Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

By The Light	By : lycanthrope Category: Harry Potter > FemSlash - Female/Female Views: 17677 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: All of the characters portrayed in this fic (apart from Jamie.) and all other creations existing within the world Of Harry Potter are the creative genius of J.K Rowling, I make no profit from the writing or posting of this fan fiction.

Chapter List
- 33
- 34
- 35
Chapter 34

Prickling heat covers my skin in direct contrast to the cool wind sweeping around my form, both of the elements the first indication that I am sprinting. Ducking under braches and leaping over large rocks, never once slipping on the soggy earth, or losing my footing on a protruding obstruction. All of this without effort, without awareness, my body twisting, turning, weaving, bending, carving a path through the dense vegetation with the ease of a hot knife through butter.

As the spaces between the high trees begins to widen my legs start to draw to a jog, eyes scanning through the lush greenery, seeking a new point of reference to close the distance between myself and my quarry. With a sharp turn to the left, my nose follows the steady trail of blood left all around, eyes detecting a splash of red on a nearby outcropping, even though in such darkness I have little perception of colour.

My feet all but stop from under me, breathing heavily after the exertion but able to keep my intakes steady. Relying on my highly sensitive ears to lead me the last few yards to the injured beast as his scent all but surrounds me and provides no indication of the direction I should follow.

A grunt punctures the air, a sound so low in both pitch and volume even I might have missed it had I not been seeking it so intently.

Forcing myself to remain at the pace of a steady walk so I do not startle the animal, I push against the thin braches obscuring my vision, high above my head and lay eyes on the centaur I had been in search of.

He can be little more than a foal, defiantly preteen if the lack of body and facial hair is anything to go by. His human body porcelain white, while his hindquarters palomino blond to match the mop of hair upon his head. He faces me but has twisted his small upper body around and is bent at a seemingly awkward angle in a feeble attempt to reach his rump.

I have been neither heard nor spotted by the youthful stallion, which is odd to say the least. I had been under the belief that these creatures, while majestic and gallant were always somewhat cautious. Much of their interests may be found in the stars, but to be able to survive in the harshness of the wilderness they must also be constantly aware of the here and now. However I must remind myself that what stands before me is but a boy. A child of the forest yes but a child all the same.

I find myself faced with the agonising decision of how exactly to proceed. The scent of blood still hangs like a thick fog in the air all around me, yet this creature still bears his own weight so it would be easy to assume the unseen wound, while painful is not immediately life threatening. With that in mind, I have neither reason nor inclination to scare the lad, especially when he rides upon four legs and I only two. Even with this grace I possess, which has so recently become apparent, he could outrun me in seconds. The wolf inside of me has already made it clear that this creature evading my assistance will not be tolerated and I will be forced to pursue.

Consciously I push my leg out in front of me and press my toes deep into the carpet of leaves around our feet, pushing against them to shuffle them from their resting place. The small innocuous sound alerts him to my presence almost instantly, his back going rigid, as the stinging scent of fear pierces the air. I allow myself a very private smile, safe in the knowledge that even in such early stages of development centaurs are very attuned to the nature around them.

His human torso jerks around a moment later, his eyes wide open in the dim light but still I watch a spark of dread pass across those irises. His hindquarters shift in a very nervous gesture and his foreleg bends at the knee, weather to flee or stamp at the ground with his hoof I am uncertain but I must make sure he does not perform the former.

Quickly I hold out my hands, palms facing him in the universal sign of peace. Contouring my face into a mask of concern and keeping my voice as calm as possible “Wait.” His rear end shifts, altering his direction drastically and I can see him heavily favouring one side, even as he begins to drag his front hoof against the ground in a highly threatening manner. “You’re injured.” I remind the boy, knowing from experience that a perceived threat can dull the pain throughout your body, overriding it with a need to survive.

“Yeah.” He admits his voice high in pitch to show his age but still his hooves remain restless. He wishes to run, take off for his home at the gallop but something stops him. “Stay away, human.” He says a moment later, all four of his legs take him back a step or two away from me.

It takes considerable effort to catch his eyes, considering that they are scanning the trees around us, presumably looking for his parents to protect him from the strange woman who has appeared so abruptly. Once I have his gaze locked on mine I refuse to lose the connection, holding them open even as they begin to sting. “I just want to help you.” The quasi-falsehood tastes bitter on my tongue and shame assaults me with more vigour than I can ever remember. Had Ammy’s insistent emotions not provoked this venture into the forbidden forest I would very likely have simply ignored that note of distress I heard in the wind. Now seeing the boy’s age, the pain and uncertainty on his face, I could not imagine myself leaving this creature to its fate.

He takes another step back, disbelief plain across his face, his long tail whips out, I can see the muscles bunching all along his coupling and rump, a clear indication that he is preparing to rear up before bolting off where I will be unable to follow. “Look at me.” I implore. Hoping a praying that all my studies have not been in vain, I am quite firmly under the impression that these creatures possess sight very different to ours. Able to see right into the very heart and soul of any of the people they come across, this may be why they have deemed us unworthy company.

It is my hope that he might see the animal inside of me before he sees into my soul and finds it black. That his age might make him more trusting to a fellow half-breed before the nature of my human half might make him turn and flee in terror. “Just look at me. I’m as human as you are.”

That appears to grab his attention, his head tilting to the side, deep in his curiosity. As I let him appraise me I watch as his expressive rear-end stops all movement, no longer appearing so nervous whilst in my company. “A childe of the moon.” He says, his voice taking on a distant tone.

Thinking that I might be making progress I keep my arms outstretched so he can see my unthreatening hands, stopping in my tracks when his human torso clenches and he once more scans the trees. I’m losing what little trust I have gained and I must retrieve it. “I’ve never heard that expression before.” I say, my voice low and calming. “You’ve heard of my kind?”

His body is still tense and his movements are abrupt, even as he swings his gaze towards me. “Savage beasts.”

“True enough.” I concede. It would be unjust to call the observation in any way a misconception but using my slip from humanity is the only card I have to play. “But do I appear savage now?”

This does little more than confuse him, drawing attention to my slow and passive movements. “No.” He says after a long pause, curiosity clouds his face and instantly I know that I have, at least for the moment, halted any thoughts and making off without accepting my aid. “Neither human nor beast.”

Now it is my turn to be confused. Surly I can only be described as both; especially with the primal half of my being pushed so close to the surface and dictating my actions. “That’s a nice way to look at it.” I say, taking a step forward and silently cheering when the young pony holds his ground.

He points at me in a manner I would normally consider to be impolite, had he not been so young I might have taken offence, even when I hear awe clouding his voice. “It’s in your eyes.”

Can he see Ammy? As she prowls around in my mind, still very present in my consciousness but remaining conspicuously quiet. Or can he see my intentions? “What is in my eyes?”

His eyes sparkle in spite of the pain he must feel and his face pulled into a bright, beaming grin. “The brightest of lights.”

Well that made everything as clear as mud; I shake my head at the thought. Had I really expected a straight answer from a centaur? Although I cannot tell you what it is he means and I am intrigued, I change my tactics, Ammy’s emotions pushing a sense of urgency to tend to the wounded animal. “What’s your name?” Another slow step closer and slowly I bring my hands down to my sides, it doesn’t appear to bother him in the slightest.

“Tamlen.” He answers me slowly, his eyes still taking in my form and apparently not noticing the change in my position. “And you?”

Sidestepping slightly to get a better view of his rump, I spot the trickle of blood coating his hind leg, trailing all down his gaskin and dropping steadily off the hock of his rear leg. “These day’s people call me Jamie.” I answer him trying not to sound overly distracted as I visually assess the wound.

“And you let them?” He asks so innocently that it snaps my attention back to the conversation.

Slowly I shrug, “I kind of like it.” I admit. It is certainly preferable to my given name, having heard it for most of my life. Wanting to change the course of the talk back to the matter at hand I barely pause for breath before I continue. “That looks painful.” Not to mention he is still steadily losing blood. The gash may only be slowly oozing his life’s liquid but it is showing little signs of stopping if it is not tended to.

He winces as if just now noticing and takes even more weight off his hind leg. “It is.” The admittance sounds forced to my ears and quickly I relate the tone, to a feeling of discomfort over having me see him in such pain.

“Can I look at it?” My question is followed by a long, heavy silence. His face showing his indecision to me, the creases catching what little light is available, casting across his features in long shadows of irresolution.

Calmly, I remain perfectly still, listening to his heart pounding against his chest in a frantic rhythm. The poor boy has no idea what to do, to have anything even resembling a human touching him for any reason must considered a gross insult, but something has made him lame and with no other forms of aid forthcoming he has little choice.

It takes many minutes for him to nod his consent and when I make to walk towards him with my long gait he physically flinches, forcing me to take a much slower approach.

When I am within touching distance I slowly reach out my hand, flattening my palms against his foreleg where he can clearly see my movement. Marvelling at how young a creature such as this can be and still rival my excessive height, the top of his head overshadowing mine by at least two inches. Keeping my eyes on his face I run my hand with as much haste as I dare along his back and over his croup. Softly uttering a command of “Keep still,” when he tries to shift to keep my movements in his view.

As my fingers gently graze the deep incision in his hindquarters, they shift sharply, so I rest an open palm against the deep curve of his back, hoping that it might offer him some comfort. His shoulders bunch and I watch as a grimace passes across his face just before he turns away. It’s probably for the best, I certainly wouldn’t wish to stare at a gaping wound while another species prods and pokes at it. “How did this happen?” I ask, just as my fingers touch the thick, warm trail of blood. Deeply imbedded in the horseflesh is some sort of object and even the small surface that protrudes feels sharp to the touch.

“Mountain of a man,” He pauses as I push against the obstruction, finding it lodged deeply into his hide. When he speaks again I can hear his teeth grinding and a grunt of pain laced through each syllable. “Likes to throw rocks.”

He cannot see me, but still I turn disbelieving eyes in his direction. Can this sharp implement really be made of stone? However the other part of his sentence is what I question. “There are no giants in the Forbidden Forrest.” He gives a short humourless laughter but doesn’t comment, taking on a district air of superiority. An infuriating trait shared by all centaurs I know, but who would have guessed it started so young. The current direction of the conversation is doing little to relax the boy, judging by the ridged line along his human back, so I quickly drop the subject. “This has to come out.”

Every pretence around him drops as he turns to me, worry shining in his eyes. He face takes on an expression that is much more suited to his age. He may still be looking down on me but he is still turning to his elders for help. “Won’t that hurt?”

Slowly I nod, “I would think so.” The scent of panic hits the air and invades my nostrils. Reacting instantly, I bunch my hand into a fist through his withers, vowing now that I have seen the severity of the wound that I will keep my grip and hold him firm. “Calm down. I can help with the pain.” Blood covered fingers leave his wound and push against the open sides of my robes, streaking an ugly line of scarlet all along the handle of my wand as it falls into my grip.

As soon as he sees the wooden shaft he twists and turns batting at my outstretched arm that is still tangled in his mane. “I need none of that help.”

Shuffling my feet to follow where his nervous hooves lead while trying to keep my exposed toes out from underneath them is no easy task I assure you. “And what use has your clan for a lame horse?” This does little more than anger him, it was my intention to be frank but I may have to rethink my approach, before he begins to buck and threatens to dislodge my shoulder at the joint. “Look at me!” I yell over the pounding of hooves and his exasperated grunts. He stops and looks shocked in my direction, startled that I might dare to raise my voice at him. “Look at me.” I implore again, even though that is already what he is doing. That light that he mentioned, that once calmed him so, it is that which I wish him to see again. So ducking my head I catch his eyes, holding them and quickly he goes still. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

His eyes hold an accusing shine, as does his voice once he allows his lips to lift in a sneer and speak. “Yet you brandish your wand.”

“It’s not always a weapon.” I assure him, still keeping my eyes locked to his; silently noting that my gaze once connected almost commands his. Holding him and forcing a deep calm though the shoulders under my fist. “You have to trust me.”

His mouth opens as if to contradict but does no more than remain open. The light is so dim that I cannot tell you the true colour of his eyes, only that in my vision they resemble a pale grey but still they shine with his thoughts and feelings. He doubts himself, that light he referred to that I couldn’t fathom, halting the panic in its tracks for a second time. I know I cannot question its effects for fear of it extinguishing, for if that happens he will surly pull free. After many long moments he merely nods, keeping those keen eyes on the long strip of wood in my grasp. As my wand touches his rump I keep my gaze trained on his face, looking for the fright to return but it does not, instead he gazes at my magic as if truly seeing it for the first time. “What are you doing?”

The calm I hear in his tone gives me enough confidence to return my eyes to the intricate task of removing this object. “I’m making it so you can’t feel the pain.” In truth, healing is not a form of magic I am well versed in. Inflicting pain I am much more proficient at, so I have applied that knowledge to the task set before me.

The spell I use is often used as a curse, deadening an area of skin to the touch, it can quite easily be used on a full body and render in completely useless. In all honesty I am finding it quite difficult to reduce the strength of the spell in order to only deaden the muscles around the wound but at least he is no longer frightened. Turning my wrist I gently prod at the blooded area experimentally. “Does that hurt?”

“I cannot feel anything.” He says, his eyes shooting up to me in question.

I offer him no answers, not wishing to divulge the true nature of the magic I am using. Only nod. “You might want to look away for this.”

For a moment his eyes flick from his rump to mine and back again until understanding covers his face and I can once more detect a hint of fear. He makes no attempt to run and in truth if he had I am uncertain how far he could travel before the effects of the curse truly took effect and rendered his hind leg useless.

With his back turned to me I push my wand between my teeth and press my fingertips against either side of the obstruction, giving a sharp tug against it to test his reaction before I proceeded. Finding none I set about trying to remove it completely, pressing it from side to side to pull it free while trying to cause as little damage to the flesh as I can. Already running through a mental list of spells I can use once completed to stop the bleeding.

After several moments it pulls free, the triangle of rock lifting from the muscles with a sickening sound and more blood coasts his pale horsehair. Without a care for the state of my clothing I drop the sharp implement into my pocket for disposal later, while quickly pulling my wand from between my teeth and holding it an inch from the torn skin. Knowing that I have little experience with this form of magic I chose the strongest spell to my knowledge and even take the precaution of singing a soft chant of, ‘Vilnera Sanentur’ repeating the incitation a full three times even after the gash has healed into a thin line of bare skin amongst the thick hair around his rump.

“Is it over?” I hear asked after a deep silence has claimed us for several heartbeats. Tamlen’s voice taking on that of a child for the first time, his demeanour betraying his age as much as his appearance.

Letting my fingers come loose of his withers I run my thumb over the line of exposed skin. Not even a scar remains and the hair will grow back given time. “That’s it.” I say and with a flick of my wand silently remove the curse, which has numbed the pain. “How does it feel?”

He gives a stomp of his back leg, the hoof digging into the ground on impact. “Much better.”

It is only when I smile at his awestruck face that I notice the sound of a stampede. Heavy hands descend from above a moment later, pressing against my collarbone and throwing me down onto the ground. As I strike the earth, I feel my palm press against an unknown sharp hazard, nestled deep into the leaves and hidden from sight. Breaking my skin so the blood of two beasts may blend upon it. Ignoring the prickly, annoying pain I allow my training to take over and I raise my wand a moment later at my unseen attacker. Disquieted by the fact that I had been so intend in aiding the wounded animal that I had failed to notice the danger until it was too late to retreat from it.

Above me the terrifying sight of a horse’s underbelly invades my vision. Heavy, hard hooves bearing down on me as the adult centaur rears back, placing his body between the boy and myself and even though I do not cry out or give any indication of my fright my heart begins to hammer so hard in my chest that I find it unthinkable that all the creatures around me are unable to hear it. The adult gives out a strange noise somewhere between a whinny and a battle cry, the noise pressing against my eardrums in a most intimidating manner. I feel fear coil into a cold, ball deep in my stomach and reaching out with my injured hand, trying to pull myself away from those dangerous hooves while still holding my only weapon in a defensive position, only to find nothing to grasp onto.

When cloven feet rest upon the ground, with more grace and dignity than I could ever have foretold, I lift my gaze only to find myself threatened by yet another weapon. The point of an arrow aimed directly between my eyes. The grip on my wand tightens but I restrain myself from uttering a spell, a mistake that could prove fatal but Ammy’s strange feelings will not allow me to unleash any harm to these creatures without indisputable proof that it is only to defend myself.

Fighting against my instincts, I lift my sights still further, having to crane my neck to look up the impossible height of the beast before me. Finding his eyes alight with fury, lip pulled high over white teeth, bearing them like a predator waiting for its kill. The rage completely blinds him, he doesn’t stop to take note of my recent action or even ascertain what they were, unimpeded by the loud cries of Tamlen behind him held back by an adult female.

The bow sting pulls more taught in his grasp and I know I must take action before I find that arrow hurtling towards me. So adjusting my aim ever so slightly I fire off a warning shot, the spell whistles past his ear, designed to catch his attention and force him to think of his next move. Due to my position, laid prone on the floor the curse flies upwards, impacting high above everyone’s head against the bark of a tree, exploding on impact and the loud crack can be heard echoing between the trees for several long moments.

Unnerved by my show of strength the string becomes lax, but still the arrowhead remains trained in my direction. “What right have humans to trespass on our land?” He speaks, curtly and coldly, threatening me with his very tone.

“A duress of circumstance.” I reply, lacing the same tone between my words, knowing that any show of weakness will be my end.

His forelegs twitch and I can see that he wishes to pace, exert energy and possibly scare me in the process. “What circumstance?”

“The boy was injured.” I say in my own defence.

The female then enters the disagreement from an unseen place behind my immediate threat. “What interest have humans in us?”

The adult male’s face appears to melt as he meets my gaze, slowly lowering his weapon until the tip points safely towards the ground. “There is no human here.” How is it that the child was able to notice my condition quicker than this man?

After a short trot the female comes to stand next to what presumably is her husband of sorts, resting her open hand against his bicep. “A childe of the moon,” I have to admit I am beginning to really enjoy that term. It is at least preferable to half-breed anyway.

“Who flourishes in the light.” The man finishes, his eyes darting back and forth almost in wonder. Without warning he bends into a low bow, one of his forelegs outstretched far out in front of him showing me the vulnerable top of his head and exposed back. “Forgive us Mother, we did not realise.”

Sensing no more danger from the creatures I drop my wand from its threatening pose. “What does that mean?” I ask instantly. The reaction of the young boy, to whatever they see shining in my eyes was fortunate to but for two adults to not only notice but to pay me such a high degree of respect borders on the impossible.

The woman adjusts her long, thin legs against the ground and makes no effort to protect Tamlen as he walks to her side. “Mother to us all.” She says, remaining just as cryptic. “Your coming was foretold.”

That small sentence has me up on my feet in an instant, ignoring the impending danger and stepping closer to the two centaurs. “Foretold?” The two share a glace, an unspoken communication that is both infuriating and somewhat familiar. The spitting image of what I have witnessed both Ginny and Hermione share on countless occasions but this time it is different. Where before I might experience a fleeting sense of curiosity right here and now I feel an urgency coil in my chest.

Taking a firm grip of my wand I step forward again, trying to catch the eyes of either adult so they might be able to explain. “What was foretold?”

The man takes a hesitant step back, both sets of eyes once more on me but still they continue to speak as though I cannot listen. “The vessel is still ignorant.”

“It is too soon.” The woman replies and I have to fight to urge to bind and beat the two until I receive something resembling of an answer.

I can feel the anger and frustration coiling along my shoulders and drawing them close. “What is that supposed to mean?”

The male once more bends, low to the ground. Keeping silent but still showing immense respect, he than backs away but never turning. Leavening his wife to step towards me. In her eyes I see a deep kindness that is irrefutable and for just a second I think she might just answer all of my questions. Reaching out she has to bend at the hip to rest it on my shoulder, squeezing the muscle under her fingers and sending me a bright smile. “When you have found the origin of all that is good, you may come to us again.” Taking her turn she also bows, her long hair trailing along the carpet of leaves.

The small family turns and with a final glance back towards me as they take off at a gallop, leaving me in stunned silence, surrounded by the scent of blood. I have the sudden urge to scrub my palm over my eyes but stop myself at the sight of the scarlet liquid that covers my fingers.

“The origin of all that is good.” I speak aloud when the sound of beating hooves travel far off into the woods. “You know what that means, don’t you?” I say, knowing the animal inside of me will know that my words are directed towards her.

At this she does the very last thing I expect, leaving my consciousness with such abruptness that the feeling of loneliness that suddenly overtakes me threatens to drag me once more to the floor. Only by locking my knees in place and tensing my muscles against the almost painful sensation keeps me on my feet.

With no one else to question and nowhere else to turn I push my head back and take a deep breath of my surrounding. Letting my senses take flight and point me in the direction of the castle, what I find is a tangible scent of Hermione hanging in the breeze. The smell I know I am most familiar with and am most likely to find even in a crowded room, calling to me and brining me home after such a strange ordeal. I slowly amble my way in that direction until I can see the rays of light breaking through the high leaves.

“Hagrid, Jamie just ran in there.” I hear Hermione’s worried tone long before they have any hope of detecting my heavy footfalls.

“I know ‘Ermione. But the Centaurs ‘ave made it clear I ‘ent welcome no more.” The voice of the Care for Magical Creatures professor holds a hint of regret at not being able to follow me into such a dangerous place. It does beg the question, bearing in mind how long he has been accepted among all the creatures of the forest, why the centaurs would chose now to expel him from their midst.

For several minutes I listen to the distant argument. The words being perceived without issue but I am simply just uninterested with the content at this time. Instead choosing to ponder the strange words of the two nameless centaur adults who are, I assume, Tamlen’s parents. Much of what has been said can simply be dismissed as centaurs speaking as centaurs do but two phrases stick in my mind, whizzing around in an endless loop, nearly unable to pick them apart.

What had they meant by ‘Mother to us all’? They could not have spoken of me, not only am I very certain I have never bore a child, let alone one with the hindquarters of a pony but I also have no noticeable maternal instinct. So they speak of Ammy, surely they must but if she has only existed for as long as my disorder has, I hardly see that she would have had time to be Mother to anyone.

The second quandary is ‘Origin of all that is good’, an odd statement to be sure. The implications of such a beast are unthinkable. Where pure evilness is quite easily obtainable, if any entity were to be the origin of all that is good it must itself be the purest form of that. The existence of such a thing is quite frankly not possible, every man and beast, no matter the brightness of his or her soul, must be tainted in some form by the darkness. The shadows surround and consume by very nature and will swallow all in its path; some are just more susceptible than others.

The disagreement stops as I purposely step onto a small twig hidden in the undergrowth to alert them of my presence. Ducking under some low hanging leaves I break the tree line, stepping out into the warm rays of sunlight bathing the earth.

Before I can even draw breath three bodies surround me, one tall and imposing, almost making me want to shrink away. “Jamie you’re bleeding.” Are the first words I hear and numbly my eyes seek out Hermione’s.

She is staring down at my hand, where a steady trail of blood drips from my fingertip and onto the grass. I had almost forgotten I had been injured. Silently I lift my hand for further inspection, the thick red liquid catching the light of the sun’s rays. The layer over my skin is not thick but I am unable to detect the cut in the crease of my palm.

Lifting my other hand into my view I see it is also stained red, however the blood on my right side has dried, now matted against my skin and is slowly flaking away.

Filled with confusion I push my digits through the thick, wet crimson liquid that surly must be my own, pressing against both muscle and tendon in search of the injury, smearing blood in the thin layer across my skin only to find it unblemished.

Hermione takes my hand in both of hers, turning it this way and that and what she sees must correspond with what my eyes have witnessed and with her head still bowed she asks, “Was the centaur bleeding?”

“Yes.” I answer in all honesty and I know I should continue. I know I should divulge that I had been certain that I too had sustained a wound, and yet there is no evidence of it now. That nagging thought at the back of my mind that maybe something within my psyche is slowly breaking, holds my tongue and now I must ponder if I must add delusions to my list of mental aliments.

“That’s a lot of blood,” Ginny observes. Keeping a step back, her normally pasty face looks ashen. “An awful lot of blood.” Her neck muscles clench in an over exaggerated swallow, as if forcing bile back down into her belly.

Not only do I wish to shift the focus of my thoughts and the conversation but also a thought suddenly strikes me that I find odd. “Do you have a problem with blood, Ginny?”

Her wide eyes meet mine, the shadows underneath them emphasized by how pale she is quickly becoming. “Little bit.”

“With Fred and George as brothers?” Hermione asks, finishing her inspection of my apparently uninjured hand, rubbing her fingers together to try and dispel some of the sickly liquid that is beginning to clot.

“It’s not so strange.” She says very defensively. “I can deal with vomit, spittle, puss and boils, but blood. Blood just freaks me out.”

“Right then.” Hagrid says, his gruff voice forcing me to crane my neck once again to look him in the eye. Only to find one surrounded by a healing bruise, the rest of the skin that can be seen over his thick beard, married in an assortment of cuts and abrasions. “Ginny, you ‘ead back inside. Can’t be scaring ‘ny more of me students now.” He puts a little more emphasis on the word ‘scaring’ than is strictly necessary, his torn face pulling into a frown.

Ginny nods frantically, already making to step away from us. “I’ll see you guys later.” Her cheeks puff out for a moment and I feel certain that she is ready to empty her stomach out onto the grass at her feet. She manages to somehow swallow it back and turns her sights towards the castle. “When there’s less blood.”

“Strange one, that girl.” Hagrid comments, just as she leaves earshot. “Come on then. We’ll get you two cleaned up.”

I would much rather have risked entering the castle to cleanse my skin, the tall man may sound kind hearted but his sheer mass is quite imposing. It is a position I will not often permit myself to be in. However Hermione sends me a reassuring smile and I follow behind the two back into the small cabin the half giant calls home.

The top of his head brushed against the top of the door frame as he enters and when I climb the three small steps into the hut I am instantly assaulted by my a blood hound so tall his shoulders are level with my hip. A cold, wet nose pressed against the skin of my hands has me flinching away from it but already his nose is coated in the rapidly drying blood that still coats my hands. “Stop that.” I hiss as low as a whisper. For some reason feeling deeply uncomfortable at the gesture of curiosity.

The mutt’s ears lift in an expression that borders on understanding and his head tilts to the side in question. Shaking my head and chalking the display up to the commanding tone of voice I had used I push further into to the one roomed dwelling, where the very tall Professor has already taken the liberty of filling a bowl the size of a baby’s bath tub with water.

Pulling my arm across my body I use my teeth to pull the sleeves of my robes up along my arm, until the bend of each elbow holds them in place. Immediately dropping both hands into the water and watching as spirals of crimson mix with the once crystal clear water.

“Fink you best tell me what ‘appened.” Hagrid says taking a seat at the small round table at the centre of the room and pulling out three mugs that are easily three times the size of one of my hands.

Hermione also dips her hands into the water, ridding herself of the taint I had passed to her. She only rubs them together for a second before she is happy they are adequate and removes them.

My own cleaning ritual is much more thorough. I am no stranger to blood on my hands, in both the literal and figurative sense. But to see it right before my eyes is always unsettling, always leaving me wanted to remove not only the physical presence of the substance but the mere memory of having seen it. “A centaur was bleeding, he’d been attacked.” I state simply, still to lost in my musing over what had been said between those trees to want to elaborate.

“By what?” Hermione asks and I can feel her eyes on me, watching the vigorous scrubbing motions of my hands.

“He called it a mountain of a man.” The water in the huge bow stops splashing against the rim as I stop all movement. Puzzle pieces falling into place all at once in my mind, cursing myself for being so blind and unable see it instantly. Slowly my head turns and I can feel the shock registering on my face twisting to take in the long form of the Professor, as he averts his gaze to the tabletop, finding the grain of the wood the most interesting thing in the room and running his meaty forefinger across it. The man who sits before me is a half giant, something that Tamlen had implied had taken to throwing rocks at him. The centaurs were defensive of their land, at the time I had thought it extreme, but I had never been in the presences of such a beast before. Then there is the fact that this man, who has held the respect of both man and beast alike for so long, would be so unceremoniously stripped of all respect. The injuries and sheepish look upon his face do nothing but confirm my theory. “But there aren’t any giants in the Forbidden Forest.” I start the mocking tone to my voice only making this man’s shoulder slump. “Are there?”

“It en’t like that.” He says, still refusing to look in my direction. “Grawp’s me brother, you see.”

“Oh, well that makes everything alright then.” My hands leave the water, my frustration is evident and it has chased away the image of crimson from my mind. Shaking them violently once into the bowl to dispense of the excess liquid I can feel my eyes beginning to blaze. Why do I keep putting myself into these situations? “You bring a dangerous creature onto the school grounds but it’s fine, because he’s your brother.” I know I shouldn’t take this tone of voice with a teacher but by merely knowing this I have once more placed myself in danger.

“He en’t dangerous.” Finally he turns his deep eyes in my direction and I can see that he truly believes his statement. “He just… Well he just don’ un’erstand.”

In only two steps I am at the table catching the half giant’s eye as I take a seat, digging deeply into my pocket I retrieve the stone I removed from the young centaur. Holding it up between a thumb and forefinger for him to inspect. “Do you call this harmless?”

“Where’d you get that?” He says, shifting his position, looking for the stone under all the blood.

I can see the curiosity in his eyes so I throw the sharpened rock against the table for him to examine. “I had to dig it out of horseflesh.”

“Well he just think’s their playin’ wiv’ ‘im” Very quickly this turn in conversation is making him distressed and for the first time I think I might have overestimated the emotional strength of this man, which strikes me as strange considering his size.

“I assure you they’re not. And besides,” Jabbing a finger against the table so he might better understand my viewpoint. “If Umbridge found out, she would lock you up and throw away the key.”

“Are you going to tell her?” Hermione asks, a towel the size of a bath robe held between her hands but she has long since dried them.

“No.” I say, deflating and sighing against my frustration. Leaning back heavily in the chair, resting my hand against my open palm supported at the bend of an elbow. “I’m still a half-breed. If she found out I knew about this, she’d do exactly the same to me.” The large man in front of me smiles at my words, deeply consoled by the fact that I will keep his secret. Somehow, I fear that I cannot express the exact gravity of the situation to him, but still this secret now involves me so I must do all I can to protect it. “Will you just, try to keep him away from the other creatures?”

“I’ll tal’ to ‘im.” He assures and it does not exactly fill me with confidence.

Closing my eyes and dropping my head further so I can press my digits into both of my eyebrows, fighting back a headache that I can feel building. “I suppose that will have to do.”

“Aye,” The large man agrees and we all allow the silence to continue. That is until he speaks again, his voice much more light-hearted, the discussion washing off him like water along a duck’s back. “Shall I put kettle on?”
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By The Light