you open to something even more speculative?”
Ginny and Harry both nodded eagerly.
“Well...” Lupin paused to collect his thoughts. “If you read between the lines of Muggle historical texts, it's easy to convince yourself that Muggle-magical relationships varied a lot over different cultures. The more urbanized societies such as the Greeks and Romans produced a separation between magical and non-magical peoples that seemed to presage what we have today. By contrast, more rural populations – what came to be thought of as barbarians – embraced magic as a part of daily life... and as a part of warfare. While the Romans were busy successfully conquering other urban civilizations around the Mediterranean, their military had little use for wizards, and their leadership may have actively distrusted them. However, as the Romans expanded northwards into the warlike Celtic, Teutonic and Slavic provinces, tacticians confronting barbarians' hexes may have gradually recognized that a magical component to their military would be necessary.”
Harry nodded. “So perhaps Queen Boadicea encountered no worthy magical resistance at the start of the Iceni uprising, but then the desperate Romans finally decided to find her a worthy opponent?”
“Exactly!” Lupin grinned. “That would be my first guess. The other possibility is that something compromised the queen's magical abilities.”
“Those are two very different things.” Ginny's glanced at Harry then back to Lupin. “I wonder how we might find out more about what really happened?”
Lupin sipped his tea contemplatively. “Well, you probably chose a reasonable place to start – leafing through books up in Sirius's library. There are volumes up there that predate the Statute of Secrecy, so you may well find interesting perspectives that you wouldn't get at Hogwarts. Those might keep you occupied for a while longer, but if you really get serious with this project of yours, you would be advised to consider the Ministry's Historical Archives.”
“Right.” Ginny's chin dropped pensively into her hands. “But how would we ever get an appointment there when we're shut in this house under lock and key?”
Hermione coughed slightly. “Er well... Not wanting to disrupt such a delightful educational discussion by reminding everyone of more mundane idiocies, but Harry has a date at the Ministry coming up soon, so...”
“Oh, that's right!” Harry's eyes widened, likely enthused by prospects other than disciplinary hearings. “Ginny, I think your father had offered to take me. I don't know whether I'll have time to do any research myself because of my meeting, but perhaps he could be convinced to sign you into the archives while I'm busy?”
“Yes, good idea! It never hurts to ask, right?” Ginny nodded, with supportive murmurs from Hermione and Lupin.
“Never hurts to ask whut ?” Ron scratched his head, stalking into the room. “Harry mate – be a sport and scrape some bacon and eggs onto a plate, eh?”
Lupin's eyes trailed the tall youth. “The kids are working on a fascinating summer research project.” His proud smile shone on Ginny and Harry. “With a little luck, maybe we can get them access to some old documents in the Ministry of Magic Historical Archives.”
“Uhhhhh... research? Documents?? ” Ron stared at the others, trying to guess the punchline to what seemed a very lame joke.
“Yes Ron.” Hermione composed herself patiently. “They are planning to research some documents.”
Ron stared incredulously, opened his mouth to say something, but then gawked at the full plate Harry was placing in front of him. “Well, jolly good. Carry on.” Ron shrugged, and proceeded to fill his face.
Harry ran his hand through his hair, producing a work of disheveled art that made Ginny pause and grin.
Sensing that Ginny had stopped rustling around with books, Harry glanced at her, suspiciously noted her semi-innocent smile, then resumed trying to focus on yet another page of miniscule typeface.
After several minutes, he groaned loudly, and closed the tome -- the third in a sizable stack that Ginny had been piling on the table by his elbow. He rested for a moment, gazing out at the rain dribbling down the window of the Grimmauld Place library, then looked up again, chagrined to see Ginny place two more dusty volumes onto the pile.
“You know, Harry, I've been thinking...” Ginny trailed off.
“Yes?”
Ginny's face wore a look of intense concentration for a moment, then she nodded. “Yes, I was wondering if maybe we should see whether Hermione is interested in helping with some of this research.”
“Oh?” Harry blinked. “Well, I'm sure her smarts would help in sifting through these books, but doesn't she already have a mountain of her own school reading to get through? And besides, what makes you think she'd be interested in something half-cocked like this?”
“Oh.” Ginny smiled. “I just have this hunch.”
“You mean because of the way she chipped in with ideas this morning at breakfast?”
“No.” Ginny's smile became a smirk. “I mean because of the way she's standing out in the hallway, listening in on us...”
Harry burst out laughing and he waved toward the half-closed door. “Hermione, come on in – we're just about to start brainstorming.”
“I, uh...” Hermione's face emerged. “You see, I was just checking the walls for residual dark magic.”
“Oh brilliant, thank you!” Ginny gave her a sprightly grin. “But for better results, you might try using your wand.” She gestured toward Hermione's bare hands.
Red-faced, Hermione unconsciously grappled for the wand in her pocket. “Oh, well, I-I...” she explained.
“No worries if you have other things to do,” Harry cut her off good-naturedly, “but if you're interested, we're doing some preparations for our visit to the Ministry on the twelfth. Mr. Weasley agreed to arrange a pass for Ginny to visit the Archives while I'm in the hearing, but he estimated that she'll likely only be cleared to research for an hour or two, so we're trying to pin down our goals as precisely as possible.”
“Oh?” Hermione's embarrassment evapourated. “So what's your focus, and what sort of questions have you come up with?”
“Well..." Harry spread out a scroll with several outline points scrawled across it. "The main issue is whether magic could have been a key component in Boadicea's downfall, but we haven't narrowed down the more specific questions yet.”
“Yes, that's what we're about to discuss right now as we skim through these books.” Ginny took a seat beside Harry. “For example, I want to know whether the Queen was in possession of the Staff of Scavo during the rebellion and, especially, in the final battle.”
“Staff of Scavo?” Hermione tapped her lips.
Ginny nodded. “Yes, it was a very powerful instrument of magic made for the Iceni by one of the early Ollivanders.”
Hermione's eyes lit up. “Ah! So you're thinking that if the queen didn't have the staff during the final battle, it might explain their unexpectedly devastating defeat!”
Harry smiled at her barely tempered enthusiasm. “Right. And, for curiosity's sake, I'd also wonder what eventually happened to the staff. I'm not sure just how useful that information would be, but as the last and greatest of the Druidic staves, I find it all quite fascinating.”
Hermione took a seat and reached for a spare quill and parchment on the table.
"We're also interested in the opposite hypothesis." Ginny's tapped a dry quill on the desk. "Suppose Boadicea actually was in possession of the staff, but nonetheless still lost. If so, then did some powerful wizard intervene on behalf of the Romans? If so, then who?”
“Yes, exactly – as you were discussing this morning!” Hermione picked up one of the texts from the stack and began scanning the index.
Harry glanced at his scroll, then pushed it away. “Hermione, a little off topic perhaps, but do you know what responsibilities someone with the Roman title Legate would have had?”
Hermione paused to think for a moment. “I think the function of a Legate was similar to that of a modern envoy. Not so much an ambassador as a trouble-shooter, I believe.”
Harry frowned thoughtfully.
“Imperial Rome was really huge and diverse, which made it challenging to govern.” As she spoke, Hermione dashed off a surprisingly apt sketch of Europe and the Mediterranean. “Each province had different issues and concerns, so it wasn't practical to expect everyone to abide by identical policies. The best emperors like Augustus and Trajan achieved a fine balance by letting individual provinces do a lot of local improvising while still working toward the good of the Empire. However, if a province, or its governor, got too out of line, the emperor would have to reign it in. In the early stages, when the emperor was just starting to grow annoyed, I assume a logical step would be to send out a Legate to straighten up the local administration.”
“Ah.” Harry ran a hand through his hair again.
Hermione studied him. “Why do you ask? Do any of these books mention a Legate playing a role in the Iceni affair?”
“No, not the slightest mention at all.” Harry tapped his fingers on the table. “That's what's so interesting...”
“Huh?” Hermione stared. “Sorry, I don't follow. Why would you want to know about a Legate if there's no evidence...?”
“Don't try to figure it out, Hermione.” Ginny winked. “Harry dreams up the strangest questions sometimes.”
“I'm knackered! I'm calling it a night.” Harry stepped away from the chessboard where, despite Fred's many furtive attempts to sneak black pieces back onto the board, George's last hope was being systematically eviscerated by Ron's white forces.
“So soon?!” Ron stared at him in dismay. “I thought you might be keen for another rematch right after I'm done beating Fr-, I mean George.”
“Take mercy, mate.” Harry yawned and rubbed his eyes. “You've already flattened me twice tonight, Ron.”
Fred merely smirked. “Let him be. Early to bed, early to rise, makes us... the best breakfast in all of Islington!”
“Oh, too true!” George's eyes rose from the chess board. “By all means Ron, quit badgering and let little Miss Harry-kins get her beauty sleep!”
“I'm sure I can convince Kreacher to spit in your omelet, George.” Harry's voice filtered back from somewhere down the corridor.
“Gah – you win!” George swatted down his king in disgust. “How's an honest man to concentrate with Harry being such a bother?”
“Next up?” Ron gazed around the room with a wide solicitous grin. “Ginny, are you ready to be slaughtered again?”
“No thank you, Ron,” Ginny replied from her armchair in the corner. “I'm...”
“Tired too!” Fred finished for her. “Hey blokes, have any of you noticed how every time Harry gets tired and leaves, sweet little Gin-Gin always wilts like the fragile flower we all know her to be?”
Several eyebrows raised.
Hermione, however, raised more than eyebrows. Bursting from her chair, she slammed down her book. “Hey blokes!” she mimed acidly. “Have any of you noticed that whenever Harry gets tired and leaves, the idiot quotient in the room suddenly rockets through the roof?!”
The twins burst out laughing, but Hermione cut them down with a scathing glare. “You know, if either of you tried concentrating half as much on chess as you do on nosing about in other peoples' affairs, you might actually win a match sometime during your lifetime?”
Ron snickered... then gulped.
“And as for you, Ronald Bilius Weasley...” Hermione's finger jabbed inches from his nose. “Unless you start treating people around you with a little of the respect you bestow on your precious chess pieces, then I'd recommend you just apprentice yourself to Mundungus Fletcher right now, because that'll be your lot in life!”
Stalking toward the door of the suddenly stone silent drawing room, Hermione paused and caught the incredulous eye of a fellow female. “Say Ginny...” Hermione's voice fell calm again. “Would you care to join me for a quick cup of tea before bed?”
Ginny snickered at the shocked looks plastered across her brothers' faces. With a shrug, she put down her magazine, and followed her friend out the door.
“Is everything okay, Hermione?” The twinkle in Ginny's eye competed with a hint of concern. “You got a bit piqued back there.”
Carrying the tea service, Hermione offered a wry smile. “You better than anyone should recognize diversionary tactics.”
Ginny groaned, but then grinned. “Okay, good one.”
“Thank you, but listen, that's unlikely to be the last time someone starts to make awkward insinuations. You might want to take a few more precautions.” Hermione gave Ginny a pointed look as she poured two steaming cups. “I personally believe that you and Harry aren't doing anything improper, and I'm thrilled that the two of you have become so responsible and studious, working on this independent research project and all. But we're trapped inside a house with a bunch of other people right now. Some of them are stressed or hypersensitive, and others are natural troublemakers. That's a volatile combination, and if people notice you spending all this time with Harry, it's a fine invitation for tongues to start wagging.”
Ginny stirred her tea and shrugged.
Hermione took a seat beside her friend and continued. “Ron promised Sirius that he wouldn't tell anybody about you and Harry, uh, spending the night together. He's been sticking to his word so far, but I know your brother well enough to know that if he gets unconfortable enough, he's liable to take action, without necessarily considering the consequences.”
“He has no grounds to get fussed!” Ginny's tone rose in pitch for a moment, then she inhaled deeply and shook her head. “Harry patched up my cuts and bruises, put me to bed, and fell asleep on the armchair. It was completely sweet, honourable, and perfectly harmless.”
“Yes, of course I know that, Ginny.” Hermione reached across the table and patted her friend's hand amicably. “But what if someone gives your mother the wrong idea? She's already on a knife's edge. You don't want anything sweet, honourable and perfectly harmless to send her into a catastrophic meltdown, do you?”
“So, what are you suggesting?” Ginny took a calming drink of tea.
“I'm suggesting that you might want to be prudent about the image that you cultivate. I'm not sure that everyone around here can simply accept the idea of a serious, mature Ginny Weasley, unless they're given a bit more time to adjust.”
“Accept the idea of me being serious?” Ginny arched an eyebrow. “What are you implying, exactly?”
“Come on Ginny, don't try to pretend you've always been like this. Something has changed with you recently, and as far as I can tell – which is not far because you and Harry are being fairly circumspect about it – the two of you are investing a lot of energy into something rather important. It seems important enough that it's made you rethink your priorities, and re-examine your key values.”
“Maybe it has, but who in this gaggle cares the least bit about my own priorities and values? Ooohhh,” Ginny gushed mockingly, “look at little Gingersnap getting all serious about things. Let's see what she's so fussed about so we can take the mickey out of her!”
Hermione shook her head. “I don't know about that Ginny. I think your family may take notice if you start acting differently. Some of the would probably just assume you're dragging Harry off to snog in some broom closet, but others...”
“Hermione!!”
“I'm just saying!” Hermione raised her hands in self-defence. “But don't forget that you once went through a huge, life-changing event, and nobody noticed until it was very nearly too late.”
Ginny scowled.
“I know you've every reason to chafe.” Hermione reached for Ginny's hand. “I realise you've earned the right to be known for who you are, not what you've overcome. I respect that, and I'm sure Harry does too... but some people are slower. Some still see you as the little girl lying pale in the hospital wing. They failed you that time; they're damned if they're going to fail again, and you're damned if you give them reason to fuss.”
“No offense, Hermione, but it seems stupid to hold myself back just because other people are thick.”
“Yes, of course it is, but the best way to deal with a stupid situation is to be very smart.”
Ginny raised a sharp eyebrow. “Be smart by acting stupid?”
Hermione grinned.
“Okay, okay, I get it. I'll be more like the old Ginny – snarky, irascible, lazy, stop reading books, waste my nights playing stupid games, have less 'Harry-time'.” Ginny huffed irritably. “Impossible gits.”
Hermione's eyes shone. “You're very dear for me, Ginny; you're the sister I always wanted. Deep down I'm thrilled to think that you may be heading down some very fulfilling path.” She withdrew her hand and grew serious. “But that's the thing. Whenever I get excited, I also get cautious. If what you're trying to accomplish is really important to you, then my instincts tell me that you need to be cautious too.”
Ginny nodded.
“But, uh, Ginny...?”
“Yes?” Ginny met Hermione's gaze.
Hermione looked away shyly. “One of these days, you are planning to, uh... tell me?”
“Tell you, uh, what?”
“Tell me what you're trying to do.” Hermione shifted uneasily. “I know there's no broom closet involved, but however much Professor Lupin wants to believe that the two of you have become solemn, dedicated historical scholars, I'm not buying it for a moment.”
“How dare you doubt my solemn scholarly dedication?!” Ginny sniffed indignantly. “If you don't apologize right now, I'll prank you from here to Hogwarts!”
“Oh good!” Hermione laughed. “I'm not certain I could tolerate a solemn scholarly Ginny.”
Ginny let a snicker slip, turning back to find Hermione peering inquisitively.
“So...” Hermione gave a hopefule smile. “Are you are going to tell me what's really going on?”
Ginny gave her friend a long scrutinizing look, then nodded.
“Oh?” Hermione waited, wide-eyed.
“I do plan to tell you, Hermione.” Ginny sighed. “But not yet. I don't know – it's just... strange, complicated, vague... I promise I'll tell you when... when I've figured out what there actually is to tell. Is that okay?”
Hermione frowned for a moment, then nodded. The two girls finished their tea in amicable silence, then headed for bed.
Ginny swept her hair back and glanced around to appraise her surroundings – the battle-torn Great Hall at Hogwarts.
Groaning, she straightened up and forced herself to study the scene. She thoroughly hated this nightmare but, right now, it was slightly preferable to rushing straight back to Lanossëa and the Publican .
It wasn't so much that Ginny completely despaired of helping those two powerful, heroic yet imminently fallible characters resolve the quandary of an ancient world and a mad sorceress that seemed determined to drive them apart and plunge their world into hellacious warfare...
No, Ginny still hoped to somehow find a way to resolve the worst of that, but she also had a painful sense that her hope was premature. There was surely some meaningful way forward for her two ancient forebears, but hours in the library hadn't yet shed the slightest glimmer of insight.
More than anything, she and Harry needed time. And, here at least, in this vision set in some nightmarish stage of the future, they apparently still had time.
Surrounded by chaos, watching as Harry wound down the final, grotesque preamble, Ginny half-raised her hand, seeking the best moment to bring the atrocity to a halt.
"So it all comes down to this, doesn't it?" Harry was gesturing subtly, yet demonstratively. “Does the wand in your hand know its last master was disarmed? Because if it does... I am the true master of the...”
"Stop!" Ginny's hand shot up.
Struck with an icy revelation, she strode past the suddenly frozen gawkers, making straight for the hideous, gargoylish living statue of Voldemort. Fascinated; sensing none of the nausea she'd previously experienced in his presence, she reached for (but did not quite touch) what the enemy held in his jaundiced hand – a long dark stick with the most elaborate shaping and wand ornamentation that she had... ever seen...
Ever seen before...?
Seen where? When?
Ginny turned to Harry. “You called this the Elder Wand?”
Half-paralysed, Harry twitched, then shook himself free from his own arrested dream. Seeing Ginny in his direct line of sight, he flashed a momentary grin, then processed her question. “I call that... the Elder Wand? Er, yes.” Harry met her gaze. “Elder Wand. I do call it that, don't I?”
Frowning, he stepped closer, staring at Voldemort's hand. “So, uhh, what actually is the Elder Wand? Does the phrase mean anything to you?”
“Well...” Ginny chewed her lip. “I know it mostly from a children's story. It's a wand that supposedly can't be defeated in any duel or combat. I guess I've always assumed it was pure fable.”
“Well this particular wand isn't a fable.” Harry pointed toward Voldemort's hand. “I've seen it before.”
“Yes!” Ginny's eyes went wide. “It's...”
“Dumbledore's wand!” they both cried out together.
Harry ran fingers through his matted, dusty hair. “How did Snake-lips come upon Dumbledore's wand?”
“Not sure I want to know.” Ginny shivered. Suddenly queasy, she found herself no longer able to ignore the grotesque villain in front of her. She broke away and made for the periphery of the Hall, pondering the situation.
“I must admit,” Ginny said as Harry caught up with her, “that I'm very curious about whether... perhaps, that truly is the Elder Wand. Luna's dad believes it's real.”
“Luna?” Harry gave Ginny a quizzical look.
“Oh, I forgot – you've probably never met her.” Ginny slowed to wait for her friend. “She's a Ravenclaw in my year at school – one of my best friends in fact. I'll be sure to introduce you when... if... er...”
An awkward look descended Ginny's face.
“Don't worry about it, Gin'.” Harry smiled reassuringly. “If I'm ever allowed back at Hogwarts, I'd like very much to meet your friends. Let's leave it at that.”
Ginny looked back to smile at him, grateful for his easy forbearance... but the instant before she caught his eye, she spotted something odd in the distance.
Her smile evapourated.
“What is it?” Harry followed her gaze into a distant corner of the Great Hall. But before she could raise a finger to point, he had sighted it too.
“Bloody hell.” Harry scowled. “It couldn't be...”
They were both staring at a pair of eyes.
Every other wizard and witch in the Great Hall was scultped in frozen fear, fascination or horror, riveted on the spot where the duel between Harry and Voldemort had been about to occur. Every feature of every face was completely transfixed by the impending battle... except for one pair of deep grey piercing eyes.
Flaring with fascination and hatred; framed by wild, silver hair and set into a creased and unkempt face, this lone visage was glaring straight back at the two teens.
“Lucius Malfoy is staring at us, Harry,” Ginny whispered uneasily.
“Ginny...” Harry's skin prickled. “Meet the Legate.”
Harry awoke as a cool breeze swept over his face, stealing its way past the fringes of his blanket. He shivered, pulled the fabric closer, then opened his eyes.
Moonlight flickered through the branches above.
He looked around to gauge where, and when, he might be.
What he saw was their camp near the river. The evening storms had blown through, leaving behind crisp, dry air of bracing freshness.
Noticing that the fire had nearly gone out, he threw off the blanket, and rose quietly to a small pile of deadfall that remained from what Lanossëa had collected that evening. He chose several small pieces to lay over the embers and blew on them until they sparked to life.
In the flickering half-light, he reflexively counted the blanketed forms that he knew to be those of the fugitive Iceni royalty.
One was missing.
Harry did not panic. Rather, he added two larger branches to the fire, then sat down pensively on his blanket, closing his eyes in contemplation. After less than a minute, he re-opened them and rose to his feet. Instinctively he followed a deer path leading down to the river. When he had pushed through the final row of streamside branches and felt sandy loam beneath his feet, he stopped and gazed around.
His eyes tracked toward the west; toward the soon-to-be-setting moon, and found what he sought. She was standing on a bluff, perhaps fifty feet upstream. The breeze rippled through her hair; cold moonlight playing off its silken iridescence.
Without conscious thought, he climbed the bluff and quietly approached her.
Without turning to face him, she cocked her head slightly, invitingly.
He slid his hands around her waist and angled his head onto hers. She nestled her body into a place it had long seemed destined to find. Her cheek, cool to the touch, pressed upwards against his chin.
There they remained, locked in timeless comfort for the brief while that yet remained to them, silently sharing the unexpected gift of sublime togetherness.
In a cold night, the princess and the Publican both found a measure of warmth – enough to sustain them through a chilling day to come.
Arretez! Stoppez vous! That's the end of the chapter!
What follows below is an old unimproved version that I simply can't get rid of. I've tried! Please skip along to chapter 5.