Oleandra Stunned the two Druids she had pinned to the ground, kicking their staves clean from their grasp for good measure, before turning her gaze to the hilltop. She could hear nothing but the low rumble of the army poised just beyond the bounds of her Muggle-Repelling Charm, which was rather worrisome.
"Wanderer?" Oleandra called out. "Are you okay?"
Concerned for her travelling companion, she flew to the summit, where she found him standing victorious over his foe, using the golden spear he had driven through the chest of the charred corpse at his feet as a crutch to steady himself.
"You killed him," Oleandra said, her eyes flicking down.
Before agreeing to lend her the Sorting Hat to train her swordplay, Dumbledore had made her promise never to turn her sword against her fellow students. His reasoning was that, when one possessed the power of magic, there was no justifiable cause to resort to lethal force— and those words had long remained with her.
"Obviously," Wanderer replied tiredly. "He attacked me while I was down. How many enemies remain?"
The wolf and aurochs Animagi were dead. The female swift Animagus was unconscious. One, two, three male Druids were incapacitated, pinned to the ground and unconscious. That made six in total: everyone was accounted for.
"I just don't understand why this Druidic clan would choose to work with these Muggles," said Oleandra, shaking her head in incomprehension. "I thought we were supposed to be better than this."
"I can think of a few reasons," said Wanderer. "Protection, manpower, women and status. That's how it is with my clan. We help the nobility with our magic, and in exchange, they have the serfs do all the tedious jobs for us— like making food, sewing clothes, and gathering magical supplies."
Wizard–Muggle cooperation was one thing, but the very notion of wielding magic in warfare sickened Oleandra. Having grown up a would-be Squib and attended school alongside Muggle children in an age when magic was carefully concealed from the general populace for their own good, Oleandra had never truly contemplated what might transpire should Wizards and Muggles ever go to war against one another.
It was only when Oleandra awakened to her Faerie lineage and heard Viviane's accounts of the bloody era of the Saxon conquest of Britain that she realised her magic was utterly at odds with her worldview. Magic could indeed be used to great effect against Muggle armies and unwitting civilians; it was just a question of being ruthless enough.
Arthur, the Knights of the Round Table, Merlin, and even the reluctant sisters Viviane and Morgan le Fay, had all fought tooth and nail against those invaders, who had brought the foreign magic of the stars with them from overseas.
"Come on," said Oleandra angrily. "There's no reason for us to stay here any longer."
The leader of the Druids, the bear Animagus named Merwydd, had yet to appear on the battlefield, though Oleandra would not be surprised if he showed up soon. He had likely been standing at the Muggle lord's side during the battle, acting as his bodyguard, but with three of his clan slain in battle, she was uncertain whether his loyalty would outweigh his lust for revenge.
"Oi, wait up!" wheezed Wanderer, as he hobbled after her, using his spear as a walking stick. "In case you've forgotten, I haven't moved in nine days! Let me loosen up my muscles first, if we're going to be jumping into another battle."
Together, they slowly made their way down the hill.
Owls still circled ominously above them as they followed the beaten dirt path down the hill towards a forest of wooden stakes in full leaf. Without a steady supply of power, the Druids' Ents had slowed to a near standstill, gradually regressing back into stakes of living wood. As for Oleandra's Ents, most had already vanished, being Geminio doubles Transfigured from the same, original acorn.
For all its versatility, Greco-Roman-style wand magic was a notoriously ephemeral discipline.
"Ngh…" Oleandra groaned, clutching her head.
"Viviane?" asked Wanderer. "What's going on?"
Oleandra doubled over in pain.
Darkness flickered at the edges of her vision, and she could hear her blood thumping loudly in her ears. It felt as though her head might burst, and then, abruptly, the roaring in her ears fell silent. Feeling rather empty, she looked up.
"I'm sorry, Merlin… I'll find a way to get you out of there, I swear I will. Just wait for me, and I'll make everything right."
Standing there before Oleandra was Viviane's slender figure, as clear as day. Tears streamed down her face as she pummelled a wooden stake, which had not so long ago been an Ent, with her delicate fists.
"Eh!?" Oleandra blurted out.
"What is it?" asked Wanderer in confusion.
It did not seem like the apparition could see them— and neither could Wanderer see it.
"Good riddance, I'd say," came a sharp snigger from a second woman, who suddenly appeared in Oleandra's sight as she stepped out of another wooden stake, emerging through it as though it were a doorway. "Well done, Sister; it was quite impossible to accomplish anything with him about."
How could Oleandra forget Morgan le Fay? She remembered this memory very clearly! She had seen it right after Voldemort had killed her, two years ago!
"Don't tell me the ritual actually worked?" Oleandra muttered to herself.
To imprint the part of her soul that had been obliterated back onto herself, Oleandra had meant to sleep for seven days and seven nights beside the Sword of the Lake, but had accidentally slept for nine— coinciding precisely with the timing of Wanderer's hanging.
Upon waking, she had noticed no immediate change to herself and believed she had failed. She had then blamed the failure on Suit's presence, since it had remained concealed on her body ever since Christmas without saying a word… yet now it seemed that the reintegration process was simply not instantaneous. And now, her past incarnations' lives were blending into her consciousness, causing her to see things that were not truly there.
That meant the eyeball lady she had seen earlier was one of her past lives… but if that was the case, why had she seen her in particular, rather than Viviane, who had accompanied her the most out of all her incarnations?
Dazed, Oleandra watched as her hallucination of Morgan le Fay pointed her wand at her.
"Watch out!" Wanderer roared, shoving Oleandra to the ground.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!"
Oleandra's mind spun. How could Wanderer have seen Morganna? This was all happening in her head, wasn't it!?
"Did you hit your head or something?" Wanderer yelled. "Get up and fight!"
The green beam of death magic suddenly twisted, turning into a knotted rope of green vines whizzing over her head. Morganna's form flickered like candlelight, and her image suddenly shifted into that of a gigantic, brown bear.
Oleandra's eyes widened— her hallucinations were overlapping with reality, and it couldn't be happening at a worse time!