Enlightenment

The Witch Bower

By Bambu

All standard disclaimers and author's notes may be found in Chapter One. However, my continuing thanks for SnarkyWench's help is perennial.

Chapter Five: Enlightenment

~o0o~

Possessively the bower kept the forest's curious inhabitants at bay, waiting for the moon to rise high in the night sky. When the bride slept deepest she would listen once again. Unlike the last bride to grace the glade with her presence, this witch loved The Malfoy.

Soon, they would be as one: Malfoy, bride, and forest.

~o0o~

This time when I awoke to find myself in mid-air, wrapped in a cocoon of magic, with a delicate mental intrusion, I wasn't as terrified as the first time. I was, however, considerably angrier.

Just what is this? I thought at the intelligence. What are you doing? Why have you taken me from my home and my loved ones? What purpose do you think to accomplish? Couldn't you simply ask politely rather than snatching me while I slept without so much as a by your leave or my clothing?

With no pause between questions, I was finally stopped by the completely disconcerting impression that the entity was amused ... and there were strongly affectionate overtones in our connection.

As was becoming a habit I had no intention of continuing, I was floating once again. The full moon hung like a pale wreath in the sky and a blanket of stars was my company. This time, however, the distance I traveled wasn't nearly as great as the first, and I deduced that we were northward bound.

When we arrived at our destination, I recognized the great stone henge of the Salisbury Plains instantly.

The plains surrounding the henge shone silver in the pale moonlight, but there was no expected glimmer of a moat surrounding stone ring as I had seen on my earlier visit. I then noticed that some of the stones had fallen, a capstone lying awkwardly on its side. The entire ring had an air of desolation about it ... as if it had been abandoned.

Swiftly on the heels of my thought it felt as if I'd been hugged. Immediately thereafter, I was whisked away from the henge, the hanging moon on my right. South again, I thought, toward the forest.

Once more a sense of affection and a little pride for my quickness was pressed into my mind. I traveled in silence, looking at the stars above me. I remembered how excited Professor Sinistra would become on clear nights above Hogwarts. But the sky had never looked like this.

There was magic in the air.

After awhile, my curiosity was overwhelming, and I wanted to see where I was being taken, so with some considerable effort I managed to turn face down.

The last time I journeyed in such a fashion, the landscape had been dotted only by a few bonfires. It was different now. I ignored an increasing sense of urgency from my guide. I recognized the feeling though. It reminded me of how I would race from one classroom to the next at Hogwarts terribly anxious about being late for a lesson.

During my initial days in the wizarding world, I absorbed information like a sponge soaked up a spilled potion. To that point in my life, I'd been called a freak by my peers. Strange things, inexplicable things happened around me so often that I had no friends, and my mum and dad, as doting as any loving parents, were in over their heads, and the strain on their marriage had been very great.

There was a succession of visits to doctors, specialists, and psychiatrists. At one point, I went to a hypnotherapist. When I was ten, they considered finding an exorcist. I was an anomaly. The results of all the diagnostic evalutations indicated that I was terribly healthy, my intelligence was in the highly gifted range, and, understandably, considering the circumstances, my social skills were underdeveloped.

Of course my social skills were underdeveloped; how they could have been anything but stunted? I didn't understand how these strange things happened around me, but I believed it was my fault. I was the reason my parents had never had a second child. I was the reason they were always worried, always taking me to museums and libraries and doctors.

In some ways, the legislation I hoped to introduce wasn't just for orphans. It was for other magical children, like I had been, who were frightened and confused about themselves, who were ostracized and treated like lab jarveys instead of loved and supported as their magic began to manifest.

When the Ministry official arrived at our house that Saturday morning after my eleventh birthday – I'll never forget that day – to explain to my parents that I was a witch, my life changed. At first, Mum had thought I was being accused of some medieval crime and had tried to shove the man out of our house – practically hysterical with fear. When he removed his wand from his pocket, my father had practically attacked him, thinking the man was drawing a weapon.

I can laugh now, but it was terrifying then. After casting a Cheering Charm or three and offering Mum a Calming Draught, the Ministry official had then explained that he was a wizard and I was a witch, an extremely gifted one.

Apparently the Ministry tracked spontaneous bursts of magic from Muggle-born children to determine whether their magic was strong enough to earn them a place in the wizarding world. In some cases, they left the poor children to their own devices. My legislation would be designed to give assistance to all children of magical ability, if only to understand they weren't abnormal.

Learning I was a witch that day -- that there was a tangible explanation for all the strange things which happened to me and around me – had been a huge relief. My parents and I had seized upon the idea as a dying man will grasp even the point of a sword to keep from drowning.

Was it any wonder I had already read my textbooks before stepping foot onto the Hogwarts Express? Or that I read everything I could get my hands on when I arrived at school? Once at school I had learned there was nothing wrong with me; but it took me a very long time to get rid of the guilt and the shame I'd kept hidden.

Suddenly aware my abductor was listening to my mental wanderings -- listening quietly and attentively -- I was afraid. Not of imminent death, but afraid for my most intimate, private self.

Sensing my distress, the entity soothed me as best it could, offering formless reassurance and a tightening of the surrounding magical cocoon in what could best be described as a full-body embrace.

It was then I realized we were at our next destination. The moon was behind me, and we had traveled east during my reverie.

I was hovering above what appeared to be an encampment of men – soldiers – and their horses. Scattered here and there through a surprisingly large collection of tents and an occasional lean-to were small campfires. There was a low hum of talk – none of it intelligible from my height – but there was no fear or panic in the overall tone. I was all too familiar with the sound of those emotions. It seemed these men were quite literally gearing up for the skirmish to come.

They didn't wear rough hide clothing, instead the men wore tunics and leggings and fur vests to keep them warm against the night's chill. Armor glinted where firelight kissed its surface and more than one man was polishing helm or hauberk. I recognized medieval armor from my many trips to the museum with my Dad.

But the common men were apparently not my concern as I was propelled past them, although I couldn't help but notice the size of the camp. I wracked my brain to remember my Muggle history. England had been invaded numerous times throughout the ages, but rarely with such a large force. There had to be thousands of men here.

My guiding entity radiated approval, and I felt as if I was close to understanding its purpose in abducting me. Pausing over the largest fire -- there were fewer men here and none polishing their equipment – it was obvious that these men were alert and ... on guard. I shivered suddenly and a tendril of magic embraced me soothingly.

The guards' attention was drawn to an approaching visitor, and I was astonished to recognize white hair. Malfoy?

A rumbling assent confirmed my thought, and I was dropped closer to the ground.

This Malfoy was sumptuously dressed in comparison to his companion. He wore a tunic like the others, but the linen was obviously of a higher quality and his trousers were of well-tanned leather – you could tell by his supple gait and the soft gleam of the leggings. He wore a cloak of heavy material ... I couldn't tell the type of fabric, but it was dyed a reddish hue. He was taller than his escort, carrying himself with a self-assurance which could seem mocking or arrogant so easily.

What was this Malfoy doing in an encampment of Muggles? Was he a Squib?

As he neared the largest tent, a man stepped out to greet him. He was dark-haired and dark-bearded. Shorter than Draco's ancestor, this man had an air of command, which was confirmed by the soldier's reactions. He and the blond clasped forearms as equals.

I didn't understand a thing they said, but when they stepped into the tent, I found myself abruptly along for the ride.

As had happened once before, at the center of Neolithic Stonehenge, I shared a body with one of the Malfoy ancestors. His hands were my hands, my feet his. I smelled the pong of stale sweat and gamy aroma of mutton. I looked through Malfoy eyes at my companion. His features were familiar.

We ignored the cot in one corner, boots making little noise on the rugs overlapping one another, covering the bare earth beneath them. They were worn and hand woven, but my interest was drawn to the table and Malfoy's intense emotions. He was in a state of excited anticipation. I felt the rough grain of the table's surface with our shared fingers, and our eyes catalogued the litter of scrolls and writing implements. In the center of the tabletop, a large, parchment map had been unrolled, held in place by a goblet and a rock on one side, and a large book on the other. Malfoy's heart raced when we recognized the map. It didn't take much for me to deduce that this was the purpose of his visit.

With eager interest we looked at the map. It was noticeably of England, but it didn't have the definition I was used to, nor did it show the number of counties and towns I expected. Instead England was divided into three roughly equal parts: Wessex, Mercia, and Northumbria.

Saxon England.

But these men weren't Saxons. I just knew it. I listened harder to the almost comprehensible language. It sounded Gallic.

Oh.

Normans.

My head swam with comprehension. Either my mind or my body had traveled backward in time a thousand years. This was nothing like a several-hour backward jaunt with Harry and the Time Turner to save Sirius' life.

I looked at the dark-haired man carefully and clues fitted neatly into place. It was a pretty safe assumption that he was William the First.

The two men -- and me sitting in a little corner of Malfoy's mind -- pored over the map, paying specific attention to a small, cross-hatched section. I roughly guesstimated that small section was part of present-day Wiltshire. Yes, there was a circle ... two circles drawn on the map, and the section of land this generation's Malfoy caressed with our gloved fingers was a little south and east of the southern circle.

Avebury, Stonehenge ... the New Forest.

The men were laughing now -- deep throaty laughs of men who've just made an agreement they're both pleased by -- And I felt the rumble deep in our chest.

The dark-haired man, whom I now thought of as the Conqueror, rapidly unrolled a piece of parchment, glanced at its contents, nodded, and handed it to us. Our eyes scanned the document. I couldn't read it at all, as it was in some archaic form of English. But whatever it said quite pleased Malfoy.

In quick succession, the document was signed by Malfoy – I could make out the shape of the 'M' in his signature – followed by the soon-to-be Norman King. Then the Conqueror dripped red wax next to his signature and pressed his signet ring into the rapidly hardening glob. I was surprised when we withdrew our wand and cast a spell on the document. The parchment glowed red, then turned yellow, green and finally blue before the spell's completion.

A jolt of magic coursed through Malfoy's body, followed immediately by deep muscle fatigue. It was as if Gilderoy Lockhart had removed the bones from our body. Whatever spell Malfoy had cast required a great deal of our power, and the deep satisfaction for having protected his home was so clear I had no trouble understanding him.

The Conqueror showed no surprise at the use of magic, and it was only then I remembered that until the seventeenth century Muggles and wizards had coexisted on fairly equitable terms. He poured fresh goblets of wine and we clasped The Conqueror's arm again, sealing the deal.

Abruptly, I was withdrawn from Malfoy and once again suspended mid-air. It seemed this was to be a night filled with surprises.

This time, the blurring landscape – of which I could only see small clusters of light as we passed overhead –- wasn't a surprise. In very short order I was hovering over the forest, above a small glade next to a river where a small fire was fed by a small attendant. A house-elf, I thought excitedly. It was smaller than any house-elf I'd ever seen, although it had distinctive green skin, long ears, a pointy nose, and large protuberant eyes. It looked a bit like Dobby and wore a small tunic.

It paced several feet from the fire, clearing a small patch of the forest floor until there was a circle of bare earth. After that, the small creature snapped its fingers, arresting the fire mid-crackle. A stasis charm of some sort, I thought. Next, the house-elf withdrew a small pewter chalice and bowl from a pocket of its tunic. Then with another snap of tiny fingers the cup and bowl enlarged. Water filled the cup and grain from a pocket in the house-elf's tunic filled the bowl. The two items were set on the edge of the bare-earth circle and a final implement -- a smooth, palm-shaped rock -- was placed next to the bowl.

An instant later, the small servant disappeared.

I hung expectantly over the circle, intrigued.

It wasn't long before I heard someone approach. Turning my head, I watched the man approach; his cascade of white hair gleamed in the dappled moonlight.

Malfoy.

Yet this was not the same Malfoy I'd encountered just moments before. From this man's style of clothing, which I recognized, it appeared that we had skipped forward a few centuries. This Malfoy was tall and lean, and walked with lethal grace. He was sumptuously dressed in a brown velvet jerkin belted at his waist, the sleeves of his fine linen shirt had lace cuffs, but they were partially covered by the heavy, wool cape fastened at his throat by an ornate silver clasp. He wore full-cut breeches of cloth with leather inserts terminating in the tops of his square-toed black boots. If he hadn't been carrying a wand, this man could have stepped from the pages of a history book or off the screen of a historical re-enactment.

With economy of motion, Draco's ancestor strode around the glade, releasing the stasis charm on the fire with his first spell. The crackle of oil igniting in wood and the smell of smoke filled my ears and nostrils. I watched while the blond marked off a perimeter beginning with an enormous oak tree in one 'corner,' then cast a series of spells, some verbal, some not. He was beautiful to watch and I was practically mesmerized by the swish and flick, jab and hook of his wrist action. I did get to see that this Malfoy had gray eyes and a hint of a narrow, pointed chin.

My thoughts immediately turned to my Malfoy.

A sharp squeeze around my waist reminded me to pay attention and only when Malfoy cast a barrier spell across the river did I realize where I was. This was the glade ... my glade ... my prison.

My brain reeled with information, trying solution after solution, attempting to put all the pieces of information together into some sort of cohesive whole.

It wasn't until he had completely disrobed that I was dropped into his body. I was rather pleased to see that he hadn't succumbed to the ridiculous fashion of a padded codpiece – having more than enough natural padding to fill out the triangular piece of cloth at his groin.

It was when he picked up the tools left by the house-elf that I touched with his hands, smelled with his nose, and felt the chill of winter in his tightening scrotum. The crackling fire did nothing to fend off the cold. Our jaw clenched, and our teeth bit down on our wand – he only had two hands -- as we stepped into the circle, pacing a cross-hatched pattern until we found center circle.

Dropping to our knees – by now I was familiar with the feel of grit and dirt beneath bare skin – he set the chalice, the bowl, and the wand down before proceeding to dig a small hole with the flattened stone. It looked a great deal like the rock I'd used to crack open the hazelnuts I'd eaten for dinner.

The rock wasn't terribly easy to wield ... not like the bone the first Malfoy had used in the henge ... but it got the job done. It fitted neatly into the palm of our hand. Then the blond rose to his feet and straddled the divot. Still holding the rock, he spread our arms and raised our face toward the sky.

He started to speak, and I knew it was a ritual. I caught snatches of familiar words, chanted in Middle English, like someone reciting Chaucer. What caught my attention was the feel of the rock ... it was ... it had ... there was magic there.

We bent, carefully placing the rock in the divot, then piling the grain from the bowl onto the rock in a mound. It didn't matter that some of the grain fell into the hole, only that all of it was used. His fingers smoothed across the carvings in the lip of the bowl. Next, he rose, shifting until our feet were anchored in the dirt, and then he raised his voice in a singsong chant. This time we poured the water over the mound of grain, drenching seed, stone, and dirt.

Power.

Deep, ancient power pulled from the planet, from the earth beneath our feet, from the forest and the trees, from the river, and the nearby plains, and even from this stone which was somehow the stone of the henge. I felt it through his feet, up his legs, through his groin, heating his genitals rapidly, until his ... my ... our ... erection was thick and tumescent. Magic shuddered up our spine and out along our arms.

We threw our head back to stare at the moon, feeling her light upon our face. As had happened with the henge Malfoy, I could feel the quiescent life teeming in the forest, the nearby ponies and deer, and further distant, I could sense the presence of magical creatures and three humans in a stone manor. I could feel the essence of the foundation stones of the structure; they held the same magic as the rock in the divot at our feet and in the standing stones on the plains.

As if we channeled that ancient moonlit power, we spread our fingers. Bolts of white light shot from our fingertips into the newly erected perimeter barrier. It sparkled and crackled with ancient, elemental magic before settling into a jeweled translucence, dripping down into the earth.

In our body, earth magic and lunar magic commingled, and we dropped to our knees, both hands covering the hole we had dug so few minutes ago. Our eyes closed but our mind was open, a conduit for the tremendous magic of the plains and forest.

Malfoy bent his head in a humble reverence. I found the ritual deeply moving. The Malfoys were part of this land as much as the land was part of the Malfoys.

When we moved our hands, the earth had accepted our offering, and the smooth stone sat alone atop the healed earth. There was no sign of the small divot or the grain or the water. Just like Stonehenge.

In a heartbeat, I was wrenched from this generation's Malfoy. Contrary to my expectations, I wasn't hovering high in the sky, instead I remained within the perimeter of the glade's protections.

Instead of the expected sight of a setting moon, I found a full moon rising in the night sky. There was no Malfoy, no house-elf, and no fire. There was, however, a bare circle of earth.

I felt a bit like a pebble skipped across the surface of time. I had no idea when the entity had taken me this time.

Remarkably I wasn't alone. The sound of weeping came from the corner of the glade. When I craned my head in its direction I saw a young woman, clad only in her pale muslin chemise, huddled against the oak's trunk. She seemed terrified. I empathized completely.

She was a pretty young woman with long hair the color of the morning sun. I wondered who she was. By the light of the silvery moon, I peered around the glade. It was different from when the other Malfoy consecrated it. There were more trees now, almost forming walls around this sacred space, and I could easily see the beginnings of the glade that I would recognize in my own time.

I wondered how long a wait there would be this time, and my silent, magical guide radiated censure.

Fortunately the wait wasn't lengthy.

After a few minutes, the young woman's tears finally quieted. At that moment, the boundary sparked and color striated outward from a pinpoint as his hand passed through the barrier followed by the rest of his body,

Like the previous Malfoy, he was dressed in the height of fashion for his time. This blond dressed in a Restoration period three-piece suit of navy colored silk, with a contrasting golden waistcoat. The double-breasted coat sported decorative gold buttons which matched those on the waistcoat. The cuffs of his jacket bore the same embroidery pattern found on the hem of his form-fitting breeches. His white hose showed trim calves and his feet were shod with gleaming patent leather shoes topped by gold buckles.

He could very easily be considered a dandy. I was delighted that he didn't wear one of those dreadful powdered wigs. It seemed that in every century Malfoy men knew exactly which fashions to follow and which ones to eschew.

It was his dress which gave rise to a scholarly and, at the moment, wholly inappropriate train of thought. I surmised that this might be the historical moment when wizarding fashion deviated from Muggle. Had I not spent so much time studying the International Statute of Secrecy which was signed in the late sixteenth-century, I wouldn't have thought of this. I eyed Malfoy's clothing again, the hypothesis made sense. Muggle trends changed far more rapidly with the advent of technology and wizarding clothing remained more old-fashioned as the community became increasingly isolated from outside influence.

A magical tug on my hair drew my attention to my immediate surroundings. The young woman had flown at the wizard as if he was her savior, but he, in turn, looked at her as if she was an anathema. He held her sobbing form to him, but the look on his face was resigned and terribly sad.

He was a very handsome man. His features reminded me strongly of Draco, who I missed with an actual ache in my heart. This wizard's hair was that customary spill of Malfoy silk, and his eyes were pale, almost the color of blue ice.

This English I understood ... mostly.

She was terrified, but he explained. Their parents had arranged their marriage.

She gasped even as they walked toward the earthen circle. He said something more to her but I didn't understand it. Her reaction, instead, was perfectly communicated. She clutched her chemise tightly across her chest and backed away from him.

He gestured to the circle, but did not attempt to touch her. From a small satchel he'd carried slung across his back, Malfoy removed a familiar goblet, bowl and stone. He drew his wand and the young woman flinched.

I liked the way he tried to relieve her fears; it reminded me of the way Draco had treated me the night I'd panicked in the restaurant. That ache in my heart was sharp, and my throat closed and my eyes grew damp. Draco. I wanted him ... fiercely. He should see these things. They were his ancestors.

Once again that sharp tug on my hair.

All right, I thought crossly. I'll pay attention, you horrible meddler.

The young blonde had been coaxed next to the circle and she held the bowl of grain in her hands. Malfoy said something and the woman's hands began to tremble, her head to shake. He bent low and spoke quietly. I think he said, "Calm yourself, my dear. I would not willingly hurt you, but this must be done."

Then he stood a little apart from her and began to undress. First he slipped off his shoes, then his coat, which he folded fastidiously before placing it atop the shiny patent leather shoes. Something about his fastidiousness reminded me of his Neolithic ancestor and I smiled fondly. Next to be unbuttoned was the embroidered silk vest. It looked to be a very fine piece of material, and I wondered idly when I would be dropped into this Malfoy.

After removing the vest, Malfoy removed his white hose, sliding them off his well-muscled calves and over his feet.

I suddenly realized just how intelligent this generation's Malfoy was. He was putting on a show for his bride. It was a very clever, intriguing strip-tease, and it was having the desired result. The young woman kept sneaking peeks at him. She might be afraid, but she was interested.

When he untucked his white linen shirt, all of the disparate clues I'd been fed began to coalesce, and I was not comfortable with my conclusions. I was no voyeur. I'd never even watched a porn film in my life. All right, maybe I had read a little erotica on occasion. Who didn't? But my adventures in literary and erotic titillation were confined to books, the occasional thought about the statue of David, and Draco Malfoy, but nothing else, thank you.

The ancient sentience tried to offer some comfort, in much the same way Draco's ancestor was coaxing the young woman. This was not a happy turn of events. I tried to close my eyes, but they were held open by my implacable guide.

It's remarkable how quickly the eyes begin to dry out, and mine started to burn. I needed to blink. It was uncomfortable and still the magic wouldn't let me go. The message was clear: my eyes were hostage to my acquiescence.

Damn it.

Slytherin tactics, I thought viciously. I hadn't thought of House affiliations in years. A deep rumble of amusement echoed in my head, and I gave in with bad grace.

My short internal argument with an amorphous magical being had distracted me from the proceedings in the glade. When I looked at the couple again, I noticed they were both now in the same state of undress. Malfoy wore only his mid-thigh length ruffled shirt ... which was unbuttoned, and she wore only her chemise.

Malfoy held his wand and the stone in one hand, the goblet of water in the other.

He looked at his young bride and said in understandable English, "After you."

Then, as he took his first step onto the bare dirt in the sacred circle, it was my foot which touched the cool earth.

I had been dropped into this generation's Malfoy.

Oh, my god.

It was fortunate that he was well-prepared for this ritual, because we were gentle with our companion.

Together the three of us found the center point of the circle before dropping to our knees. He handed his bride the goblet while we laid his wand on the ground near our knees. We looked deeply into her blue eyes and said clearly, "I trust you not to hex me."

A brief smile crossed her face, and I saw how beautiful she was when she was unafraid.

"Some of what we do will be together and some I must do alone," he said. "Do not be afraid, my dear."

"Is this the secret to the Malfoy marriages ... the reason they are so happy?" Her accent wasn't as easy to understand as his, and it struck me that the reason he was comprehensible was because I was in his head and I could feel his intent through our shared body.

He inclined our head then bent to our task. It didn't take us long to scoop out a satisfactory hole, nor to place the stone in the center.

I expected to rise to our feet, like the other rituals I'd participated in. But this one was different. This one was important in a different way.

Magical eagerness sat in the back of my mind. I recognized its magical touch after all the time I'd spent being transported across centuries, but what was it doing in my mind now?

Comprehension was swift. This ritual was why I had been snatched from my bed, the reason for being shown some of the family's history.

The ground was cold beneath us, and as I had at Stonehenge, I felt small gravel dig into his knees. We didn't stand. Instead, Malfoy coaxed his bride into a cross-legged position just on the other side of the earth bowl we'd dug, balancing her hands on the grain-filled pewter in her hands. Our fingers caressed the symbols on the bowl before we released her hands.

Next we settled on our bum, crossing our own legs, so that we encircled the hole. We gritted our teeth at contact with the dirt on our bits, and I had private, feminine thought that women were lucky not to have to contend with a ponderous scrotal sac getting in the way all the time. The ground was cold and hard beneath us, but we carried on.

Picking up the goblet, we stared at the young woman. Her breath came in quick, shallow gasps and he said, "As my eyes, mouth and hands do, follow my lead. Together we must join on this sacred ground in this sacred union."

Her hands shook harder, but she only nodded her head. Her eyes were swimming with tears.

Clever man, good man that he was, he did nothing overt to startle her. He just met her look for look until her eyes held steadily upon ours. Then we began to breathe deeply. Consciously.

It took time and patience, but eventually her breathing pattern synchronized with ours. Only at that point did he take his free hand, our left, and place it palm facing her, directly over the stone nestled in the earth. She, in turn, placed her palm against his, and I could feel the tremors of her body against his ... mine ... ours.

The ritual of grain and water proceeded, and by the time heads were thrown back and magic pulled from the earth and sky, there was no fear left in the young woman, only his arousal, pulsing hard and eager, and her moist lips waiting for his.

I felt the mind-body shift and breathed a sigh of relief. As my escort propelled me high into the night sky, I saw Malfoy remove his shirt while his bride removed her shift. They came together in a moonlit painting of light and dark, coupling in a ritual as old as human and wizarding kind.

I expected to be dropped back in to my present time, but I was to be disappointed in that expectation.

Instead we hovered over the glade, and it was as if a timed-action camera had filmed my location. As the night passed and dawn drew near, I watched a series of bridal night encounters, young women – some terrified, others eager to meet their prospective grooms – and young Malfoy men – all lean and tall and fair, some resolute, some angry, some joyful – as each couple followed in the ritual bonding between man, woman, and land.

Before my eyes, the glade flourished, protected by Malfoy magic, here in the heart of Malfoy land. It was something I had never understood or truly encountered before, a sacred duty to the land as well as to the family. Having grown up in a city, I had never spent much time in the natural world. Certainly not until I'd gone to school. My adventures in the Forbidden Forest had never been fun for me.

Now, however, I had learned something precious.

Lightning on the horizon startled me, and I saw angry black clouds scudding across the sky heralding a silver sheet of rain, falling like a curtain from the sky to the earth. Booming thunder crashed nearby and I jumped, truly frightened for the first time since I'd found myself in this second ritual journey.

Magic soothed me, and as the first pelting raindrops hit me, I realized I was protected by a magical shield. I relaxed and paid attention. Trying to understand what else it was I was supposed to see.

What I saw in that pale morning light, gray and overcast, was the devastation of the forest. Lightning flashed in the sky and the sharp distinct stench of ozone tickled my nostrils. Where it landed I saw trees burst into flame, then smoke filled the sky as the torrential rain drowned the fire.

I heard a sharp crack and then a thud. The sound was familiar, I'd heard Grawp make that sound when he had lived in the forest. It was the sound of a tree being uprooted and crashing to the ground.

I looked at the now-familiar glade, watching the Malfoy protections flare and burst into sparks -- like Catherine Wheels -- when broken branches flew through the air and impacted against the barrier.

Lightning struck the perimeter shield and I cried out, covering my eyes. When I looked again, the barrier had almost been destroyed because branches, leaves and small rocks were hurtling into the glade. An ancient tree just beyond the southern guardian had been struck, lightning having been deflected from its original course. The massive trunk was broken, and half the tree had collapsed onto the forest floor.

I have no idea how long I hovered over the New Forest, watching the massive destruction of so beautiful a place. In my heart I cried for the land, for the trees, and for the Malfoy whose turn it was to care for this land.

The storm passed, but the forest was not the same.

The glade had suffered.

Time blurred again, and in stop-action I saw nature repair itself: new growth, new trees, new ferns to replace those lost by time and storm.

I never once saw another Malfoy come to the glade. What had happened to them? Why didn't they come?

As the sun rose high in the sky, time slowed until I hovered over the glade as it was in my time. Yet there were no odd protrusions or my Water Closet, but the eddy was there and the stone I used as a headboard.

It was late afternoon and I could smell the pungent redolence of the earth. I'd never noticed such things before, but I would from now on. I heard the CRACK of Apparition, and in the distance saw a distinctive gleaming head of blond hair. Malfoy. I wondered which one, and hoped it wasn't Lucius.

It wasn't.

It was Draco. My Draco.

I screamed his name, but magic stole my voice.

Tears started in my eyes and I was furious and so sad I couldn't stand it.

Please, I thought at the entity. Please let me go to him. He'll be so worried, I thought, before I realized what I was watching wasn't happening now. He wasn't coming to rescue me.

Magic attempted to soothe me, to remind me that I was here for a purpose, and like the good swot I'd been since I was eleven, I paid attention.

Draco hadn't reached the glade thus far. He was too busy taking in his surroundings, as if he'd never seen this part of the forest before. He passed the side of a rotted trunk of a fallen tree. Startled, I recognized it as the tree I'd seen hit by lightening during that terrible storm.

I was so happy to see him, to have him near me. He was wearing his customary clothes, black worsted trousers and a linen shirt. He was so handsome it was hard to breathe, and I smiled that he was this generation's Malfoy.

He walked around the base of the broken tree, and finally crossed the perimeter of my glade. He stopped; his wand abruptly in his hand. He'd felt the magic.

With ruthless swiftness, he cast a Revealing Spell, and the barrier shimmered ... but it was faint. A pale imitation of what I'd seen in the past, of what I'd helped create in the past.

Draco paced around the glade, looking as if he was sight-seeing. But then he stopped in the center, unconsciously, or subconsciously directed by genetic imperative. I recognized the resolute expression on his face. Tilting his head back, he looked up through branches and to the sky. His voice was resonant and filled with conviction. "I swear, by all my ancestors, to restore the Malfoy name, to reclaim my family's honor, no matter how long it might take."

He dropped his head, and I could tell he was marking this spot, this territory. Draco remained standing quietly, in deep contemplation, for another few minutes. Then he turned and strode from the glade, stepping beyond the great fallen tree and Disapparated.

My mind was so full of what I'd seen, what I'd experienced, that I didn't realize night had fallen, or that I was being gently resettled into the bower of my time, my place, and my imprisonment.

I didn't even feel the leafy blanket being laid over me, nor did I notice when sleep overtook my whirling thoughts.

~o0o~