Red Moon Rising

Alone in his study, Draco Malfoy lowered the parchment he had been reading and stared into the fire. He had been gazing at the incantation scrawled there for hours, with little result. With a grimace, he reached across the desk and gingerly picked up the bag of foul-smelling ingredients that had come with the owl. Sighing loudly, Draco picked up the other parchment on the desk and read through Snape's letter again.

Master Malfoy-

Please find enclosed all the ingredients you require. I trust you will give it the attention that so dangerous a potion demands. Please allow me to remind you of the particularities of this potion: it may be brewed only when the moon is in its third quarter and requires three very difficult incantations. I have included a pronunciation guide for your benefit.

Master Malfoy, allow me to restate my unease at supplying you with access to this potion. Though the legal regulations for potions of this nature remain…ambiguous where you are going, while in England it is extremely dangerous for you to possess fully brewed. I suggest you delay the final brewing stage until your arrival.

I have also included some supplements that I think may be of assistance to you on this little quest you have set yourself on.

I do not think I have to counsel you further on the dangers of what you are planning. You know my reservations, and I will say no more. Contact me immediately if anything goes awry.

-Severus Snape

Draco read through the note one last time before crumpling it and throwing it into the fire. He was still staring into it when a man in servant's dress appeared in the doorway.

“Where shall I have your bags sent, Master Malfoy?” he asked.

“Have them sent to the terminal at the London Portkey Terminal, Alistair. I have already marked them with the proper destination.”

“Very good, sir.” Alistair gathered the luggage and moved to the door, where he paused.

“Yes, Alistair? What is it?” snapped Draco impatiently.

“It's just the help, sir. We are all curious. You have not alerted us to how long it will be until your return.”

“Alistair, you whinge like a house elf. I'll be gone as long as it takes.” He waved a dismissive hand.

In the hallway, Alistair passed the suitcases off to a house elf with bulging pink eyes and rather unfortunate ears. Halfway down the hall the butler paused. “Pinky,” said Alistair, “come back to me.” The house elf nearly tripped over herself in her haste to get to him. Shocked at his own daring, Alistair turned over the destination card on the top suitcase. Pinky stared up at him, large eyes even wider. “What is...Romania, master?”

***

Ginny Weasley stepped out of her tent to greet the cool Romanian air. Though spring had come, the air still carried the bite of winter, and with it the smells of cooking fires mingling with the fires of the dragons penned nearby. She breathed in the morning air and let herself be refreshed. The view of day breaking over the dragon camp was calming— the sun creeping down the Carpathian mountains, its light painting their snow-topped peaks temporarily golden, reaching warm fingers down to the camp nestled in the crook of the foothills. The sunlight glittered off the scales of huge forms inside an enclosure and stretched to other tents of the encampment, already bustling with activity. Ginny smiled as the first rays of dawn warmed her tired face. In first light, it all looked so peaceful, the beauty of a new day belying the tense atmosphere of the camp, which, underneath the bright exterior, was growing restless. A mysterious sickness had taken hold over the dragons, and no one knew what to do for it, not even the elder dragon handlers.

Ginny draped a heavy shawl around her shoulders and set her feet to the path that led from her tent to the rest of the camp. She was not halfway up the path when she felt small hands tugging at her skirt. Laughing, she spun to greet her assailant.

Pale brown eyes framed in a grubby face looked up at her. The gypsy boy's frame, small for his nine years, was shaking with mirth.

“Adi, where did you come from, you sneak?” Ginny said, bending to wipe some of the dirt off his face with the hem of her skirt. “How did you get behind me without my noticing?”

Batting her hands away he grinned mischievously. “Not telling.”

“Adi,” she murmured, picking a clod of dirt out of his dark hair, “you're filthy. What did you do, sleep in the grass?” Grabbing his shoulders when he didn't respond, she asked again. “Where did you sleep last night? Tell me you weren't outside my tent again.”

He shrugged. “It's not safe to sleep so far from the others. You know what's out in the night.” He cast a furtive glance at the forest behind them. “Spirtoase. You need someone watching over you.”

She smiled, her annoyance fading at the earnest concern on his face. “I told you, Adi, you don't have to worry about that,” she said, slipping a hand in his. “I have wards around every inch of that tent. Nothing is getting in that I don't want.”

“Some creatures have ways around that,” Adi murmured, but too softly to be heard.

They walked together to the fires where many of the camp were gathered. Brightly woven skirts flashed as the women flitted about, poking fires and batting small fingers away from the pans. Clustered around the fire were children whose griminess rivaled Adi's, eating hot sausage and bread with their fingers. Adi broke away from Ginny to fight for a place amongst them. Ginny's eyes traveled over his head to the woman standing at the edge of the fires, gazing towards the dragon keep.

“Bunã dimineata, Emilia,” said Ginny. The woman turned sharply and Ginny flinched. “Good morning, doamnã,” she quickly amended, a student giving a teacher her due. Since Ginny's arrival at the camp over a year ago, Emilia had insisted on instructing Ginny personally in dragon handling. Until recently she hadn't allowed Ginny to learn any Romani magic, but since Ginny had returned to the camp alone she seemed to feel it was time. Perhaps it was her way of distracting Ginny from everything that had happened in the last year.

Emilia turned away from the dragon keep to face her reluctant pupil. “You have been practicing?” she asked, folding her arms over her chest and looking stern. Ginny fought down her usual urge to turn away under that powerful gaze and allowed herself to be measured by the older woman. The Romani dragon handlers were fierce, one had to be when handling fire-breathing creatures the size of buildings, but their ferocity was a candle to the fires that burned in the eyes of the strigele, the elder witches of the Romani. All gave deference to those who still remembered old magic, the primal forces of the earth harnessed by a human conduit. It required a supreme amount of control and skill, and few yet lived who were still aware of it, but the strigele did. Emilia's bracelets clinked as she shifted impatiently. “Well, fiicã?”

Ginny jumped. “Yes, doamnã. Several times a day, as you told me.”

Emilia reached out a wizened arm and turned Ginny's face towards her, gently but firmly, so Ginny could not look away. “It tires you, does it not?” Ginny nodded as best she could in Emilia's vice-like grip. “You fight it too much, child. You cannot channel the magic unless you surrender to it.” Ginny pushed her hand away, knowing her impertinence would cost her a few more hours of monotonous chores that night. “But it feels like it will swallow me up. It's so different from the magic I learned in England.”

Emilia sniffed. “Your people treat magic like a tool. Magic is a gift, worthy of high regard. It may be controlled, but you must let it be what it is. You must learn to bend it to your will, not to the words you speak,” her eyes flicked to the wand at Ginny's side, “or to the resonance of the core in a piece of wood.”

Ginny nodded, trying to look properly reprimanded, having heard this speech before, but Emilia's eyes were still sharp on her. “You are too impatient, child. Your thoughts are unfocused.” She followed Ginny's gaze to the dragon keep and the tent that stood at its edge. “Your dragon troubles you,” she said simply, though Ginny knew with perfect certainty that the dragon lying in the tent 200 yards from them was not the only dragon Emilia had in mind. She sighed. “Emilia, I should go check on him. I haven't seen him since last night.”

“Go then. I am afraid that you will find no change.”

Muttering something sulky about authority figures and the virtues of optimism, Ginny made her way to the tent at the edge of the dragon keep. Tall banners in colors of red and green rose to block the sun as Ginny approached the edge of the pen. She heard a deep rumbling as the still sleeping dragons drew morning air in and out of powerful lungs as she made her way around the enclosure to the nearest tent. Ginny pushed back the flaps and entered.

A dragon with green-grey scales lay on the floor of the tent. The air was thick with incense, the elders' latest attempt at easing the dragon's suffering. At her approach, the creature raised its giant head weakly, tongue flicking out. His tail moved a little from side to side, reminiscent of a dog greeting its master. Despite his hulking size, Damian was quite a young dragon, just over a year old. Many of the dragons in the camp would not fit inside the lofty tent, but Damian's wings, fully extended, only brushed the ceiling.

Ginny approached him slowly, kneeling to stroke his scaled face, feeling his disturbingly cool skin under her fingers. Damian's eyes focused on her face, and Ginny felt guilty knowing that the dragon understood on some level the concern etched there. She knelt there, not speaking, pushing down the memories that swelled bright and sharp every time she looked at Damian. He had been their dragon, after all. In full health he was an energetic creature, in dragon's terms, exceptionally good-natured and willing to bear a human's weight on his back, as long as his masters approved of them. But a month ago he had become ill, a slow, creeping sickness that stole his vitality and dimmed the fire behind his eyes. They had moved him away from the other dragons, lest they become tempted to make a meal of a helpless one of their own.

She felt a knot forming in her mind, cautious tendrils unfurling as Damian reached out to her. Carefully she pushed Damian out of her head. The dragon trusted her, and she did not want to betray that trust with her own doubts. The connection between dragon and handler was powerful, though the ability to connect in this way was not a prominent trait, even among the Romani. Ginny suspected it was her close connection to Draco Malfoy that rendered her able to communicate on some level with the dragon, as the creatures had taken to him from the start. Whatever the reason, the connection between Ginny and Damian was strong, and he followed the thought of Draco in her mind, chasing it with a question. Ginny smiled, trying to feel reassuring. Damian had not seemed to grasp that Draco was not coming back, and it only renewed her own pain to try to explain it to him, especially in the abstract pattern of dragon speech. Communicating with Damian had grown increasingly harder as his illness progressed. It was as if an entire corner of his mind had been shut off from her. Every time she tried to explore it, she was met with a great, black wall. Tentatively, she reached out and trailed an invisible hand along its surface. All her attempts to find a way around it so far had skipped off it like a stone across a pond's surface. Grimacing, she returned her efforts to encouraging Damian. Every little bit helps, she thought. She sat that way for a long time, summoning every memory she had of herself in Damian. It was hard to find one that did not include Draco, but she managed. Their first flight together, their win at the Dragon Flights tournament several months ago…it felt like yesterday. She concentrated on the happy memories, hoping that somehow they would give the dragon strength to keep fighting.

The delicate connection between dragon and handler was broken as a dark-haired man entered the tent, a steaming potion in his hands.

“Here again, fiicã?” he asked, settling on the ground beside her, pouring the potion into a bowl for Damian.

“I don't want him to be alone, Sorin. I can only come here so often now, with Emilia breathing down my neck.”

Sorin grinned. “Enjoying your lessons then? I remember when my sister was first taken in by the strigele. I saw her only a handful of times for three months. You are lucky, Ginny. Half the time she did not even turn up for meals.”

“Slave drivers,” Ginny groaned. “What is that potion anyway, I think my nose hairs are on fire.”

“The latest attempt from your honorable teacher, Emilia,” he laughed, “though I think the smell was for my own benefit.” His face creased in dark lines as his eyes turned sober. “What do you see when he speaks to you?” He indicated the dragon with a glance. “Can you still not sense the cause of his suffering?”

Ginny sighed. “It's like a block. A hard, dark wall that I can't get around. The closer I come to getting around it, the bigger it seems to get. It's strange. It's like it wants to swallow me up. I feel my energy draining away, and I have to break away or I become exhausted.” She paused at the look on his face. “Sorin? What is it?”

Sorin's hands had stopped stirring the foul-smelling potion, and his dark eyes were fixed on her.

“Sorin?”

“That is…troubling, fiicã. You have told this to Emilia?”

“No. My uses here are few enough as it is. I don't want to be found wanting in yet another ability.”

His teeth flashed suddenly in his dark face as he smiled again. “You misunderstand her, girl. She has great hopes for you. The promising ones are always driven the hardest.”

“Small comfort,” Ginny muttered, and rose to leave, smoothing down her heavy skirt. Pausing to gaze down at Damian, she imagined the rise and fall of heavy wings whistling through bright morning air, and smiled when her farewell was answered by a swish of Damian's tail.

She was halfway to the exit when Adi burst through the opening, golden eyes burning in his flushed face. “Ginny, Emilia is asking for you! She does not look pleased.”

“Oh bollocks,” Ginny groaned as she stepped out into the light, seeing the slant of the shadows on the ground. “I was supposed to meet her an hour ago.”

Adi gazed up at her ruefully. “I would not like to be in your shoes...” Unconsciously his hands went to his wrists, rubbing away the memory of past encounters with Emilia's strap. “You are to meet her tonight, just after sunset, and something else...” His small face scrunched in concentration. “Bring your wand.”

“My wand?” said Ginny in surprise. “That's a change.”

Adi shrugged, small shoulders hitching under a loose shirt. “I'd not keep the strigele waiting this time…”

***

The flames of Ginny's hair quickly dissolved into the background of the fire-streaked sky as she reached the small rise near the edge of the forest where the strigele gathered. Nine dark figures in long skirts, the patterns in the stitching making the strigele stand out brightly against the hill even in the growing dark. Ginny dropped a small curtsey. “Bunã seara, doamni.”

Emilia separated from the cluster of women, gesturing Ginny closer. “I see you have learned to mark the time, fiicã. That is well.”

Ginny had the grace to blush. “I have brought my wand, doamnã. Will I be allowed to use it tonight?”

“We will see,” said Emilia. “Come, you will join us in the circle.”

As if on some silent command from Emilia, the voices of the other women died immediately, and they moved to form a ring. Emilia took Ginny's wand and placed it in the center.

“Pay attention, fiicã. After a time, Corina will drop out, and you will take her place.”

Emilia's voice faded as the air seemed to tense, and all the women's eyes closed, bracelets clanking softly as they began to sway. Ginny felt slightly dizzy as the air at the center of the circle seemed to ripple then swell, powerful energy being drawn into one concentrated area. As Ginny watched, wispy threads of light spread from the center of the circle. Mere tendrils at first, they unfurled and became thick cords, spreading to the women of the circle, coiling around their ankles, swimming up to linger just over their hearts. One by one, their eyes opened, and Ginny felt rather than saw the power pooling just behind their eyes. Tiny lights drifted from each of the women to the center of the circle, mere pinpricks of lights growing into orbs the size of a fist. Ginny watched, mesmerized, until all her attention was focused on the nine points of lights weaving in and out of the circle.

Ginny was vaguely aware that her body was moving with the others', and, without willing it, felt herself take step forward toward the lights. With that small step the stillness of the air was broken as violently as a light shining suddenly in the darkness. The air around her was threaded with a thousand different sounds, rushing like a torrent at first, until slowly Ginny began to separate them. She heard the crackle of the bonfires down below, Sorin's laugh rising up out of the darkness -Adi was saying something fast in Romanian to the other children. Sounds from farther away came rushing in: She felt the beat of giant hearts in the pens; the drumlike pounding drove her own blood through her veins. The wind at the base of the mountains was whisper soft and smelled of wildflowers. Miles down the road dust was stirring under the wheels of a cart.

The sensations wove together in her mind, and she saw her place in the tapestry that was forming. Other powerful cords were bound to her, they swirled around her and off again, all on different paths but yet the same.

Tentatively, Ginny stretched to feel the boundaries of her mind's reach. She was afraid of the sensations rushing through her, but also excited. It was all so easy, so surprisingly simple. Suddenly everything made sense as it hadn't for many, many months. She was anchored in the world; it was so simple how it all fit together. She was full of life and she understood.

She felt Damian in the tent far below, his unwavering devotion and his trust that she would find a way to make him better. Maybe in this state I can find out what's wrong with him, she thought. Unaware of the tensing in the women behind her, she turned slowly toward the camp and felt again for Damian. Focusing all her concentration on him, she felt the burning coals of his thoughts, the rush of sunlight that burst in her mind as he recognized her presence. The now familiar wall in his mind came up fast and hard, but she was determined and pushed against its surface. It was as though the wall simply absorbed her energy. Setting her mouth in a firm line, she bent all her resolve to the wall, but it was as slippery as a newborn dragon's scales. Angrily, she pushed again and thought she felt it give a little. The black wall towered higher still, consuming her line of vision. She was vaguely aware of hands on her arms and shoulders, but she shook them off—she was getting somewhere. With a last push, the wall began to cave, but it was not falling apart, it was pulling her in. She felt its mire sticking to her own body; it was in her hair, in her eyes and ears. Alarmed she brushed at it frantically, suddenly helpless and very much afraid. The wall was toppling on her, and with it came a fresh onslaught of sounds and images.

Ginny's breaths came in heaving gasps, and her knees began to buckle under the renewed flood. She felt her head would break apart from the maelstrom of images crowding into her head. The voices of the other women rose in an unbearable clamor. The trickling of rain gathering in the clouds above thrust into her ears like a steel pin. A rising darkness rushed at her out of the mountains, swallowing her. She was aware of the thunderous rush of air in her ears as the ground flew up to meet her, and the sound of her head meeting the cold ground whipped through her brain like the strike of a hammer on steel. A single image drifted through the chaos in her mind: a traveler, face obscured in the cowl of a heavy cloak, sitting in the back of a cart. The figure turned its head as if to speak, and the vision broke apart into a thousand shards of jagged glass. She realized the roaring in her ears was no longer the wind, but the sound of her own screams. Dimly she felt hands lifting her, then darkness fell completely.

***

Draco shifted uncomfortably from his perch in the cart. Not even the heavy cloak could cushion him from three day's worth of the rise and fall of rough wheels over rocky ground. His head began to droop down to his chest, the hood obscuring his face in shadow. The rhythm of the journey was mesmerizing, and he let his eyes settle on the dark trees passing slowly under a darkening sky. He started at the feel of the wheels grinding to a halt.

“We stop here for the night, sir,” said the driver, drawing in the reins. The horses stamped nervously in the growing dark. “Not safe to be out of doors after nightfall.”

After half a week on the road, Draco was used to the old man's quirks. He swung his legs over the side and leapt the short distance to the ground. The horses snorted uneasily as he took the reins from Grigore. “You're foolish, old man,” said Draco, though he knew it was useless to argue.

The old man spat and pulled his patched cloak tighter around his throat. “There are things older than wizards in the woods and the mountains, young master. And there are nightmares that walk in the moonlight, creatures you have not seen the like of.”

Draco snorted. “So you have said, but I am not afraid of your varcolaci.” He ground out the Romanian word for vampire with relish, heedless of Grigore's sharp intake of breath.

Grigore spat again, snatching the reins from Draco. “I'll raise the tents, sir,” he said, biting off the last word.

Draco leaned against the taller horse, ignoring the cold wind blowing down from the mountains. He could feel the animal's heart beating against his back. He whispered calming words to it under his breath, trying to slow the unusually rapid pace of its heart.

“All is ready, sir,” said Grigore, catching the gold that Draco tossed to him.

“Thank you, Grigore. You may leave me for the remainder of the night. I have work to do.”

“Bine, sir,” said Grigore, content to leave the haughty young man to his own business. He set to work on his own sleeping place.

Draco entered his tent and pulled a cauldron from his bags. Muttering a quick incendio he poured his prepared contents into the heated cauldron. When the brown sludge of the potion had turned to a glittering emerald green, he spoke the incantation he had been practicing for a nearly a fortnight. It was the third and most difficult, and his tongue curled around the unfamiliar words. As he finished speaking the fire under the cauldron flared suddenly, then died. The potion was now a steel-blue color, and quite cool.

Draco steeled himself against the realization of what he was doing. He willed his hands not to shake as he dipped a portion of the mixture into a vial and lifted it to his lips. “No turning back now,” he whispered. He drained the vial and set back on his heels, waiting.

He was almost certain that he had spoken the incantation wrong when he whipped back suddenly against the floor of the tent, hands at his stomach. His body arched as pain whipped through him like a firestorm, burning up his insides with such intensity that he was glad he had placed a silencing charm around the tent. He bit back a scream as the burning sensation intensified and spread, sure that his brain was boiling. He writhed on the ground for what felt like an eternity, then, gradually, the pain began to ebb.

Shakily, Draco got to his knees and crawled over to his bags. His skin felt peculiar, and his hair fell oddly across his face. When his hands had steadied he lifted a mirror from a bag and held it up. In the reflection that looked back at him, a strange smile was spreading.

***

Author's notes: Thanks to all who reviewed the ficlet set in the same universe: TrinitYMalfoY527, Cute Sleeper, Jez, rukki, Maggie, Rainy31, Amy, conquistador, Ekaterina, thats so raven, Alicia, michou, Angylinni, and Chikklaura. And thanks to my beautiful betas, evildiorama, lisa_bee, and Mynuet for giving it a run through <3

Author's notes: Thanks to Nom de Plume, sexytexy, and Danielle for reviewing ch. 1! I hereby dedicate ch. 2 to you and my beautiful betas!

Also, forgot to put the disclaimer in ch. 1, oops. Um, Draco and Ginny belong to JKR, the rest are mine. If you've read Robert Jordan's The Wheel of Time series, you'll see his influence. Enjoy

Ch. 2

Patches of fog drifted across the face of the pale purple sky, shadows deepening and dancing as if commanded by some fickle hand. Just overhead, the frayed edges of a patch curled in the wind, and the silhouette of trees danced along the shifting plane of the heavens. Ginny blinked, her hazy vision coming slowly into focus. She was not staring into the night sky, but at the canvassed ceiling of her tent. She was covered in heavy blankets, and more blankets were piled around her feet. Without turning her head, she knew she would find Emilia sitting nearby, and Adi closer still. Shifting her legs slightly under the uncomfortable weight of the blankets, she felt the bundle at her feet stir, and saw bright eyes flashing in the morning light.

“Adi,” came a sharp voice to her right, “if I cannot compel you to leave, at least give the girl some room. You are practically sitting on top of her.”

“She's waking now, Emilia!” said Adi, excitement catching in his throat and making him sound younger than his nine years. He clambered up to Ginny, and through a haze of exhaustion she saw the lines of tears on his brown face. Lifting a hand to rumple his hair, she said, “I'm fine, Adi.” His face trembled briefly, as if on the verge of crumpling once more, but he hitched his shoulders and said, “I've been going back and forth between you and Damian. I sat with him every night, but when they said you still hadn't woken up, I ran back over here.”

“Wait, nights?” Ginny asked groggily. “How long have I been like this?”

“That is enough, Adi,” said Emilia, coming over to the bed.

“But—” It was all he managed before Emilia grabbed him by the collar and physically lifted him from the bed. Ginny's eyes widened as she remembered the strength in the aging woman's limbs. But dragon handlers had to be strong, in magic and in bodily strength. The weak did not long survive in a dragon camp.

Once the boy was chased from the tent, Emilia returned to Ginny's side. She did not speak for what felt like an eternity, only regarded her with narrowed eyes. Ginny winced internally at the set of the other woman's mouth.

“You have been unconscious for three days, fiicã, perhaps you would care to explain what you thought you were doing?”

Ginny squirmed under the covers, but stilled at another look from Emilia. “I don't know. I thought I was supposed to join in, that's what you told me.”

“What I told you was to pay attention. Did you not notice what the others were doing? Did you not see the pattern we created?”

“I…I saw the lights, doamnã. I felt everything being tied together. You were pulling magic through my wand, but somehow, it went through all of you.”

“We used your wand as a conduit to channel atâ, yes.” Emilia paused, waiting for Ginny to put the rest together.

“Atâ,” said Ginny, “old magic.” Emilia nodded. “But why did you use my wand? I thought you didn't like them.”

Emilia folded her arms as if preparing to lecture a child. “Most cannot channel atâ directly, fiicã. Most require some magical substance to draw it through. Having done this they may bend or shape it how they wish. Strigele are taught to use magic without a conduit, like a wand, but there are very few who can handle such power flowing into them. It is far simpler, and safer, to draw it through a medium. Why do you think I have put you through so many practicing sessions, teaching you to begin drawing on atâ through your wand, then weaning you away from it?”

Ginny thought back to the many lessons she had endured out on the hill, drawing just enough magic through her wand to levitate balls and hoops, then directing them without the help of a wand to dance, albeit clumsily, in the air.

“You were supposed to observe the paths that the magic took as it flowed into each woman, and how it wove between all to create a circle, one continuous flow of magic wielded by nine strigele.”

Ginny boggled. “I was supposed to figure out all that by watching?” Her temper flared, despite knowledge of Emilia's mood. “I felt it pull me in, I couldn't even stop myself. You should have told me, you should have—”

“I do not know what happened to you, child,” Emilia said, and the words froze in Ginny's mouth. “It is an unusual gift to communicate with a dragon so strongly, but it should not have affected you so. What do you remember?”

Pain lanced through Ginny's head as she remembered the feeling of the entire world crashing down on her, all its lights and sounds imploding to a bright ball of pain between her eyes. She reached one hand to rub her temple, then began to pick through the remembered sensations. “It was fine at first, I think. My senses were heightened, but it wasn't more than I could endure.” She ducked her head to hide the blush that was beginning to heat her cheeks. “Then I felt Damian. I could feel the weakness in his wings, the itching under his scales. I could feel how much he loves me, and how much he trusts me.” She lifted her head then. “I wanted to help him, Emilia, and I'll do anything it takes.”

“Yes, girl, that is all very moving.” Emilia fingered her skirt with the distracted air of one who has heard similar speeches before. “You still have not told me why you lost control.”

Ginny bit down the frustration boiling in her stomach. If the bloody, old...old…hag had told her what to expect, after all! Ginny had the feeling the other woman was holding something back, and was not surprised when Emilia said, “I have spoken with Sorin.”

In the back of her mind, Ginny sorted through various hexes to be applied to offending dragon handlers, but pressed on. “Then you know of the wall? You know what it is?”

“I have my suspicions,” Emilia said simply. “If they prove correct, we will know very soon.”

Ginny was out of bed in an instant, practically clutching the other woman's hands. “Then tell me what it is! What can I do? What can we do?”

“For now, fiicã, we wait, and take precautions. I want you to wear this at all times.” She held up a thin leather cord from which a pendant dangled. Ginny took it in her hands and ran her fingers over the smooth, simple design of the dark metal.

“It feels powerful,” she said. “And heavy.”

“It is made of iron. Do not take it off.”

Ginny rolled her eyes before she could stop herself. “So, the solution is to wear necklaces? Emilia—er, doamnã, what is this about? Please tell me what's wrong with him.” Her mouth shut with a snap as Emilia held up a weathered hand, a sure sign that her patience was failing. As curious as Ginny was, she would not be able to investigate the pendant tonight if she was cleaning every dish in the camp.

“See to your dragon, girl. I will tell you what you need to know, when you need to know it.”

Ginny stood with her hands held carefully at her sides until the older woman had exited the tent, then grabbed a pillow in one hand and swung it violently against the bed until it exploded in a cloud of feathers. With a flick of her wand behind her and a muttered evanesco, Ginny was out of the tent and striding towards the dragon keep.

She had reached the entrance to Damian's tent and was about to enter when her hand froze at the tent flap. Voices drifted out of the tent into the night air: Adi, Sorin, and someone else…Someone decidedly un-Romanian. A stranger? With her dragon? Fear and suspicion welled up in Ginny before she could think, and she strode inside the tent so quickly that she almost ran over Adi.

The boy leapt back to his feet without skipping a beat and grabbed Ginny's hands, leading her over to the stranger before she could protest. “Ginny! This is Silyen, he's come to help Damian! Look!” He pointed away from the man to Damian, and Ginny realized with a start that the dragon was sitting in an upright position for the first time in a month. Mouth hanging open, she walked to Damian and ran her hands over his smooth scales, searching his mind for answers. He did feel stronger, but the wall was still there, if smaller. Turning to Sorin, she raised a questioning eyebrow.

“It's true, fiicã, Silyen has been a great help already. Look at how much better Damian is,” Sorin said.

Ginny glanced back at the stranger, who was looking at her oddly. His simple clothes were travel-worn, but clean. Dragon hide boots marked with wear matched the dragon hide bag at his feet, which was bulging with bottles full of dubious looking liquids. She looked up at his face again. A plain face, framed by brown hair, and set with brown eyes that hadn't left her since she entered the tent. The git was staring at her! That, coupled with her frustration at having to do endure so many mysteries in one day, made her temper flare once more. She planted herself in front of him, hands on hips. “Well? What did you do to my dragon? And what are you bloody staring at?”

The man's face broke into a grin Ginny did not quite like the look of. “Do you always go prancing about in your night clothes?”

With a start Ginny realized that she hadn't yet changed out of her sick clothes. A thin, cotton undershirt was all that stood between her bare chest and this leering stranger.

“Not that I mind, of course,” offered the obnoxious man.

Reddening, she crossed her arms over her chest, trying to pass it off as a gesture of intimidation. “What kind of name is Silyen, anyway? Not Romanian, of course.”

Silyen shrugged. “It's Celtic. Means “sun born.” He smiled at her in a way she supposed he thought disarming.

“Well, Silyen, your mother seems to have possessed quite an unfortunate flair for the dramatic,” Ginny said, and turned to go, but he seemed quite happy to continue speaking to her back.

“What about you? Are you a gypsy like the rest of them?”

Ginny grabbed a fistful of red hair and all but waved it under his nose. “Does this look Romanian to you? Anyway, they're not Gypsies. The preferred term is Romani, and you'll do well to remember that around the elders.”

“I'll do my best,” he said dryly, and bent to gather various bottles back into his bag. Ginny stood with her arms crossed until he had shook Sorin's hand and exited the tent. As Silyen disappeared from view Damien let out a shrill whine, at Ginny stared at him in amazement. Damian simply did not behave that way around strangers, friendly though he was. She could feel the disappointment rolling off him as strongly as if she herself had abandoned him. Jealousy and confusion heated her blood for a moment, before Sorin's sharp voice brought her back to reality.

“That was quite a display, fiicã. I would think you would be a little more grateful, considering that he came here just for Damian.”

“And what do we know about him, Sorin? How did he know about Damian? How did he know how to make him better?”

“He arrived two days ago,” said Adi, coming over to Ginny. “He said he was visiting some relatives nearby and heard about our dragons. He seemed to know exactly what to do. He had all these bottles and potions, and he made me take one to Damian, and the next day, Damian was better.” Ginny smiled at the way the words tripped from Adi's mouth in his haste to explain. He obviously liked this man. She rumpled his hair with one hand. “So, you trust him then, Adi?”

The boy's mouth turned down as he considered his options. “If you don't like him, Ginny, then I won't like him either.”

“He's done nothing but help so far, fiicã,” said Sorin.

Ginny walked to where Sorin was examining Damian. “He does feel stronger, Sorin. But the wall is still there, I can feel it when I touch him.” Clearing her head, she let her mind flow into Damian's. Bright reds and golds burst in her mind as she felt the edge of the dragon's excitement. She could feel his eagerness to be outside, and the itching in his wings that hadn't been spread in so long. Damian raised himself up on his hind legs and beat his wings against the floor. Forgetting herself for a moment, Ginny threw her arms around the dragon's neck and laughed, letting herself drift along the dragon's thoughts. Maybe this stranger can cure him, she thought. For a moment, she almost wished Draco were with her, and her face burned with anger at her slip-up. Damian whined again, and Ginny slid off him with a sigh.

“Ginny, what is this?” said Sorin suddenly, catching her by the wrist. He pointed to a spot just below Damian's ribs, where the light caught a flaw in the evenly spaced scales.

“I don't know, Sorin. A loose scale, perhaps? They'll all be shedding soon.”

“I do not think so, fiicã.” With a finger he lifted the loose scale from Damian's hide. “Come here. Tell me what you make of this.”

Ginny bent close to Damian's side, squinting to see in the dim tent light. The skin was green and smooth under the removed scale, except for several pale, raised lines that appeared in the half-light. Ginny gave a start as the pendant around her neck seemed to heat for a moment, then cool as though nothing had happened. She ran her fingers over the ridges in the dragon's skin. “They almost look like scars, Sorin.”

“That is what I thought too.” Sorin's dark head was bent in thought, and Ginny jumped as he stood suddenly. “I must speak with Emilia, fiicã.” He walked quickly to the door and almost crashed into Corina as she entered the tent.

The Romanian woman's dark eyes flashed at Sorin in contempt. Corina was slim, barely more than a girl, with a body that rivaled a boy's in leanness. She wore an abundance of jewelry to make up for her boyish features, and low-slung belts in an attempt to give herself a waist. She made a show of smoothing her intricately embroidered skirts over her hips before addressing them.

“I'm afraid that will have to wait, dragon handler. Emilia wishes to see Ginny. Now.”

Her thin lips curled at the edges in a frown, and Ginny suppressed a sigh. She and Corina had begun lessons from the Strigele at the same time, and Corina did not appreciate being made to learn with what she called an engleza, a stranger from England. Ginny made herself release the tight grip she had on her wand. She would enjoy nothing more than hexing Corina into the next camp, but that would never do. “Lead the way, Corina,” she said brightly, smiling inwardly at the other girl's scowl. Chit.

Corina led Ginny in silence past the campfires to the small hill where Emilia was waiting. She dismissed Corina with a wave of her hand, and the furious young woman gripped her skirts so tightly her knuckles turned white as she marched straight-backed back down the hill. Emilia's eyebrows rose to her hairline, but it was Ginny she spoke to.

“I want you to look at this, fiicã.” She dropped a small, rounded piece of metal into Ginny's hands. It looked like age-darkened iron…or was it earth? The strange object was smooth under her fingers and dipped down to form a little hollow. “It's a bowl,” she whispered to herself, confused. She turned it over and over in her hands, puzzling. The dark material seemed to both absorb and reflect light, at times cool and others quite hot. Ginny felt oddly drawn to it, and almost protested when Emilia took it out of her hands.

“It is sonda, girl.” She held the bowl up to the sky, where it shimmered for a moment before reflecting the roiling clouds gathering in the dimming sky. She lowered it and it changed again to blend in with the green grass under their feet. “A relic from ages past, we have lost the knowledge that made their creation possible.”

“But what does it do?” asked Ginny, her palms practically itching to hold it again.

“It is like your wand, in a way, fiicã. You may use it to draw on magic, but more magic than you could pull through any wand. There is something in the making of these sondas that allows us to hold enough magic to destroy half the dragon camp, if we wished.”

Ginny stared at the bowl doubtfully. “So, it's like an amplifier?”

“If you wish. Would you like to hold it again?” She held out the bowl once more. “You may try it, if you like, but let us not repeat the incident with your dragon.”

Ginny took back the bowl, noticing for the first time the spiral etched into its inside surface. Her eyes followed the coiling line as it wound around and around the bowl, until it came to rest at the center. As lightly as a breath of air on her cheek, Ginny felt the magic beginning to flow through her. Magic, pure as fresh spring water, poured into her from the bowl, until she felt soaked in it. It was the most wonderful sensation she had ever experienced, so much so that she did not want to shift that power away from her to perform any magic. She would just stay and hold the bowl forever, drinking in the sensation. Vaguely she was aware of Emilia saying something to her, and with a jolt snapped back to reality as Emilia took the bowl again from her hands.

“Fiicã, if you cannot learn to concentrate—” Emilia looked annoyed, but faintly amused. “We will begin learning with these tomorrow. You will come to me at dawn to begin new lessons.”

For once Ginny did not complain. These sondas were far too interesting. “Are there more, doamnã? I mean, in the camp? Do the other Strigele have them too?”

“There are more, girl. We have enough for ourselves, but there are many that have been lost. And there are more still that we do not know the purpose of. You have seen the stone sculptures in the forest?”

Ginny nodded, remembering the great, hulking stone shapes nestled amongst the trees in the forest next to the camp. “Draco and I used to go out there to be alone.”

Emilia's mouth thinned, but she did not press the subject. “They are sonda also, though we do not know what they do. It is dangerous to try them, you understand?”

“Yes, doamnã, I understand.” She doubted she would have time to go running about in the forest in the near future anyway.

“Good.” Emilia slipped the little bowl into a pouch in her belt and Ginny sighed. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Ginny agreed.

***

Alone in his tent, Silyen lay on his back, deep in thought. Periodically he rolled over or kicked his legs, but he could not get comfortable. Nor could he get the redheaded woman from the dragon tent out of his mind. Worse still, his skin itched as though he had been covered in ants, and he could feel every curling dark hair on his head prickling into his skull.

“Sod it,” he said suddenly, reaching into his dragon hide bag for a small green bottle. “I don't have to sleep in this.” Grimacing before the foul liquid had even passed his lips, he drained the little bottle and set back to wait. The transformation back was not nearly as painful, for some reason.

He waited until his stomach had settled and the feeling that his flesh was melting off his bones had abated. He stood and stretched, reveling in the feeling of being in his own skin again. He ran his hands through his hair, thankful that his fingers were met with smooth, silvery-blond strands, rather than the thick, curly brown hair that so resembled the Mudblood.

Laying out a bottle holding the contents of tomorrow's dose on the little table by his bed, he lingered in front of his mirror as though he needed a reminder that he was still himself. Cool, grey eyes looked steadily back at him, and he smiled. “Still a Malfoy,” he said, and waved out the candles.

***

Next chapter: a trip to town, lurking vampires, and Draco gets a little bit closer to Ginny. *scampers away*