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Ashborn	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 36149 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I am making no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 36
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Chapter Thirty-Seven—Introductions All Around

            Harry opened his eyes and looked around. He was standing in a clearing that at least looked pretty similar to a clearing in the Forbidden Forest, though of course he didn’t absolutely know that it was. The trees were as tall, at least, and the gently rustling leaves around him didn’t sound different from the ones he’d sometimes heard when moving through the Forest.

            “Harry. There you are.”

            Harry turned around with a smile that he hoped didn’t look as anxious as he felt. Draco smiled at him and beckoned him on, plunging into the Forest’s undergrowth. Harry followed, tilting his head back so that he could look up at the trees overheard. In one way, this was different from the parts of the Forest he had been in before: the trees were considerably taller.

            “This is the right way?”

            Draco paused and looked over his shoulder to smirk a bit, his hand resting on the trunk of a tree next to him. “Of course. Where did you think I was taking you, a bower of leaves to have my wicked way with you?” He licked his lips and winked.

            Harry ignored the blush stealing over his face, because he knew he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on what he should say next if he focused on that instead. “No,” he said stoutly. “I just—I didn’t know trees grew this big in the Forest.”

            It sounded like a stupid thing to say, but Draco only shrugged, not seeming interested one way or the other, and faced forwards. “Normally Laughter meets me here,” he said. “I think he likes the privacy, the distance it has from Hogwarts. But this time, he must have wanted you to see a little more of the werewolves’ defenses.”

            “I can’t see a thing in this gloom,” Harry said, and started to raise his wand to cast a Lumos Charm.

            “Don’t do it,” Draco said, not looking back at him. “The werewolves get very touchy about anyone using magic around them without their permission, since their experience with it is so bad.”

            Harry blinked, then nodded, and concentrated on trying not to stumble as he followed Draco. He hardly thought he would make a very graceful impression if he catapulted onto his face in front of the werewolf leader.

            They came to the edge of a wide space, at least as long as some of the trees were tall. Harry heard Draco draw in his breath, and he stood very still in front of Harry. Harry came to a halt, too, trying to ignore the wariness that made him feel as if he were walking on scorpions. Draco was the leader here, and so far, he only seemed cautious, not afraid.

            Draco moved a little, and Harry could get a look at the clearing around his shoulder. It was huge, and sprawled across the ground in a way that made Harry wonder what would happen if he tried to walk it; he was sure the werewolves would have baited it with traps. The grass was tall enough to conceal all sorts of predators, and the moonlight turned it silver. Harry wondered for a moment whether the moon was full, but he didn’t think either Draco or Laughter would have asked for a meeting then, for all their sakes.

            Then the grass in front of them trembled, and a lean man leaped out, nodding to Harry before he fixed his eyes on Draco. Harry half-shivered. The golden eyes had, he was sure, taken in all that was important about him in that one glance, which meant the man didn’t have to go on looking to understand him.

            “You are here, Malfoy,” Laughter said. “And that means the meeting can begin. I promised to provide you with more than I had so far.” His eyes shifted back to Harry, and his smile had edges that Harry didn’t think had names. “And I understand that Mr. Potter is also concerned about what the alliance can do for him. I wished to show him.”

            “You don’t have to do everything for me right now,” Harry said, pushing his glasses up his nose and wishing he could see better. The moonlight on Draco’s hair was the only thing that really identified him to Harry right now, and Laughter’s eyes cast their own light, or Harry thought he wouldn’t be able to make out any of his expressions. “I’m happy to accept that you want to judge me, and we can talk later about what that means.”

            Laughter’s teeth champed, and he seemed to laugh far down in his throat, so far that Harry shuddered just listening to the sound. “I’m sure that you would be happy to accept it,” he said. “But you see, Thera has told me about certain broken promises, and the way that you felt you were being called on for sacrifices that no one would return for you. I wish to make sure that you don’t feel that way here.” He turned and let out a long, low call that drifted over the grass. It wasn’t quite a howl, but Harry could hear some definite similarity there.

            More werewolves came out of the grass, all of them walking on two legs, but loping comfortably like wolves or dogs. The nearest ones wore clothes. Harry was glad for that; it had been hard enough knowing where to rest his eyes when he was around Kleianthe or Thera. The ones who might not lurked in the background, while the watchers in the front rank squatted down and stared at Harry and Draco.

            Draco still faced them with his head in the same posture, and Harry suspected he also maintained the same slightly bored expression. That was amazing, considering he had been told stories of werewolves being dangerous a lot longer than Harry had. But then, Draco was much braver than Harry had ever thought he was in school.

            “Grass and Wind,” said Laughter, and for a moment Harry thought it was some kind of werewolf oath, before two of the ones crouching in the grass stood up and moved forwards. He could make out the long, dark hair of a woman, and the brilliant amber-like eyes of an extremely tall man. “You will swear to him?”

            “I will,” said the man, and Harry relaxed a little despite himself. The man’s voice reminded him of Remus’s, the way that it could drag and catch around unexpected corners. He knelt down in front of Harry and held out his hands, his palms cupped as though he expected to receive a gift.

            The woman took a bit longer to agree, turning to Laughter and cocking her head in a dog-like gesture. “You are sure that he will understand and appreciate this, Laughter? I bear the boy no ill-will, but this alliance is complex enough without all the other oaths that you want to add to it.”

            “I am sure, Grass.” For a moment, Harry thought he saw the moonlight flash off Laughter’s teeth, but that might be his clothes, or the way he turned his head. Either way, Grass seemed to accept his answer, because she dropped down with only a small grumble and extended her cupped palms, too.

            “What are you making them do?” Harry asked Laughter. “I’ve had enough of Unbreakable Vows for one lifetime, and I made a vow to the centaurs.”

            “I am asking them to teach you,” Laughter said. “They are the most skilled people who follow me. Grass is a good fighter, and she has made both blades and bread with her own hands. Wind can teach you more history than you know now and nearly as much astronomy as a centaur, and branches of magic, such as beast-speaking, that might be useful to someone with Parseltongue.” Harry caught his breath, and was sure he saw Laughter smile. “Both of them can be your guards and your confidants in times of trouble, if you wish them to be. I wish to give you a future, some way to learn what your unusual life has denied you. Will you accept the gift?”

            Harry opened his mouth, but Draco reached out, caught his wrist, and shook his head. Harry remembered who was the expert here, and shut his mouth again.

            “What’s the catch?” Draco asked quietly. “You said that you would give me information on reaching the merfolk, but Harry wasn’t part of that agreement. What are you going to tell us, now, to pay that would be worth what you’re offering?”

            Laughter made a languid gesture, and someone off to the side lit a torch. Harry blinked in the sudden glare, blinked all the more when he realized that fewer of the werewolves were naked than he had thought, and frankly stared when he saw the way that Laughter looked at Draco.

            He had to suppress the urge to utter a growl of his own, pathetic though it would have sounded when compared to the noises that the werewolves could make. Draco already had a lover, he already had two, and if Laughter thought either Harry or Severus would stand to be shunted aside…

            Laughter’s eyes rested on Harry for a moment, and his smile came and went. He moved backwards, inclining his head. “Thank you for reminding me that you are still the negotiator I trust,” he told Draco. “In truth, this is a gesture of goodwill that I hope will build goodwill later. I know you, Mr. Potter, feel that few people have given you anything in your life, except demands for gifts and sacrifices. This is a gift. No strings attached—though I do ask that you not mistreat my people, of course.” He offered a faint smile that again had more edges than Harry could count. “If you choose not to learn from them, or not to have them as guards, then there is no harm done. But if you grow more confident and calm around them, because of them, then I can hope that sometime in the future you may do good for us of your own free will.”

            Harry blinked and raised a hand to touch his throat before he thought about it. Then he took it away. There was a scar there that he didn’t want to encourage the werewolves, or Draco, to look at too closely. “Thank you,” he said, because there really was no other response he could make to a gift that generous. “And—as long as you mean that, then I can accept your gift.”

            “Good,” Laughter said. “I do. I know what you could do to someone who irritated you with false promises, and of course, if I were faithless in making them, then you would not be honor-bound to hold back from harming me, by the terms of the alliance.”

He turned to Grass and Wind and perhaps communicated something with his expression that Harry didn’t catch, because both of them bowed their heads and extended their hands further. Harry stared at them, wondering if there was going to be a ritual like the one he and Thera had shared when he swore to the centaurs.

            “Place a mark on them that will show them bound to your service until either they or you weary of it,” Laughter said casually. “It may be anything you like.”

            Harry felt the revulsion crawling up his spine. Even the way Draco caught his eye and frowned couldn’t make him change the expression on his face.

            “I think I’ve had enough of marks, and scars,” he said. “I can love the people with them, but I can’t—give them. Can I choose something else instead?” He had looked at the tall grass in the clearing and remembered a Transfiguration that he had done when he was still Horcrux-hunting.

            Laughter gazed into his face, and Harry had the impression that he saw more of what was there than Harry would have preferred him to see. But he nodded. “This is your contract. Of course you may.”

            Harry nodded back, although he noted the word “contract” as something he would have to ask more details of later, and reached out, plucking two blades of grass. He would have cut them with his wand, usually, but it seemed unwise to ask permission for any magic other than what he most needed. He lifted the two blades in front of Laughter and asked with his eyes, moving one hand slowly towards his wand.

            Laughter nodded. He was watching Harry with eyes that had a kind of slow-burning light in the back of them. Harry thought he was granting Harry’s request as much to gratify his own curiosity as anything else.

            Harry turned back to Grass and Wind and made sure they were watching him as he Transfigured the blades into small books. He had thought about coins, like the Galleons Hermione used to use to remind them of DA meetings, but he didn’t think that was a good idea in this case. The werewolves didn’t seem to use money much, and he wasn’t exactly paying for their services. He wanted everyone to understand what was happening here, and also what wasn’t happening here.

            “This is yours,” he said, handing Grass the book with the gold-tinted cover. “And this one is yours,” he added, and the silver one went to Wind.

            Grass flicked through hers, and raised her eyebrows at the blank pages. “We are supposed to write in here?” she asked. “Or your orders will appear?”

            Harry couldn’t restrain a shudder at the last suggestion, which made Laughter peer at him. Harry gave him a quick smile, but he thought it would be too complicated to try and explain about Tom Riddle’s diary at the moment. “No,” he said. “They’ll grow warm if I want to talk to you, and I’ll have one, too.” He picked up another grass blade and Transfigured it into a book with a bronze cover. “Mine will grow warm if you want to talk to me. And the cover will flash different colors if one of us is in danger. Other than that, these are ordinary books. Keep them and do whatever you want with them.”

            Grass glanced at him, but said nothing. Wind murmured, “This sounds more like a gift than a marking.”

            Harry raised his eyebrows and tried for haughty. After all, it seemed to serve both Draco and Severus well, even if Severus didn’t spend much of his time negotiating with werewolves. “And that’s not a bond between two people? Two parts of the alliance?” That was probably the better phrasing, considering it was three people in this case.

            “No, it will work,” Grass said, and then stood up and looked him fully in the face. “But most people wouldn’t give werewolves this and think it was enough to stop the werewolves from attacking them. Most of them would want a mark of some kind that could act as a leash.”

            “You’re not dogs,” Harry snapped, before he could think. He heard Draco suck in a harsh breath beside him.

            There was a long, teetering pause when things could probably have gone badly in a number of ways, and then Grass smiled and shook her head. “We are not,” she said. “Thank you for remembering that.” She turned around and said something quietly to Wind. He stood up, holding his own book, and gave a small bow to Harry.

            “I accept the gift, and shall keep the book,” he said. “As long as you do the same thing to yours.”

            “And I will keep mine,” Grass said. “Conditional on the same promise.”

            “I will keep mine,” Harry said, although he couldn’t imagine what they thought might happen if somebody got rid of theirs, or why he would want to get rid of his. “And please let me know if you need me.”

            “You were concerned about spending too much of your time and energy on the alliance with nothing in return, and now you are offering to spend more and more of those things on two werewolves you didn’t know ten minutes ago?” Laughter looked at him in what Harry thought was strained patience. “I begin to think that you create most of your own problems with sacrifices and gifts yourself.”

            Draco winced for a different reason, but Harry found that he could smile. “Some of them I do,” he agreed. “Others happen because I make bargains too easily, or think that I’m ready for something I’m not ready for. I might as well grant someone who’s going teach me equal consideration, though.”

            Laughter said nothing, but Harry knew that he might speak with Grass and Wind when they’d left. That didn’t concern him. As long as Grass and Wind wanted to obey Laughter, they would. Harry’s main concern was not forcing someone to do something they didn’t want to, at this point. Thera had chosen to be bound to him. Grass and Wind had accepted their gifts. If he became like Severus, making Ashborn, he would not be able to stand it.

            “Now,” Laughter said, and turned to Draco, “I believe that I owe you some information about the merfolk and Mermish.”

            As the conversation turned, and Grass and Wind faded into the ranks of the pack again, Harry gratefully stepped away and leaned against a tree. The pressure of the attention on him, hundreds of eyes, had made him feel as if he was about to step off a cliff. Now he got the chance to watch Draco as negotiator, and that was much more to his taste than doing ancient pure-blood things he still didn’t always understand in front of an audience.

            He saw part of the reason that Draco was a good negotiator at once: he had picked up on the trick of giving the person he was looking at his whole attention. That was the kind of thing Harry had only seen him doing to Severus, when he first came to the Ashborn.

            Not that I don’t have evidence of how he can pay attention to other people. Harry shifted and felt his elbow brush the tree, waking a remembrance of Draco’s warm body. He shivered.

            He found himself going over what Laughter had said in his head, and smiling. What would he want to learn how to do? Maybe not fighting, since he’d had more than enough for one lifetime, and maybe not cooking; that reminded him a lot of his chores at the Dursleys’, and he really wanted to stop thinking about them if he could.

            But forging metal sounded interesting. Harry had seen a few dwarfs working forges on the Horcrux hunt, and what impressed him was the way they could just keep their arms rising and falling for hours, and lose themselves in the metal and the heat and the endless physical labor.

            Something like that might be good for me. And if I can’t decide what I should do or be right away, that doesn’t matter, because I have all the time in the world to make that decision.

            For the first time in weeks, Harry found himself smiling as he thought about the future, and more than just because he was anticipating being with Draco or Severus. This alliance might work out after all.

*

            “I have discovered how I can see into the minds of the Ashborn before I free them.”

            Severus had anticipated more silence, or more noise, when he made his announcement. And if Harry had been there, he would have jerked his head up from his breakfast and paid Severus all the attention he could have wished: gaping mouth and fork suspended in midair over his eggs.

            Draco took another bite of the porridge that he had requested, for some strange reason, that morning, and shook his head. “That’s good, but I think you should test it some more,” he said vaguely, and turned to another page in his book.

            Severus narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean? Why should I, when the potion works perfectly?”

            “I know Harry gave you a memory for the potion before he went away to the Burrow,” Draco said, and lifted a spoonful of porridge to his mouth that never made it, he was so split in his attention between his book and the conversation with Severus. “But you haven’t tested it with a memory from an Ashborn yet, have you?”

            Frowning, Severus shook his head. He wanted Draco to look at him; if he spoke aloud, it would give him too much chance to remain immersed in the book.

            But Draco had perhaps seen the gesture from the corner of his eye, and kept his head bowed as a consequence. “Then you haven’t seen what the potion does with the memory from a person who’s been enslaved under Legilimency and the Mark for years,” he said, and let his tongue slide, slurping, down the spoon. Severus winced and set his teeth, but Draco either didn’t see that part or didn’t care. “Harry hasn’t. You ought to test it on the kind of minds that you’re actually going to be working with, not someone who’s free and contributed the memory willingly.”

            Severus sat still, and spent a few moments staring at the remnants of his own breakfast, counting the crumbs and studying their neat arrangement, before he could bring himself to do something other than snarl.

            He knew Draco was right. With most experimental potions, he would have gone through several trials after he managed to brew them, because there was no reason to ruin his lab or poison himself through mere impatience. But the thought of Harry watching him with judgmental eyes for as long as the Ashborn remained enslaved had made him rush, had made him think that he must get finished as soon as possible, had made him…

            Careless.

            He looked up to find Draco watching him, and knew Draco understood at least half of what he would have spoken without saying anything, because Draco knew more about potions than Harry did and understood the importance of testing experimental theory. Draco shook his head and reached out to grip Severus’s hand, and Severus allowed it to open, rather than keeping his fingers clenched to shut out Draco’s touch.

            “No,” Draco said softly, to him. “I don’t mean to ignore you, and I don’t think Harry does, either. But Harry has to stay at the Burrow a little while longer; Harry wants to stay at the Burrow a little while longer. And I want to make sure that Incognita and I speak to the werewolves and the centaurs while the images and the ideas are fresh in our minds. Hesitate too much, and we might never get the merfolk into the alliance. Someone will come up with some idea that they think is a good reason not to, and that will result in years of protracted negotiations.”

            “Do you not wish to wait and test the waters, instead of rushing ahead?” Severus said dryly.

            Draco flushed, which made Severus feel a bit more as though his lover had not entirely grown up and left him behind in the space of a short month. “Not what I meant,” Draco said. “I’m not opposed to reasoned arguments, but these are old grudges that don’t have any basis in the present alliance. They just want to bring up things from the past and rehash them again and again.” A shadow seemed to pass across his face, and he paused, swallowed, then added, “You know. The way you and I and Harry liked to.”

            Severus nodded, and stood up from the table. “Then I will test the potion, and wait until Harry returns to use it. Merlin knows that I must get used to not being the focus of attention for a while.”

            Draco gave him a brilliant smile and leaned over to kiss him, but didn’t actually contradict the statement, or reassure Severus that he would always be the center of attention to him, as he might have done several months back. The next moment, in fact, he finished the porridge with a snap of his spoon and rushed away from the table, only coming back for the book a moment later.

            Severus watched the breakfast dishes vanish, and wondered who he should take the memory from. Perhaps not Bellatrix or Greyback; to be a true test, the memory could not come from someone he had no intention of freeing.

            But one of Yaxley’s cousins might blame him less for the Dark Lord’s demise. Severus had always had the impression that she had followed the Dark Lord only because the majority of her family did, and would rather not have been concerned in it. He stood up with a small smile and retreated towards his lab, summoning Marie Yaxley as he moved. She turned from cleaning up a small side corridor and was waiting at the door of his lab by the time he got there.

            At least some are still obedient to me, Severus thought, and then reminded himself that he would give that up soon. With few exceptions, the Ashborn would either be free to choose what they wanted or turned over to the Ministry.

            Well, he would gain something worth more than the Ashborn from the giving-up of them. And he would enjoy their services while they lasted. At his gesture, Marie preceded him into the lab and shut the door behind him.

*

            “You do not know what the merfolk did this to us when the old alliance was new.”

            There was a note of hostility in the back of Kleianthe’s voice that made Draco want to sigh. He had the impression that it wouldn’t be that productive, though, so he looked at Thera instead and asked with a silent shrug whether she could do anything about Kleianthe’s objection.

            Thera answered with a flat stare that said he would have to overcome this on his own, the same way he had overcome the objection to the werewolves. And Incognita stood behind him with her arms folded, in another bright robe, blue with silver lace on the sleeves this time. She had already explained her technical expertise, that she had discovered charms that would increase her memory retention and allow her to learn Mermish much faster, and she was on Draco’s side.

            I am the one in between, again.

            But that thought made his heart pound faster, because it was such a change from the place he had been most often in the past: under. Under his father’s rule, under the Dark Lord’s control, under Severus’s domination. At least things had changed, and if it was left up to Draco, they would change even further. He could influence others now, not merely be subject to their influence.

            “Perhaps not, although I have read enough history that you might be surprised by what I know,” Draco murmured, leaning forwards. “But I know what Harry did to you in much more recent terms.”

            Thera watched him, and smiled. Draco ignored her. If she wasn’t going to actually interfere and make the conversation with Kleianthe easier, then he didn’t want to count on her.

            “He apologized.” Kleianthe hit the ground with one hoof hard enough to send splashes of mud flying and then turned and stared at the blank walls that surrounded the garden. “We spend too much time cooped up here. I want to run, to roam.”

            “You are free to do that, of course,” Draco murmured, keeping a straight face. “But not until you answer me. What is the difference between what Harry did to you and what the merfolk did to you? Did they break an oath?”

            “It is complicated,” Kleianthe said, sternly enough that her daughter and Thera’s stopped playing and looked warily over at them. Draco nodded to them gently. He had got them to trust him a little, enough to sometimes come up and speak to him, but he could hardly blame them for holding back now.

            “You can explain it to me,” Draco said. “What did you make the alliance with me for, if you find that you cannot trust me as a negotiator?”

            Kleianthe shook her head enough that the shake traveled all the way down her body and made her tail bob. “You do not understand the way that we think, or feel, or dream, or speak,” she said. “You are not a centaur.”

            “Neither is Harry,” Draco said, and smiled. He was starting to enjoy this. If he looked closely at it, who was the flustered person here? Not him. “Neither are the merfolk. If you are going to shut anyone who is not one of you and therefore must not understand you out of your company, that includes one person you forgave and a whole group you didn’t. Have you considered that the modern merfolk are not like their ancestors? You could reach out to them and find some who are reasonable.”

            “That does not happen,” Thera said quietly, stamping her own hoof. Draco looked at her and couldn’t tell from her face what she felt, but her folded arms made it clear. “The merfolk—they have ways they must act, ways they cannot help acting, that make discussion and truce with them impossible.”

            “Like it was with the werewolves?” Draco asked her, as quietly.

            Thera reared her head back and stared at him. Draco raised his eyebrows and said nothing. For the first time, he felt that he might have surpassed Thera in a feat of diplomatic language, or at least diplomatic action.

            “We could not meet with the merfolk in the dreams,” Kleianthe said, as if she thought discussing a different subject would throw Draco off. “The dreams resemble physical spaces, or must, enough to convince us to commit to them as mental reality. We know that we cannot breathe underwater. We would wake ourselves, and we could never stay to negotiate with them.”

            “But I could,” Draco said. “With Bubble-Head Charms, or gillyweed, or, oh, another variety of spell.” He looked over his shoulder at Incognita, who nodded. Considering that she had been the one looking up the translation charms that would allow her to speed up learning Mermish, he thought that she was probably finding all sorts of spells that would allow a human to remain underwater and learn from them. “Will you trust me?”

            “We have no reason to,” Kleianthe began.

            “You trusted me with the werewolves,” Draco said quietly. “I don’t think that you would have gone to that truce, or thought one could be arranged at all, without me.”

            “The situation with the merfolk is even more delicate,” Thera said, and edged forwards as though she wanted him to focus on her and not Kleianthe. Draco found that interesting, since Kleianthe looked startled and as though she was coming around to his point-of-view. “The shadow of the old alliance haunts us still.”

            “More delicate than a negotiation with werewolves who are living right next to your territory?” Draco said, and snorted. “Forgive me, but I’m not sure that I believe that. At all.”

            Thera moved back and swished her tail through the grass, then lowered her head to crop, the way she had of removing herself from the conversation. Finding herself the sole focus of Draco’s attention, Kleianthe took a deep breath, half-bowed her head, and said, “I…can perhaps see that you have some experience now in taking our wishes into account. But you have to know what the merfolk did to us.”

            “If someone would explain, then I’d be happy to listen,” Draco said. He concealed the way he wanted to smirk behind a yawn. He had been trying to maneuver them into talking about this all along, but they had been awfully coy. Perhaps they thought the truth wouldn’t make them look all innocence and light, either, at least not to a neutral third party who wasn’t a centaur.

            “They insulted us,” Kleianthe said. “Called us a lesser part of the alliance, and took things that we could have done—such as gazing at the stars—away from us.”

            Draco frowned and cocked his head. “But don’t you still watch the stars, and govern your lives by them, and draw predictions from them? How could they have taken that gift from you when you still have it?”

            Kleianthe sighed a little and bowed her head until her hair swept the ground. “It is—complicated. Suffice it to say that we wished to read the stars for the others in the alliance, and the merfolk used their own method of predicting the future to become the guides that everyone turned to.”

            Draco stared at her in fascination, then said, “So…the merfolk insulted you by doing something better than you could do it?”

            Kleianthe gave her head a haughty toss, reminding Draco of a winged horse his father had once owned who would permit no bridle. “No. They did it in a different way, and we could have read the stars better. Faster. More efficiently. But the others in the alliance preferred to listen to the merfolk, because they were convinced that their way was more mystical. More magical. The members of the old alliance often wished to believe that they were in touch with the pure force of magic, whether they were or not. They thought it separated them more from Muggles.”

            Draco thought of that, and winced. He hoped he could keep that, to some extent, from Harry, who would not be at all pleased at the thought that the old alliance had pure-blood prejudices stuck in from the beginning.

            Don’t lie to him. But explain that it was a pure-blood society, and that that makes things different.

            Kleianthe stirred, and Draco reminded himself not to wander too far away in his thoughts, lest the centaurs interpret his silence as insulting. “Okay. How about this, then? You’ll begin to read the future for us, right here. For me and the werewolves and the others in the alliance. For Harry, when he comes back. That means that you’ll already be doing it when the merfolk join in, and they can’t take your place.”

            Kleianthe stared at him. Then she said, “You would accept such a thing?”

            “Why not?” Draco asked. “Have you known pure-bloods who wouldn’t?”

            “More pure-bloods who thought of us as animals, and not worth speaking to,” Thera said quietly, drifting into the conversation. “Half of what we say to them is designed to hold them back, in any case, and baffle them into not inquiring further.”

            Draco thought of the way centaurs such as Firenze tended to speak, all distant riddles and references to the planets, and nodded. “I can see that. But no, I think of you as allies. Please speak to me. Read my future, and then that of others.”

            Kleianthe crossed the grass to take his hand. Her steps were slow and weighty, her gaze on him heavy and wondering. But Draco simply watched her, and waited, and it was no problem at all not to shudder when she touched him, although he knew one of his parents would have hated it.

            Kleianthe bowed her head. “What are your birth stars?”



*

            unneeded: Most of the big plots are done, I think. What’s left is tying up loose ends with the alliance and the freeing of the Ashborn, mostly.

            Yes, the story where Draco frees Harry from the contract is completed; it’s called “Contracted” and should be somewhere down my list of stories.
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Ashborn