Searching

Disclaimer: JKR owns most of the characters. The plot is mine.

Part VIII


Scotland, Present Day

“Hannah! Wake up!”

The girl that had been thrashing in the bed lurched up at the sound of her mother’s command. Momentum and disorientation knocked her off balance and sent her sprawling on the floor of her bedroom. She blinked in confusion at her mum’s fuzzy puppy slippers wiggling their tails at her. She braced her hands on the floor and lifted herself up a bit, pushing wild brown hair out of her face. “What happened?” she asked groggily.

“You were having another one of your dreams. It sounded awful.” Her petite mother, complete with hair curlers and bathrobe, watched in concern as Hannah hauled herself back up on the bed. “I don’t know what makes you have such visions, girl, but I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”

Hannah sighed and brushed away the tears that had been cried unconsciously. “They’re getting worse, Mum. Ever since I got back from France I can’t close my eyes without seeing something strange.”

Her mother nodded slowly. Sympathy was evident in her eyes. “You’ve always been a special child, Hannah, but this is the first time you’ve ever seen anything of that sort.” Tera patted her child’s cheek and rubbed away what moisture Hannah had missed. “Even before you set your brother’s shoes on fire and that letter arrived, you always knew things. You knew that your father was going to leave. You knew that Conall was supposed to be your brother, and you were so very little at the time.” For a moment Tera looked uncertain. Some internal struggle happened before Hannah’s very eyes, and then Tera seemed to reach a decision. “Conall called this morning, Hannah. He’s in an airport and he’s coming home. He says…he’s been having dreams.”

Hannah absorbed the information with more aplomb than Tera had. Her child usually had an air of calm that very few things could shake. It had unnerved Tera a few times to have so serene a toddler, but as time passed and Tera had begun to grasp just how different her little girl was from other children…well, she had learned to live with it. Sometimes she had relied on Hannah to steady her up when things got rough, like her divorce. It had been Hannah that had steered Tera toward a lonely widower who happened to be in the post office one day. That man had turned out not only to be the love of Tera’s life, but the father of Conall, who had quickly become the child of Tera’s heart.

Conall had been wandering the world like a vagabond for so long that Tera doubted he would ever grow roots. He came home as often as possible, but never like this. Visits were always planned at least a week in advance. For Conall to call out of the blue and announce his immediate return…Tera couldn’t help the shiver of apprehension that coursed up her spine.

Time had run out of that invisible hourglass she had become more and more aware of as months passed. She could feel it. Tera didn’t know how much good she could do for her special daughter, being without talent herself. All she could really do was pray.

Hard.

~*~

Scotland, 1473

Draco didn’t have a means of making himself truly invisible. As much as he’d coveted Potter’s Invisibility Cloak, the sod seemed impervious to bribes and refused to give it up. If there was ever a moment when Draco could have used that bloody cloak, it was now. Heading into an enemy camp had never been high on Draco’s to do list, but to do it by himself and from the front went against every survival instinct that had been bred into him. Fortunately he was not without his tricks. He had a handy little spell that, while not actually rendering him invisible, camouflaged his body to perfectly match his surroundings. A very slight drawback being that it would only last two minutes and twenty-two seconds exactly.

The moment he’d cast the spell, Draco ran. Heart pumping, breath panting, he raced across the open expanse like his life literally depended on making the safety of the trees. Go. Go. Go. Faster. Have to make it, have to make it.

So many things pounded in his brain as he ran. Too many to make sense of them all, but he knew that they revolved around Hermione. His need to protect her ached in every part of him. His fear that he would fail nipped at his heels and forced him to accelerate at the expense of caution. The one person that truly mattered to him in this life was depending on him. He couldn’t let her down.

The rising sun was just lightening the sky when Draco felt the spell fizzle out. He was still just out of reach of the trees. “Bugger it to the front left side of eternity!” In one last-ditch effort Draco threw himself into one of those full-out body rolls that Moody had forced him to learn. He collided with the ground and likely an exposed tree root that knocked the wind out of him. As he lay in the damp foliage, now visible, Draco felt the biting urge to spit out the foulest curses he could come up with. I’ve pulled a bloody muscle, I know it. Unfortunately, he had neither the time nor the air.

So he only rolled over onto his stomach and heaved himself into a crouch. He took deep breaths and tried to calm his heart. Draco drew on every skill he’d ever acquired as a Slytherin, a Malfoy, and a war veteran to make his way silently across the dew speckled ground. The morning mist still clung to the earth. It swirled around his feet as he moved from tree to tree. . No one was within twenty feet of him, if his calculations were correct. Yet Draco could detect the faint traces of magic drifting to him on the mist. Not all family members could feel it when one of their blood did magic, but it had been decided long ago that Draco would be specifically trained to do so. It had been meant for a darker purpose than Draco now used it for, but he was grateful for the long hours of practice. He needed an edge over Aniston.

The closer Draco came to the camp the more movement he could see. There wasn’t all that much quite yet. Draco was in spitting distance of another guard, and the man had no idea that he was there. They had been trained to listen for different sounds than Draco had. Moody had believed in educating his apprentices in both Muggle and Wizarding detection. It allowed Draco to break through admittedly tight cracks in the patrol line, though it left him with only seconds to spare for his effort. He came up next to the tent that had to be Aniston’s. Nothing stirred inside.

His heart thumping a little faster than normal (he hadn’t done this sort of thing in quite while), Draco carefully drew out his wand from its holster, relishing the familiar weight of the wood. He drew in a deep breath. This was it. The moment he would finally look Aniston Malfoy in the eye.

Pray that he came out of the meeting the victor.

~*~

Conall rubbed his eyes. God, he was tired. There was so much to do and so little time to do it in even with the considerable effort put forth by the people of the castle. Aniston had come at such a critical time for them all. Crops hadn’t been harvested and meat hadn’t been gathered. The supply of foodstuffs was dangerously low for a long-term siege. It would last maybe a week if they were lucky. The dirty bastard.

Trying to bring life back into his limbs, Conall stretched his arms towards the sky. He cracked his neck from side to side for added measure. When he opened his eyes, though, his gaze caught on something unusual. “Hermione?” What was she doing on the battlement?

In Aniston’s camp, the sounds of a struggle ripped through the silence of the early morning. Two men cursed viciously at one another and something broke. There was an abrupt shout and a crack. The soldiers only a few feet away from Aniston’s tent barely had time to react, rushing through the flap too late. Aniston stood in the center of dismembered furniture in nothing but his small clothes. Blood stained his sword. “My lord?”

Icy eyes swept over them before returning to the object in his hand. Chest heaving, Aniston studied the unusual adornment on the chain, tilting his head to the side in puzzlement. “A love trinket?” he rasped out.

Two heartbeats later the amulet reacted.

The charm in Aniston’s hand pulsed violently, the energy slamming into his flesh with the force of a hammer. He swore viciously and grabbed the arm that had instantly gone numb, the amulet trickling from his fingers to hit the ground like spilled blood. It glittered brilliantly in the torchlight for one eternal moment.

On the battlement Hermione narrowed her eyes, sensing something. She barely had time to draw her next breath before an icy hand enveloped her body. She cried out in surprise.

Aniston watched in pained astonishment as the amulet on his tent floor burst.

In his crib, Hannah’s baby began to wail, his cries echoing against the eerie silence that had suddenly cloaked the castle.

Conall burst through the door to the battlement, ready to fight. “What the hell was that, Hermione?” he demanded, striding toward the still figure of his lady. Abruptly he halted, sensing something was off. “Hermione?” The sound of dripping caught his attention. He rushed forward in alarm. He grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. “Hermione-!” He sucked in his breath.

Hermione looked up at Conall with a blank expression. She didn’t seem to be aware that tears were coursing down her cheeks in two small rivers. She held up her hands, the pieces of glass cupped in her palms. Like heart’s blood, the contents of the shattered amulet splashed over her front and across her skin, landing on the stone drop by drop. Conall cupped both of her shoulders in confusion. “Are ye hurt? What happened?” he asked frantically. When Hermione didn’t blink, the alarm that had flared inside him grew. She barely seemed to breathe. Conall searched her face and began to realize that he had seen this sort of expression before, only months earlier and on another face. Dread boiled inside while he cast desperate looks around the battlement, looking for other signs of life. There was no one there but the people in the bailey below. “Someone find a healing draught! Hermione needs help!” he shouted down. “And fer God’s sake, someone find Stranger!”

This couldn’t be what he thought. It just couldn’t be. His lady had only had an accident with her bauble. That was all. Conall refused to remember that it was no ordinary charm that she wore around her neck, but something made up of the essence of earth. Mishaps could happen, he told himself as he tugged Hermione toward the door. She followed in jerky movements, her mouth forming whisper soft words that Conall couldn’t bring himself to listen to. “Gone. Gone. He’s gone. Never coming back. All alone.”

Nobody said a word as Hermione walked like a ghost among them. They saw her holding the shards of the amulet like the broken pieces of her heart, and they knew. Her pale face matched the pall that had settled over the stones. It was as if the moment Stranger left this world, Hermione’s spirit had followed him and taken the life that had thrummed in their very earth with it. Those who had run forward to be of assistance now parted to let their lady glide past. Not even the wind stirred her skirts, but one could not help but feel chilled. Wives and husbands hugged one another close. A few others shed tears in remembrance of someone they had lost. Still more cried a tear for the tragedy called life, that would tear apart two people who obviously meant so much to one another. It would have astonished Draco to know that more than one person had considered him a decent man, and mourned his loss.

And what else would this day bring? Their way of life, protected from the world for so long was being threatened. Who knew what would happen when the sun rose to its zenith and it was time to fight? It might be any one of them that would be the one crying for the person they loved.

It was a somber mood indeed.

~*~

“Let me see Hermione!” Hannah shouted at the servant women. She struggled against their attempts to press her back into the bed, driven to make it to the door and find her sister. “Let me go! I want to see Hermione!”

The midwife held the squalling infant and tried to reason with his mother. “Please, my lady! Ye can’t get out of bed or risk bringing sickness! Ye’ve just given birth and yer body hasn’t had time to absorb the draughts you were given.”

Hannah suddenly flicked her hand and sent the three women subduing her tumbling. They collapsed to the floor, startled but unharmed, giving Hannah time to rise to her feet. Magic curled around the fingertips of both hands. Hannah swiftly waved them in the air, drawing a shape in the air that was made up of elements that the midwife could not fathom. Hannah shut her eyes and sucked in a deep breath, drawing the symbol into her body too fast for anyone to react. Then she exhaled.

When she opened her eyes it was to find the room staring in awe. Even the baby had quieted, comforted by his mother’s magical presence. “There,” Hannah told them quietly. “No more sickness.” She came forward with fluid movements that belied the events of the past twenty-four hours, to take her son away from the midwife. He was still fretful but snuggled into his mother’s embrace. She kissed his little brow, awed by the miracle that he was, even as she leveled a stern and determined look at the women surrounding her. “I am going to see my sister, and will not suffer any interference.”

With that she swept from the room. She hurried down the hall as quickly as she could with a newborn, her heart swelling with emotions that were not her own. The women in her chambers remained frozen for a few moments longer. One finally crossed herself and said, “No matter how long I live, witnessing miracles such as that never fails to humble me.”

“It never will,” the midwife attested. Despite the heavy uncertainty that weighed upon them all, she felt a small smile tugging at her mouth. Warmth sparked inside her heart. “Our families have been blessed to see such works on earth with our mortal eyes.”

“But what about Aniston Malfoy?” another woman, the maid Magda asked. “We’ve never been threatened before. Does this mean that we have finally been forsaken?” Anxiety festered inside them all. Magda was simply giving voice to what had been on all of their minds.

"I doona know why we’re being tested, girls. I only know that it is indeed a test. Ye canna be afraid that you’ve been abandoned. Ye must hold tight to yer faith and face whatever is placed before ye in life. Remember that no matter what happens, miracles like that,” the midwife indicated the direction Hannah had gone, “are not everyday occurrences in this world. We’ve been fortunate. Keep that knowledge close to you.”

No one said aloud what they all realized. Faith would be tested much sooner than many had anticipated.

~*~

Aniston didn’t waste any time. He commanded the two imbeciles that had rushed to his belated rescue to call the others to arms. They would fight this morning and no later. Gritting his teeth, Aniston shook his arm to restore some feeling. He eyed the destroyed trinket lying on his tent floor. This morning’s events had been strange but, oh, so interesting. His confrontation with the boy mere minutes ago had given Aniston the much-needed insight that he had sought.
Armed with the information he’d gleaned, Aniston was ready to take on the supposedly impenetrable fortress that had taunted him for so long.

Eyes gleaming, Aniston made to ready himself for battle. Draco Malfoy, he thought to himself, you’ve provided an incalculable service to me.

I will give my regards to your lover.

~*~

Conall looked up and frowned at Hannah when she opened the door to Hermione’s room. “Yer supposed to be in bed,” he told her gruffly. Even knowing this, he was relieved to see her. He hadn’t been making any progress with Hermione. She sat like a docile lamb on the chair he had placed her in. She’d lapsed into complete silence. The tears had also come to a halt. In the early morning light that was just peeking through the windows, she looked like a wraith. There was no life in her eyes at all, and its absence hurt him deeply. He’d grown up as close to Hannah and Hermione as any of his brothers. They were his family. If Conall could have found a way to take their suffering into himself, he would. One of Life’s little cruelties was that he couldn’t. Not even Hannah with her incredible abilities could manage such a feat.

He straightened and step away from Hermione to let Hannah in closer. “She won’t speak. I can only guess what’s happened and I don’t want to say it aloud.” Unless it proved to be true, he finished silently.

Hannah took in the situation. Her eyes misted immediately, but she forced the tears back by swallowing hard. “Hermione?” She waited for a response to her soft inquiry but received none.
Hermione gave no indication that she realized that Hannah was even speaking to her. Hannah’s eyes met Conall’s. “Take the baby,” she bade him. He did as she asked, walking away to sit in his own chair at the wall.

Hannah stood before her seated sister and reached out gentle hands. She stroked Hermione’s hair the way their mother used to do, framing her face and brushing the remaining tears away with her thumbs. She knelt so that they were at eye level. “Hermione, tell me what happened. Where is Stranger?”

Her twin didn’t move. Her eyes were unfocused as though she had retreated deep within herself. Hannah’s eyes misted that much harder. “Hermione, please. Talk to me. Don’t go where I canna reach ye.” Sniffling, Hannah looked down at her sister’s hands. She released Hermione’s face and made to remove the pieces of the amulet from lax fingers. She picked up one piece—and gasped when Hermione suddenly clenched her hands tightly. The shards sliced through flesh and blood dripped.

Hannah tried to pry the pieces out of Hermione’s hands, commanding her to release her hold in a choked voice. Hermione’s arms were trembling but her face registered no pain. Not sure what else to do, unable to reach her sister with her voice alone, Hannah violently gripped her twin’s wrists and shook. “Let go!”

Abruptly Hermione did just that. What remained of the amulet tumbled from her hands and tinkled to the floor. It sounded to Hannah like a million dreams crumbling. How could it come to this? She wanted to wail. How could God let this happen to not just one, but both of us? Why?

Hannah managed to pluck out the pieces that had buried themselves in Hermione’s skin and rubbed special salve on the cuts. When it took effect, combined with the Guardian’s gift, Hermione’s hands would be healed in mere hours. Hannah didn’t dare use any of her own magic to heal her sister. She was not so recovered from the pregnancy that she could control her gifts more than a few spurts at a time. It would be hours yet before that happened. Their grandmother had taken the longest to recover, unable to do magic for a month after giving birth to their father. The fastest recovery period recorded in their family had been a day. Hannah knew herself well enough to realize that hers would be one of the swifter recuperations. She snuck a glance out the window at the rising sun. She had to be careful, though. She had to rest her powers for the moment it was desperately needed.

She decided to turn her questions to Conall. “Where did you find her?”

“The battlement. They said that Hermione ran like a crazed woman before dawn and stood there nigh onto eternity facing Aniston’s camp.”

“I felt something strange in the air earlier. The baby as well.”

“I too. A deathly chill that soaked into my very bones. Think you it’s something to do with Stranger?”

“I cannot imagine what else it could be. There are too many factors for it to be coincidence.” Hannah finished wrapping Hermione’s hands and rubbed her arms. She desperately wanted to hold her child and take comfort in the newborn smell of him. Hermione’s grief reminded her of what it had felt like to lose his da. Hannah could not imagine the agony of losing the little person that had been a part of her body for so long.

Hannah’s attention then caught on Hermione’s wounded arm. She could still see the bandage through the white sleeve. Hannah’s brow furrowed. Why hadn’t it healed yet? Had Hermione merely forgotten to take the dressing off?

Unease gripped Hannah. There was something afoot here. That arm should have been in perfect condition by now. The more Hannah dwelled on it, the more questions surfaced. Why had Hermione been looking at Aniston’s camp for so long when she would normally be preparing the castle for a siege? Obviously Stranger had gone to the camp, his only motivation that Hannah could detect, being the need to spill their secrets to their enemy. But why? Hadn’t Hermione told her that they had they had reconciled? She had been given the impression that the two of them were very much in love and prepared to fight for it.

Yet…The last few moments of labor were unclear to Hannah. All she knew was that she had awakened to find Hermione at her side, cradling the baby close. Something about it had bothered Hannah at the time, but she had been so overjoyed to finally meet the little boy who had made her life worth living, that she had forgotten about it. Now it came back to haunt her. Hermione’s story about forgiving Stranger in the aftermath of the birth now seemed sketchy and hastily contrived. She had missed something important. She just knew it. Yet the only two people who had all the answers were Stranger and Hermione, and both seemed just as unreachable at the moment.

~*~

After more efforts to question her sister and finding only stony silence, Hannah and Conall had taken the baby out of the room to quickly inspect efforts to fortify the castle against the inevitable siege. The sun was well over the horizon by now, burning away the morning dew and announcing to the world that time was running short. Hermione remained in her room, shrouded from reality by one simple, repeating truth.

Stranger was gone.

The words were like lead to Hermione, pressing her into the chair and keeping her there with her thoughts. Her arms lay limply in her lap. He was gone. She shouldn’t have sent him to Aniston. Mayhap there had been another way and she had been too blind to see it. If she had just waited, would another plan have made itself clear? Sending him into the camp had been akin to sending him to his death. He had to be dead. Aniston wasn’t merciful. He would have killed Stranger the moment the opportunity had presented itself. Why hadn’t she seen it before? Why had she begged him to go? Why?

Why?

There were people in this world that spent their entire lives searching for what Hermione had found - and lost - in six days. Some never found what they were looking for. She had been so foolish to let Stranger out of her sight for even a moment. She should have kept him close and never released her hold on his hand. She should have known this would end badly. Hadn’t she understood that Stranger didn’t belong in this time from the very beginning? His presence here had seemed transient and insubstantial to her from the first moment they’d met. She should have taken that into account.

For the first time Hermione stirred. She’d been trying to save him, she thought to herself harshly. All she’d wanted to do was help free Stranger from the hold Aniston had placed on him sight unseen. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. Aniston wanted to destroy everything that she held dear; he wanted to pervert the gift that the Guardians had given their lives to protect. He’d almost taken away Hannah and her babe. Now he’d stolen Stranger from her. Her hands curled into fists, the sting of pain finally penetrating her consciousness.

Where was the justice in this? Hadn’t she and Hannah done their best to be good protectors? Why would God or Fate take away the people that they needed the most in the world? Hermione began to rock a little. No. Not God. Something else. Something much more fickle. Someone much more base and evil in intention. Hermione’s eyes shifted. They fell on the small cauldron. That treacherous little vessel that had vividly detailed the way her life would come crashing around her ears. It sat innocently on the table, placed there by some misguided soul who thought they were helping.

Hermione’s gaze had fixed itself to the unremarkable thing. It pulled at her, demanded that she look and remember everything that she had seen in its depths. Anger pooled in her stomach. It grew and stretched and spread within Hermione’s body the longer she looked. The rocking accelerated. She bared her teeth, the air hissing in and out with rapidly shortening breaths. Her heart thumped painfully in her chest, sending the blood pounding in her ears to drown out all other sound.

In a blur of motion Hermione leapt from the chair and sent the cauldron flying. It slammed into the fireplace with a screech and a crash, splitting the dying fire spectacularly. The screen that had shielded the fire was destroyed instantly, ash bursting out of its keeping, to land dangerously close to the furniture. Hermione ignored the servant who had rushed in at the commotion and was now in the midst of damage control, staring instead at the cauldron. It lay in the ashes with a gaping fissure down its base, never to be used again. Even as Hermione shook with rage she smiled with satisfaction.

Fickle Fate would never again hold control over her.

As for the other, she thought as she turned to the door, eyes burning with the need for retribution. He would soon know that this once-Guardian would never allow such crimes against her and her loved ones go unpunished.

~*~

“Where are ye going, Hermione?”

Hannah was racing after her sister across the bailey, once again cursing that devilishly fast stride that ate up the ground. She’d caught sight of her twin quite by accident while giving hasty instructions to a soldier. The people had been working throughout the night to set up as many precautions as possible; from barricades to sick beds in the Great Hall, to provisions, to hiding places. The people of the keep had been in a tizzy to fortify themselves from a threat unlike any they had ever seen before. Some began to pause to stare at their lady, who snatched a bow and a quiver from a passing warrior without stopping. Instead of brushing the hand that Hannah lay on her arm away, Hermione grabbed a hold and proceeded to practically drag her sister after her. The pursuer had abruptly become the accomplice. She stalked to the lower door that would take her to the battlement.

“Hermione, I don’t understand what you think to do?” Hannah gasped behind her.

Hermione pushed through the high door. She finally let go of Hannah’s hand to prepare her bow. “I’m going to send Aniston Malfoy a message,” she told Hannah tersely.

Her sister looked at her as though she’d grown another head. “Have ye gone mad, Hermione? That’s a short bow. It’ll do no good to try and shoot that thing into the dense wood, and not at this distance. Even if he were to stand away from cover and be perfectly still. Come away with me and we’ll find somewhere to talk.”

This time Hermione did reject Hannah’s hand. “Look, Hannah! He’s right there. They’re gathering already.” She pointed at the tree line. Sure enough, there were men separating from the trees and forming lines in rapid succession, armed and ready to fight. At first Hannah couldn’t believe her eyes. She squinted. She rubbed the backs of her hands over her face. She stood so close to the stone that she was leaning over empty space, and still the vision did not change.

“Hermione. Those…are not all Englishmen.”

“Nay,” Hermione concurred grimly. “Duncan’s clan. I believe we’ve found the traitor.”

“No! Duncan would never!”

“But his brother would. Yer so logical, Hannah…think. Why would he feed Aniston everything he knows about us?”

Hannah’s jaw tightened, betrayal festering in her heart. “For the castle. My death. My babe’s death. He wants the people to follow him, so he seeks Duncan’s murderess as a gift to them. He wants no heirs to challenge him.” The hatred and greed of men had destroyed Duncan and now it was coming after her family. “I imagine it only took a few bags of coin to sway Duncan’s brother to Aniston’s cause.”

Hermione’s eyes caught on a silver flash in the distance. She tracked it like a hawk, certain it was Aniston. Her fingers flexed on the bow. She was itching to kill a human for the first time in her life. He was already breaking through the ancient barriers her people had set up long ago. It was only a matter of time before he made it completely through and could begin his assault on them in earnest. She stepped as close to Hannah as physically possible, ignoring the bustling men around them and speaking only so that her sister may hear. “He’s bent on taking everything we hold dear, Hannah. Your husband is gone. He almost destroyed you and the baby. He’s—he’s stolen the only man that ever mattered to me.” Identical eyes met. “I sent Stranger into the encampment to tell Aniston our secret. If he did, then the curse on him would be lifted and we would have found a way to be together. I know we would have. Now it’s too late.”

“You can’t be sure he’s dead. Mayhap Aniston sent him back to his time.”

“When did Aniston leave ye with an impression of mercy, Hannah? When he was raising his sword to kill you? Aniston would not have spared Stranger if he thought he would live forever…As an immortal he needs no family line.” Hermione looked away. “Even if by some miracle Stranger lives, he is so far beyond my reach that I can never dream to be with him again.”

“No.” Hannah shook her arm, a thought occurring to her. “Hermione, Hermione, think. Stranger exists. Doesn’t that mean that Aniston had a family line?”

Hermione looked at her sister askance but the other twin ignored it. Her hand curled around her sister’s in growing excitement. “For Stranger to live, Aniston had to have a family line that extended at least six hundred years. Aniston has no sons, Hermione. He is newly wed. Don’t ye realize what that means? He will beget heirs because he needs them. He will not be immortal, Hermione! Didn’t ye tell me that all you saw in the cauldron came to pass? Fate has fixed a course that even Aniston’s greed cannot change!”

Hermione wouldn’t believe it. She refused to believe it. She shook her head. “I don’t believe in Fate anymore. I will make my own destiny.”

“Then make it! All I’m saying is that there is still hope. Aniston will not get the gift in his lifetime, that is for certain.”

Hermione thought quickly. “That would be why he laid the curse on Draco. He knew Draco existed. Why? Revenge for his loss?” A curse was an excellent way to reach across the ages from the grave. Another thought occurred to her. “If he begets children, that means I do not kill him this day.” Bitter disappointment flooded her.

“But it could mean that he is defeated.”

“Perhaps, but not before the last part of my cursed vision comes true.” Hermione closed her eyes as she began to absorb the implications. “Aniston takes this castle. I know it in my soul. I hoped against hope that Stranger’s absence in the vision was because I’d locked him away in safety.” Fresh pain clawed at her, making her tremble beneath its weight.

Hannah worried her thumb with her teeth. The enemy was forming ranks much more quickly than she had anticipated, and she felt the wards surrounding them weakening at an accelerated rate. They didn’t have much time left. “What if we let him have it?” she wondered aloud.

Hermione didn’t appear surprised. In truth she hated the thought of leaving what had been their home for hundreds of years, yet the drive to protect the gift overcame her attachment to her earthly home. If fleeing meant survival for her family and fulfillment of their essential purpose, then so be it. “We couldn’t leave right away. He would suspect an early victory and hunt our people down like animals.”

Hannah looked around to make sure there was no one listening. “Our stored provisions will last us five days.” She cursed the bastard for arriving before the harvest. “If we can hold him off for four days, we can start smuggling the people out group by group and scatter them to the winds. Pray that there really isn’t an internal traitor that will sound the alarm. We can send each group with enough food and water to make the run.”

The twins were solemn. “You know as well as I that we canna go with them,” Hermione said softly. “It’ll just be me and you again.”

Hannah nodded. “It’ll always be that way. Into death and beyond. The question is where do we want to go in the meantime?”

The two of them knew that they only had minutes left. Already Aniston was preparing his archers, and it was time to assemble their own. Conall’s brothers were already shouting orders, and men were rushing around the twins as though they were the eye of a storm. Hermione squeezed Hannah’s hand one more time, and then set about notching her arrow again. “Have ye learned to speak French yet?” she asked with a tinge of humor.

Hannah shook her head. “I never really could do the vowels. Besides, I doona think I would like France.”

Hermione used Hannah’s shoulder to hoist herself up onto the wall. One step stood between her and oblivion. Hannah steadied her by gripping her sister’s leg underneath her dress. “I hear that they have excellent farmland. We’ll need to make a living, you and I.”

“Did you know, Hermione,” Hannah asked casually, “that in England they call farms ‘granges’?”

Hermione froze. She was unable to look at her sister. She was unable to move. Unable to think. Afraid to hope. “W-what do they call farmers?” It came out in a breathless whisper.

Hannah’s eyes were sharp. “Grangers.”

“Don’t tease me, Hannah. Please. I couldn’t take it.”

“Something is telling me to go to England. That is where our destiny lies. Stranger isn’t dead, Hermione. Within England lies the answer.”

“I doona believe in destiny anymore.” Hermione’s voice was paper thin, as if she just didn’t have enough left inside to dream.

“Everything will be alright, Hermione. If we play the hand that we have been dealt well, then we can find a way to cross time and bring your love to you again.” Hannah’s hand tightened on Hermione’s flesh. “The future is hopeful. I feel it.”

Hermione hung her head, eyes pressed tightly shut though a few tears still managed to squeeze out and slide down her cheeks. It was mad. Hannah had no hope of regaining the Sight fully so soon after birth. Her “knowings” were vague, and Hermione realized this better than anyone. Did she really think that a chance still existed? Could she really take the risk of believing? She would be broken beyond repair if things were to turn out badly. But then… could she not take the risk? Could she really live the rest of her life knowing that she was alone because she had been afraid to try? Hermione laughed at herself sadly. It seemed that her eternal optimism had not been destroyed after all. She nodded in jerky assent. “Alright.”

Hannah nodded too. The deal was struck. She schooled her features and turned her face to the threat that loomed over them. She wiggled the fingers of her free hand, breathing in and out deeply, preparing herself for what lay ahead. “The barriers are about to crumble, Hermione. Ready yourself.”

“What is she doing?” Aniston’s second in command asked. He squinted at the battlement. “It looks as though she intends to shoot a lone arrow into our midst, my lord.” He shook his head at the stupidity of women.

Aniston smiled in cold amusement. “That must be the one called Hermione. She is likely quite upset at the loss of her beau.” Let her try. No doubt the bitch was too grieved to realize her mistake. One false move and she would tumble to a very convenient death. Ah, but wait. Was that the breeding twin next to her? Aniston’s eyes narrowed. Pity. She hadn’t died after all.

“Hold your fire,” Hermione commanded Conall’s brother Grady. “I want the first shot.” She lifted the bow and drew back the arrow, gritting her teeth against the pain in her hands and arm.

The magic in Hannah’s hand grew brighter. “This is for Duncan and my son.”

The Highlander called Thomas leaned forward and swore. “It’s the murderess herself standing next to her.” He bristled with the need to fight and destroy. Aniston was not so uncouth that he would be caught rolling his eyes, but the barbarian’s animal instincts did elicit that curling smirk of disdain.

Aniston carefully pulled off one leather glove. “Patience, Highlander. Let us see what the women will do in their desperate hour. This is nothing more than a final attempt at goading us into premature action.” The barriers were weakening under his silent assault. Any moment now the fight of his life would commence. Aniston was almost as eager as a boy with his first wench, but he hid it expertly from his companions save for that bright light that had flickered to life in his icy eyes.

The energy from Hannah was beginning to gather its forces around the twins. Warriors watched in wonder as the air around their ladies crackled. Sparks spat from Hannah’s hand to fall to the floor and dance excitedly. Hannah was drawing from the earth and the air, her hand on Hermione’s leg ensuring that her sister partook of the exquisite forces that existed there. It hummed in their veins. Their clothes and hair sang with mysterious harmonies that only they understood. Hermione began to count. “One.” She sighted Aniston, her fingers tightening on the wood of the bow.

Hannah inhaled. “This is for Stranger and our people.” She exhaled.

“Two.” Hermione’s arm was beginning to tremble from the exertion. Her jaw was clenched in concentration, the numbers hissing through her teeth.

“This is for us.” Hannah took the biggest breath and held it-

“Three!”

The bow twanged as the arrow was released. Hannah swung up her hand and blew.


~*~

To be continued...