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The Bane of Her Existence	By : Mamacita Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female Views: 11713 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-The Bane of Her Existence
- 1
“…Harry saw Umbridge being borne away through the trees by Bane, still screaming nonstop; her voice grew fainter and fainter until they could no longer hear it over the trampling of hooves surrounding them.”
—J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

1—Umbridge Gets Carried Away
For a moment all of them—humans and centaurs alike—stood and listened to the receding hoofbeats. Harry stared at Hermione, wide-eyed with shock; however, since what had just taken place was exactly what she had hoped for, Hermione’s eyes slid guiltily away. She chanced a glance up at the centaurs to find Magorian’s baleful, knowing glare fixed on her. She essayed a smile in his direction.
“Th—thank you,” she said weakly. Magorian said nothing but continued to pin her with his stern gaze. Hermione squirmed. “We appreciate your help,” she said, but when Magorian stiffened she realized she’d said the wrong thing.
“Help, is it?” he said, his voice cold. “We do not help humans.” He looked at her with dawning suspicion in his hard black eyes and walked closer, bending so his face was less than a foot from Hermione’s. In a voice that was no less dangerous for all it was so quiet, he said, “I wonder just what your purpose was in coming here today. Eh, human? For you did bring the other one—” he tossed his head contemptuously in the direction of the unfortunate Umbridge— “here deliberately with some purpose in mind, did you not?” He raised one eyebrow and waited. Hermione could feel his breath on her face and trembled inwardly.
She glanced at Harry, but not knowing of her plan to enlist the centaurs’ unwitting aid, he only shrugged helplessly. Hermione knew she needed to choose her words carefully. Centaurs were notoriously touchy about anything that smacked of giving aid to humans and, as they had just seen, not a bit hesitant about dispensing whatever form of justice they deemed suitable.
“N-no,” she began. “Not really. That is—I mean, we wanted to—”
“Oh yes,” Magorian snarled. “I know what you wanted. And now you’ve got what you wanted, haven’t you?” He straightened and addressed the other centaurs. “I can see it in her eyes. The humans have used us—” he flung his head down to Hermione’s face again when she opened her mouth to protest— “used us, I say!” He stomped on the ground with one giant forefoot, narrowly missing Hermione’s trainer.
Harry, evidently deciding he should speak up before things got really out of hand, stepped forward. “No,” he said firmly. “No one has used you. Umbridge insulted you, and your leader has chosen to punish her for it.” He met Magorian’s eyes unflinchingly. “That was his choice—it wasn’t Hermione’s doing. We’re here on other business altogether—it has nothing to do with you.”
There was some muttering from the other centaurs; Harry caught the words “disrespectful colt” and “impudent,” and there was a good deal of restless pacing and stomping among the group. He ignored it as best he could, bravely holding Magorian’s stern gaze. Hermione appeared to be trying to become one with the tree Magorian had backed her into; she didn’t move a muscle, no doubt hoping the centaur would forget about her if she did nothing to draw his attention.
Finally Magorian tossed his head. “So you say, human—so you say.” Harry relaxed marginally, but when Magorian advanced on him Harry backed up to join Hermione against her tree. “The question is, what do we do with you?” He looked round at the other centaurs. “These humans,” he said, shaking his head. “Ridiculously slow learners. Firenze must find it infinitely frustrating to try to teach them anything.” He snorted. “Serves him right, the traitor. But you two—you aren’t foals any longer. You don’t belong in the forest. It matters not what Hagrid may tell you: stay out of the forest! You are not wanted here, and your kind will not be tolerated—not you, not even Hagrid himself. If you come here again, you will not leave the forest alive.”
Hermione’s hand found its way into Harry’s. “Do you mean we can—we can go?” she stammered.
Magorian drew himself up and pointed derisively back the way they had come from. “Leave this place. Do not return, if you value your lives.” He bellowed it so they could not mistake his meaning. “Go! NOW!”
Harry tugged on Hermione’s hand and they started to run, flying back over the rough path as if their feet had wings. Once Hermione turned to look behind them, but Harry panted, “Don’t look back—come on, run!” She held his hand more tightly and ran, half expecting to feel Magorian’s hot breath on the back of her neck at any moment.
It seemed no time at all before they were back at the edge of the woods. Panting, Hermione begged, “Harry—have to stop—just—a minute.” Reluctantly, glancing nervously back at the trees, Harry waited for her. The sun had set while they were in the forest and only a faint violet glow remained in the sky.
“Come on,” Harry urged. “It’s getting late. We’d better get back.” Hermione straightened and, their hearts racing, they hurried toward the castle, half-walking, half-trotting. It would never do to run afoul of Filch by missing curfew.
When something that might have been a very faint, far-off scream floated out from the treetops and hovered on the evening air, they shuddered and walked faster.

2—The Lesson of Humility
It had been early evening when they’d set out for the forest—dinnertime, Umbridge remembered vaguely—and she was assailed by a sudden pang of hunger that was quickly swallowed up by panic as their headlong flight through the trees continued.
After the first shock of being thrown onto the centaur’s back she had clutched frantically at anything she could find to keep from falling as he galloped madly away. Being snatched up willy-nilly and carried off against her will was bad enough; the speed at which Bane pounded heedlessly through the twisted maze of gnarled tree roots in the ancient forest was worse still. What terrified her most was not the thought of what would happen when Bane finally stopped but the fear of falling from the centaur’s rather impressive height, only to dash her brains out on some jagged stone or jutting branch.
She screamed with rage and not a little fear at the centaur’s rough treatment, and at seeing Harry and Hermione—familiar faces, however Umbridge might feel about them personally—disappear into the distance. She continued to scream until her throat was raw and all that would come out was a pinched croaking sound. By then her rage had almost completely given way to a sense of unreality, and the ride went on for so long (she’d had no idea the forest was so large) that she found herself with more than enough time to envision what might await her at the end of it. Her croaks gradually turned into whimpers, but like the screaming they had no discernible effect on Bane; the wind of their passing carried off the weak sounds and the odd duo forged onward into the gathering gloom, their furious pace never slacking. It seemed as if Bane could run forever.
Umbridge’s wand, secreted as usual inside one sleeve of her robe, slapped against her arm every time Bane’s feet hit the ground. She never realized it was slithering ever closer to the edge of her sleeve until she flung her arm up to protect herself from a low-hanging branch and her wand shot out of its hiding place and flew off into the trees, never to be seen again. Although she had forgotten it for a time, its loss struck Umbridge like a blow and she cried out, a wordless sound of dismay that echoed through the trees and was swallowed up by the dusk.
When it was nearly full dark Bane finally slowed to a trot. The trail, such as it was, narrowed and headed sharply downward. Umbridge blinked eyes that were streaming with tears—from the wind, not from fear, she insisted to herself—as they passed between two rows of giant boulders, twice as tall as a man, that seemed to have been placed there deliberately. They glowed in the broad swath of moonlight that penetrated the trees.
She straightened and relaxed her arms, which she was mortified to realize had been tightly clasped about Bane’s muscular torso, and looked about her in wonder. This was a part of the forest she had never seen before; indeed no other human had, not even Hagrid. The Acromantula Aragog, of whom even the centaurs were wary, existed in a hollow much like this one some distance to the east. The forest was more vast than she could ever have imagined, and they had traveled a considerable distance from the castle.
The trees were unimaginably tall here, spearing up toward a sky the existence of which, even in full daylight, was something that had to be taken on faith as glimpses of it were rare. The hollow was hidden deep in the forest and existed—day in and day out; winter, spring, summer, and fall—in a sort of perpetual murky twilight. Half-seen shadows moved—didn’t they?—between the trees; and mysterious voices seemed to whisper and sigh unceasingly. Umbridge told herself sternly that it was only the trees swaying in the wind . . . and she tried hard to believe it.
Bane emerged from the boulder-lined path into a large, sandy clearing. This too seemed to have been made deliberately, as if for some ritual from ancient times. A large slab of shining black stone rested on tall blocks of granite to form a high, flat table in the center of the clearing. The moonlight shone straight down onto it. If Umbridge had been in any mood to appreciate such things the place was actually quite beautiful, with an almost mystical feel to it.
Before she had a chance to register that they had come to a stop Bane reared and snarled, “Off!” and Umbridge tumbled to the ground, landing clumsily and fairly hard on all fours—that sand wasn’t quite as soft as it looked.
Bane stamped heavily and circled her, snorting impatiently. Umbridge scrambled to stay out of the way of his hooves, crawling crab-like in the sand. She wondered what he was going to do with her.
She didn’t have to wait long to find out.
“Human!” Bane thundered. Umbridge cowered before him, even though she was furious with herself for doing so, at the prospect of any sort of pain being inflicted upon her person. She avoided his gaze and shielded her head with a raised arm.
Bane roared with temper and leaped to stand directly over her. “Look at me when I speak to you,” he hissed. Umbridge raised her eyes slowly to his, and the angry words that had been about to spew from her lips died unspoken. “You will be dealt with as we see fit,” Bane said, his voice now so soft she had to strain to hear it. “We do not concern ourselves with the actions of mere humans,” he went on. “But you have insulted our kind, and I sense an evil within you that, if left to prosper, could have far-reaching effects on our world.”
He straightened and crossed his arms, regarding her under lowered brows. Umbridge wondered what on earth he was talking about. Evil? Her? She snorted indignantly, and his head jerked up.
“This amuses you?” he asked, and nodded to himself. “You merely illustrate my point. Very well. When I return I will bring the others, and we will attempt to rid you of this evil that lives in you—not for your sake, but for the greater good of the universe.”
Umbridge watched as Bane wheeled and started back up the path. “Wait—come back!” she screeched. “You can’t just leave me here. What about—what about food?” A plaintive note edged into her voice, much to her chagrin.
Bane stopped and looked at her over his shoulder. “Food? What of it?” he asked indifferently.
“Well, I—I’ve missed my dinner. You can’t just leave me here to starve!” she cried.
Bane’s eyes traveled over her insultingly from head to toe, and he snorted. “I hardly think you will starve for want of a few meals,” he said.
Umbridge’s face turned an ugly shade of red. Had the horse actually just insulted her? “But—”
“Enough!” Bane flung an impatient hand out and pointed at her threateningly. “Perhaps you need to learn humility. I suspect you will not appreciate the lesson, but you will learn it all the same.” He sounded grimly determined. “Do not leave the circle.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he added, “It is for your own safety. And—” he turned again to leave and his words floated back to her as he rounded the bend in the path and was lost to sight— “you may consider it your first test.”
“Ha! Test, indeed. What’s he going to do if I leave—break both of my legs?” Umbridge muttered. A moment later she was startled when a sudden upsurge of wind swept through the trees, carrying with it one unmistakable word:
“Yessssssss!”
Umbridge muttered the vilest epithets she could think of—under her breath this time, so he couldn’t hear—and looked wildly about the clearing. I’m smarter than any horse, she told herself. If that animal thinks he can keep me here, he has another think coming!
But in truth, it seemed perhaps she was stuck there. The sandy clearing was surrounded by an impenetrable ring of the same tall boulders—smooth, rounded, and more than twice her height. There was little or no space between them, certainly none she could fit through—nothing but the path by which Bane had entered and left again. She heard again his parting words about missing meals—clearly a cheap shot at what she liked to think of as her voluptuous figure—and she smarted all over again with the humiliation of it.
She debated sneaking back up the path but, afraid that Bane might be waiting for her to try it and not at all eager to find out what he would do in that case, she told herself there would no doubt be a chance tomorrow.
With a little grunt she lowered herself to the ground on the side of the circle opposite the opening and made herself as comfortable as she could. The night was not particularly cold but she couldn’t stop shivering. She drew up her chubby legs and tried to cover them with her robe, but it had torn in several places and was less than successful as a covering. Her lovely new robe, which she had worn for the first time just yesterday . . . .
It occurred to her just before she fell into an uncomfortable doze that Bane had not actually said when he would return, and her half-conscious mind worried the thought like a dog with a bone.
When he sensed that she was no longer fully awake, Bane—who was indeed waiting just a short distance down the path—walked quietly back and looked down at her. He was half-fascinated, half-revolted by this odd human who was so haughty but had so little reason to be. He could see nothing about her that justified the airs she gave herself. She was badly in need of discipline—more so, he thought, than any human he had come across in a long time. And the evil he sensed in her . . . that was what disturbed him most. He did not think it had developed fully in her yet; she still had just enough human conscience in her to keep the worst of it in check, although he did not believe she did so deliberately.
But it wasn’t just that. Apart from everything else, she had insulted him and his people repeatedly, uncaring or disbelieving of their powers and abilities. Horses, forsooth! He shook his head. No, discipline was not enough.
He wanted to break her.
When they were through with her there would be no question in her mind as to her place in the universe.
A dark smile ghosted over his lips as he watched her dreaming uneasily in the moonlight. She was so repulsive that the thought of what was to come was actually . . . rather delicious. He thought with vengeful amusement of the treatment she would receive at the hands of the others, most of whom saw no need for restraint when dealing with humans. If channeled appropriately, their unleashed fury could be used to further his purposes.
That is, if they didn’t actually kill her.
He left to fetch the others.

3—The Lesson of Acceptance
Umbridge woke with a strangled gasp when she felt something brush her cheek. It turned out to be only a leaf, but she sat there for a moment, her heart racing, taking stock of her surroundings and remembering where she was. The forest had an indefinably different air to it now; it was not noticeably lighter—in fact, the moonlight from before was gone now—but somehow she thought it must be morning.
She straightened out her cramped legs and stood up stiffly, bowing low to roll the kinks out of her back.
Suddenly a wry voice spoke.
“I see you know the proper way to show respect to your superiors,” Bane said as he stepped into the clearing. Umbridge straightened so quickly she made herself dizzy. Bane tutted. “And you were off to such a fine start,” he said. He moved aside and two other centaurs moved into the circle to stand on either side of him. They regarded her coldly.
Umbridge backed up slowly, uncertain what was going to happen next. Bane nodded to the two largest centaurs, indicating that Magorian should approach her on one side and Ronan on the other.
“Hear me, human. You must learn your place. You seek to control, but you control nothing. You demand respect of others, but you respect no creature. You wish to command obedience, but you have no understanding of the true nature of obedience. It is time you learned.” He regarded her for a moment. “I think you will find no joy in the learning, but that is of no consequence.”
Umbridge stared back at him, her expression mutinous. When Bane flicked a finger at her and said, “Remove your coverings,” her mouth fell open slightly in shock, but other than that she didn’t move. Bane motioned to Magorian and Ronan, and they closed in. Umbridge cowered and covered her head with her arms but they merely grasped her robe and pulled; with a loud rip it parted up the back and came away. They threw the shredded pieces of cloth aside and reached for her again.
“No, no!” she quavered. “What are you doing?” She slapped at them but it was like swatting at a swarm of mosquitoes. Their hands were everywhere—pulling, grabbing, yanking. Buttons flew and fabric ripped as she was systematically stripped, shrieking all the while. Finally she stood before them, furious and panting, in only her undergarments. Magorian and Ronan had tried to remove them, but the stretchy fabric defeated them and they withdrew to study the problem.
Bane pointed at Umbridge. “Off,” he said. “All of it.”
“But—but why?” she moaned. “What are you g-going to do to me? I-I have rights, you know. You can’t just—”
“Silence!” he roared. He nodded to the others, and they moved toward her again, fists clenched. Umbridge blanched, but with shaking hands she reached for the hidden hooks and zippers that held the garments closed and slowly unfastened them as tears of humiliation ran down her face.
Finally she undid the last hook. Her old-fashioned girdle and sturdy cotton brassiere fell to the ground and she stood there, her eyes tightly closed. They’re only horses. Animals, she told herself frantically. It’s nothing if animals see me naked. But she couldn’t quite convince herself and stood there trembling, expecting . . . she didn’t know what.
There was no sound. At length Umbridge screwed up enough courage to open her eyes and saw that Bane was looking at her with open disgust. Magorian had an ugly smirk on his face and Ronan looked solemn.
“I told you before,” Bane said, “we are not horses. You continue to insult us even as we try to teach you.”
Umbridge’s mouth dropped open. She hadn’t actually said any of that out loud . . . had she?
“We have the gift of Hearing,” Bane said. He watched the expressions chase each other fleetingly across Umbridge’s face and settle, in the end, on humiliated pride. “Your coverings are nothing to us, human. We do not need such things—they are merely disguises to hide behind. It is not cold; you do not need them. By the time winter comes you will be long gone from here. One way or another.” He sounded grimly determined.
One way or another? Well, that was hardly reassuring. And “gone” could mean so many things. Umbridge wondered just what it meant when he said it.
Bane smiled, not pleasantly. “I believe a little exercise is in order after your restful night’s sleep.” Umbridge snorted and his smile widened. “It will do you good,” he said, giving her a slow, head-to-toe measuring look. Umbridge stiffened and shot him a glare. The other centaurs stirred, looking between the two of them with interest. “You may have a ten-minute head start,” Bane said. When she merely looked at him, uncomprehending, he nodded at the path that led out of the clearing. “I would run, were I you,” he said, and then he moved away to talk to Ronan in hushed tones, paying no further attention to Umbridge.
Was he truly suggesting that she should leave the clearing? Was it a trick? Would she be punished if she left? She inched her way around the inside of the boulders toward the path, but the centaurs seemed to take no notice of her. Her heart pounding wildly, unable to hear anything but the rush of blood in her head, she hesitated at the opening between the boulders and glanced back. The centaurs were talking among themselves and seemed to have forgotten her very existence. Umbridge slipped out quickly and ran breathlessly up the sandy path, where she paused to listen. She could faintly hear the centaurs laughing but there was no pounding of hooves, no sound of pursuit.
She started to run. There seemed to be only one way she could go, as the path was bordered by dense undergrowth on both sides, so she followed it for several hundred yards, fear spurring her on. Finally she saw an opening off to the right and darted in that direction. She tried to keep to a more or less straight line, vaguely recollecting stories she had heard of people lost in the woods or the desert who ended up merely going in circles; but the trees were so large and grew at such irregular intervals that to go around them she had to dodge first one way, then another, until she was no longer sure she was headed in the same direction in which she’d begun. Certainly there was no sun visible to use as a guide under the thick canopy of trees.
Unused to such vigorous exercise, Umbridge was finally forced to stop. She rounded a particularly large tree and flung herself to the ground, gasping for air, uncaring that there were twigs in her hair and dirt plastered to her sweaty skin. She knew in a vague sort of way that her feet hurt, and her leg stung where the jagged end of a broken branch had caught her. But she was free. They hadn’t followed her. Perhaps they didn’t even know which way she had gone!
As her breathing calmed and she began to feel a little more like herself, her arrogance gradually returned. Well, they’re not hounds, after all, she thought. They’ve no idea where I am. Idiot horses. She grinned, a most un-Umbridge-like expression, gleeful at having made good her escape. She looked around, trying to guess in which direction Hogwarts lay.
A sudden gust of wind stirred the branches overhead into a rustling mass and she shivered a little as it cooled the sweat on her face and neck. For a moment she thought she heard the far-off sound of hooves, but when she held her breath and listened intently she decided it was merely the pounding of her own heart from all the unaccustomed exercise. No one is after you, she thought. It’s just your imagination—and no wonder, after what you’ve been through!
But then she heard it again. Yes—yes, it was definitely hooves. They were coming! With a groan she dragged herself up and started to run again on legs that felt about as supportive as noodles. What kind of stupid game was this, making her think she’d got away and then coming after her? But coming they were, and thoughts of vengeance must be put aside for now. All her effort must be focused on escape.
Miraculously, the trees up ahead seemed to be thinning. Yes, it was definitely lighter there. Umbridge put on a last desperate surge of speed, wondering wildly if her life depended on it, and abruptly broke out of the trees into a narrow strip of meadow. The pursuing hoofbeats were clearly audible now; she could no longer fool herself into thinking she’d got away.
Ahead of her was the steep, craggy side of a mountain—but there seemed to be a ditch or break of some kind between it and the meadow. She raced to the edge of the grass and only just managed to stop herself from falling off the edge of a tall cliff that divided mountain from meadow. A sheer drop of more than a hundred feet with a roaring river at the bottom of it, lay between her and freedom. She nearly wept with disappointment and fury.
A cry of “There!” came from behind her, and she spun round to see Bane and Magorian at the head of the group of centaurs. They galloped onward, not slowing, and for one terrifying moment she thought they intended to chase her over the edge of the cliff. She envisioned herself falling to her death amid a maelstrom of flying tails and deadly hooves.
Instead they stopped just short of the edge, crowding her against it and forming a barrier of heaving, sweating flesh that she dared not attempt to breach. She faced them defiantly, and Magorian snorted.
“Look at her,” he said to Bane. “Rebellious to the end.”
Umbridge quailed a bit. Did he mean this was the end . . . of her? She glanced nervously over her shoulder at the chasm and the river below that foamed and churned its furious way to the sea. For a moment—a very brief moment—she wondered what would happen if she were to jump. Would the fall kill her? And what if it didn’t—what if she survived the fall, and the river? Would the centaurs somehow find her and bring her back so they could continue their torture? Hard to be sure. And she was not at all certain, in the first place, that the fall wouldn’t kill her, and if it did that would be the end of Dolores Jane Umbridge. Even so, perhaps it would be better to endure a fate of her own choosing than one imposed on her by—she tried to think it quietly—these damnable horses.
But, of course, Bane heard her.
“You call yourself a teacher,” he said slowly, “yet you would take your own life rather than learn more about your place in the universe?” He shook his head. “If you do not learn these lessons here, in this existence, you merely delay them until the next. You can not hope to escape your fate.” He indicated the other centaurs. “It is our destiny to teach you. Come, now—return with us. Let this be your second lesson: to accept that which is.”
Umbridge’s lower lip trembled. Obviously unconvinced, she glanced once more at the cliff’s edge. Bane nodded to two of the centaurs and each of them took one of Umbridge’s arms. Predictably she struggled, cursing viciously and trying to kick first one, then the other. They held her fast with little effort, their mouths twitching humorously at her vain efforts to break free.
“Come.” Bane turned and cantered back into the forest and the others followed. The two centaurs dragging a furious Umbridge between them brought up the rear.
“What? But—but I just—oh, don’t—I—I can’t—” Eventually she gave up the effort to keep up and hung exhausted between the centaurs, who dragged her through the forest as unconcerned as if she were a load of firewood.

4—Helanor Lends a . . . Hand
Their return to the boulder-ringed clearing was accomplished much more quickly than Umbridge’s headlong flight from it, as the centaurs were well acquainted with a more direct route. By now Umbridge was filthy, black and blue, and badly scratched from the variety of items she had been dragged through, bumped over, and whipped by along the way. She was all but unconscious when her captors dropped her in a heap on the sand.
Bane looked at her critically. “She may rest a little,” he decided. “You—Helanor—bring food and water. Then you will remain with her through the day.” Helanor, a deeply tanned chestnut centaur, nodded. “And,” Bane continued, “since she regards us with such disdain, perhaps a lesson demonstrating her lack of power against us is in order.” His eyes met Helanor’s, and the latter smirked and licked his lips lasciviously.
“With pleasure,” he said, and he leered in Umbridge’s direction for a moment before trotting up the path to fetch something for her to eat. He knew he had been chosen for this particular lesson due to his much-vaunted sexual prowess among the female centaurs and his strange physical need, unmatched among the other males, for frequent and lengthy contact with female flesh. Human or centaur, ugly or breathtakingly beautiful, it mattered not to Helanor as long as the flesh was female and he was surrounded by it.
He went to the food storage cave and selected a wooden bowl of berries and a full water bag made of Acromantula silk. Then he hurried back to the clearing, where Bane waited for him alone with Umbridge.
“I’ve sent the others about their business,” Bane said. “You know what to do.” They both gazed down at Umbridge, who was moaning pathetically on the ground as her strength returned.
Helanor nodded with barely restrained eagerness. “Oh, yes,” he gloated. He glanced at Bane. “Everything except—?”
“Yes. Everything except,” Bane concurred. “I claim that lesson for myself.”
“Of course, of course,” Helanor nodded. “Well, then, hadn’t you best—”
“—be off?” Bane showed his teeth in what might have passed for a grin in a less fierce countenance. “Oh, I’m off, never fear. She’s all yours, brother. I shall relieve you at moonrise.” He gave a brief nod and strode out of the clearing. The sound of his hoofbeats faded quickly in the hot stillness of the forest.
Helanor put the bowl of berries on the stone slab and turned to see Umbridge standing on shaky legs, eyeing the path. When she saw him looking at her she straightened and assumed as much of a sneer as she could muster, although what she really wanted was to lie down on a soft bed, have a good cry, and then sleep for about a week.
Helanor laughed delightedly. “Wonderful!” he cried, clapping his hands together. “You’re awake. Come and have some food and drink; you must be famished after your long gallop.”
Umbridge stayed where she was, although she couldn’t keep her eyes from straying to the bowl of berries. Were they poisonous? Dared she trust him? Slowly, driven by pangs of hunger, she moved toward the stone slab, keeping a wary eye on Helanor. When she was within arm’s reach he picked her up without warning and plopped her down on the cold stone slab. She shrieked in mingled surprise and alarm and Helanor laughed again.
“Wh-what are you going to do to me?” Umbridge asked breathlessly.
Helanor placed his hands on either side of her buttocks on the stone and deliberately stroked them with his thumbs. “Nothing you won’t enjoy, and that’s a promise,” he assured her.
Umbridge looked scandalized. Helanor repeated his lip-licking performance for her benefit, and she stared at him uncomprehendingly for a moment. Then a look of distaste followed by a panicked expression moved across her face in rapid succession.
Helanor leaned toward her. Umbridge tried to back away but the only way to really do that was to lie flat on her back on the slab, and that seemed far too much like surrender. She couldn’t—she wouldn’t.
However, it seemed that for the moment, at least, Helanor was only toying with her. Just when Umbridge had leaned so far back that it felt like her back was about break he reached around her and picked up the bowl of berries. He offered them to her and, bemused, she took the bowl from him and absently picked up a berry and put it in her mouth.
Helanor smiled. “That’s right—first you eat . . . then it’s my turn.” He watched the progress of her fat, dirty fingers from bowl to mouth and back again, and his expression grew hungrier with each berry she popped between her fat red lips.
Finally he could stand it no longer. He took the bowl from her unresisting hands and she watched him steadily, chewing and chewing until surely there could be nothing left in her mouth.
Helanor said, “And now it is only fair that you allow me to feast in my turn.” Umbridge looked down at the bowl, in which only a couple of berries remained, and looked back at him in dismay.
“Oh, but—” she began.
Helanor shook his head and grinned wickedly. “You misunderstand. It is not berries I will eat.” He moved toward her purposefully and Umbridge squealed in alarm.
“Beast! Filthy cannibal! Or—well, at least—oh, you can’t be serious. Help! Help me—anyone, help! Cannibals! Cannibals in the forest!”
Helanor propped his fists on his hips and gave her a look of disgust to match her own. “Cannibals? Do you deliberately misunderstand?” He shook his head. “Allow me to show you.” When Umbridge opened her mouth to scream again, Helanor held up a hand. “If you allow yourself to enjoy it—as I will—it will be much better than this unseemly caterwauling. If you persist I will have no compunctions about knocking you senseless, but my enjoyment will be much greater if you are conscious.”
Umbridge looked outraged, but she subsided when Helanor casually brandished his fists in warning. His eyes gentled and he ran his hands down her sides. “Lie you down,” he said, his voice hoarse with suppressed excitement. After a long, considering look at him, Umbridge inched down onto her back, her arms rigid at her sides and her legs locked together as if they were glued. She squeezed her eyes closed and waited, barely breathing.
Helanor moved up to the slab and placed his hands on her thighs, which trembled at his touch. For a moment he breathed in her essence—somewhat sweaty and earthy after her morning’s adventure, but to him it was all the more wonderful for that. He slowly ran his fingertips up her thighs to her belly and back down. Umbridge squirmed at first, but he simply said “No,” and she froze.
Firmly he pushed her legs apart. She tried to resist at first, but the most exercise she was accustomed to was patrolling the halls of Hogwarts at night on the lookout for errant students, so she soon lost that fight and her legs fell apart to reveal flesh that had never been seen by male eyes. Pink flesh, shiny with fluids that her body was producing quite against her will.
Helanor stared at the sight greedily, his hands shaking. He ran one finger up her thigh and around the outside of her mound, never touching her clitoris; but he leaned forward and gently blew on it. A loud groan from Umbridge made his own nether regions twitch. Again he lightly traced a path from the crease of her thigh around the edge of her densely furred mound and then blew warm air on it. Umbridge moaned even more loudly, and this time a thin trickle of glistening juice rolled down from her opening to follow the curve of her buttock and disappear into the crease.
Helanor extended one tanned finger and brushed it ever so lightly across her clitoris, then again. Umbridge cried out and tried to snap her legs together, but Helanor stood between them, preventing it. He touched her clitoris again and this time held his finger there, increasing the pressure bit by bit. Umbridge was breathing in shallow little gasps and whimpers.
Without warning Helanor suddenly dipped his figer just inside her entrance and slid it over her clitoris once, and she went to pieces. He stared in fascination at the madly vibrating little bundle of nerves and then bent and covered it with his mouth. Umbridge screamed and thrashed but he held her firmly in place as he leisurely ravaged her with his mouth, drinking in the feminine nectar he lived for.
Soon her body stopped its fluttering, but Helanor was just beginning his assault on her senses. In mere moments Umbridge could feel the same sensation beginning to build again and she cried out wordlessly for him to stop—or keep going—or go faster. She needed something, she wasn’t sure what, but she was desperate to have it. The horse must give it to her!
Helanor lifted his head and looked at her darkly. And give it to you I shall, he thought. He inserted one finger into her wet, slippery channel, but it wasn’t enough. Two fingers was better; Umbridge thrashed and wailed as he pumped his hand in and out. He knew what he really wanted to give her—all the females wanted it—but he had given Bane his word: “Everything except.”
But, Helanor thought craftily, he wasn’t forbidden to just stay outside and rub himself a little against that inviting, wet cleft. He reared back so his front legs rested on the stone slab alongside Umbridge’s hips and his enormous hot, leaking cock dropped onto her belly with a fleshy thump. She held very still, knowing what it was even though she could not see it. Her mind screamed that it was impossible; surely he didn’t mean to actually force that thing into her!
Helanor heard her thoughts as clearly as if she had spoken. “Ssh, now,” he crooned. “I won’t hurt you. Be still. Be very . . . still.” The last word was more of a groan as his cock slid down lower and found a resting place at her entrance. Eyes closed in ecstasy, he slid back and forth along the gushing wet warmth of her slit, teasing but never quite entering. With a shriek, Umbridge came violently, over and over, as Helanor rutted against her mindlessly, lost in his own pleasure.
Finally she fell silent and Helanor realized she had lost consciousness. With great reluctance he grasped his cock firmly and worked its slippery length in his hand until he came, spraying an enormous jet of cum across the comatose Umbridge as she lay there serenely unaware. She made such an inviting picture thus that he couldn’t help himself but smeared, rubbed, and massaged until all of his essence had been absorbed by her skin.
And then it was all he could do not to start over again immediately; the scent of their sex in the air was nearly irresistible to him. But he was afraid he might not be able to control himself the next time, and since Bane was not known for his forgiving manner when anyone crossed him Helanor reluctantly retreated to the pathway and lay down across it to rest for a while.
When Umbridge regained her senses she lay there with her eyes tightly shut while she assessed the situation. She was torn between wishing for a renewal of the amazing things the horse had made her feel—certainly no man had ever shown any interest in doing as much—and horror at the outrage that had been perpetrated upon her person. She was sore, she was exhausted, and—she sniffed fastidiously—she smelled of horse.
Hesitantly she reached a hand down to touch herself and found she was still considerably wet and slippery, and touching felt so good. Most of the time she didn’t allow herself the luxury of touching herself There, primly certain that such a thing was done only by women who were lost to all decency. But something had been awakened in her and she desperately wanted to experience that exquisite moment of ecstasy again—especially now that dreadful horse had gone. Her hand crept stealthily down and she slid her finger over and around and over and—
Her hand was abruptly slapped and a sharp voice barked, “No! You will not pleasure yourself unless I order it.”
Umbridge’s eyes flew open, her pleasant little moment shattered.
Bane had returned.

5—The Lesson of Obedience
He looked down at her lying there, spread-legged and exposed, and Umbridge flushed an ugly brick-red with embarrassment and struggled to sit up. Bane glanced over at Helanor, who stood among the others with a self-satisfied smirk on his face.
“Did you enjoy yourself?” Bane asked, a faint smile on his lips. Helanor nodded solemnly. “And you did not . . . ?”
Helanor shook his head emphatically. “Of course not, Bane. I have kept that for you.”
Umbridge’s eyes narrowed. Kept what for Bane? she wondered suspiciously.
Bane nodded. “You will know when the proper time comes,” he said in answer to her unspoken question, and she twisted her mouth unpleasantly, frustrated that he was able to hear her every thought. Apparently he understood.
“You have no secrets here,” he informed her. “You must accept this. Railing against it is pointless and will only tire you.”
She sighed grumpily and stared at him. “What are you going to do with me?” she asked finally. “I can’t see that you holding me here against my will is doing anything for you. Why don’t we just say I’ve learnt my lesson and you can show me how to get back to the castle?”
“Learnt your lesson?” he echoed. He cocked his head curiously. “And which lesson might that be?”
Startled, as she hadn’t expected him to reply so civilly, she thought frantically for a moment, seeking an answer that wouldn’t enrage him. “H-humility?” she asked finally.
Bane lifted one heavily sculpted eyebrow and regarded her sceptically, then shook his head. “I highly doubt that,” he said.
“But—yes—truly, I have!” she whined. The impudence of the damned horse, to think that he could teach her humility! It was simply the first thing to cross her mind, since she knew he thought she needed such a lesson.
Bane looked at the other centaurs and shook his head in dismay. “I doubt the human’s capability to learn,” he said slowly, and he aimed a sour look at Umbridge. “She appears incapable of comprehending that we hear her thoughts, even after I have continually proven it is so. And she does not show respect, either. We are not horses,” he growled, and he reached out and casually slapped her face.
Umbridge gasped in shock and put her hand up to where the shape of Bane’s hand was rapidly reddening on her cheek. “How dare you!” she shrieked. “I am your better! Do you understand that, horse? I am superior to you in every way. You will show me the respect I deserve!” She wagged her finger in his face and tried to slide off the slab, but her sweaty buttocks stuck and made a comical squeaking sound as she dragged herself across the stone surface, ruining the effect. There were muffled snickers from several of the centaurs. When her feet finally touched the ground she stood to her full height, which was nowhere near that of Bane, and tried to stare him down, but he gave no ground so she was forced to sidle around the end of the slab to avoid being quite literally in his face.
“I don’t know about you, my brothers,” Bane said, “but that does not sound like humility to me.” There were mutters of agreement from the rest of the centaurs and they moved restlessly, closing in around the slab. “Nor is it respect,” Bane continued. “You are undeserving of respect because you do not understand how to respect others. But you will learn. Perhaps through learning obedience you will gain knowledge of what respect is, and you will come to a clearer understanding of your immense insignificance among the cosmos.”
Umbridge snorted. “The day I obey you will be the day I die,” she said defiantly.
“Perhaps, although I hope you have more sense than that,” Bane answered. “As I have told you already, if you do not learn these lessons now you merely postpone them. What better way to pass the time?”
“Pass the time?” she said incredulously. “I don’t have time to sit here with a bunch of horses who think they’re better than me. I’m an important person! I have things do do!” She thought longingly of her desk, with its stacks of detention notices and her tea tray with the little rosebud teapot and cup that would be waiting for her, her nice cozy office with the kitten plates on the walls and the pink carpet she loved to sink her toes into. She wondered if anyone was looking for her or if those nasty children who’d tricked her into coming to the forest (because in her mind that was how it had been) had even bothered telling anyone where she was.
When her wild gaze landed on Bane again his brow lowered and his nostrils flared. “You deliberately seek to provoke me with your insults.”
Umbridge huffed at him and rolled her eyes, and quicker than she could follow it his hand flew out and slapped her again, hard but almost dispassionately. “Perhaps you are an imposter. There is a whiff of magical ability about you, it is true, but you do not have the mind of a teacher. Yours is firmly closed. And I sense a great deal of malice within you . . . evil.”
Umbridge’s mouth dropped open and she stamped her foot. “Nonsense!” she said indignantly. “Of course I’m a teacher. Ask anyone at the castle!” She drew herself up importantly, although naked as she was the effect fell somewhat flat. “I teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, I’ll have you know.” Her chin jutted out defiantly.
Bane stared at her impassively, clearly unimpressed. He could hear the other centaurs whispering amongst themselves and finally he turned to look at them. “What?”
Magorian, with a glance at the others, said, “Will you allow her to live?”
Umbridge gasped and was speechless for a moment, but more with fury than fear. “Well, I never—really! ‘Allow me to live,’ indeed! What a colossal nerve!” She stood there with her bosom heaving magnificently and her face flushed, her small eyes sparkling with fury.
“Silence!” roared Bane, and on the distant Quidditch pitch the Hufflepuff team, who were having an informal practice that was more for something to do between exams than anything else, wondered at the flock of birds that suddenly rushed up out of the Forbidden Forest and flew off into the distance.
Bane shifted his weight, stamping the ground beneath him restlessly, and faced Umbridge again. “She will live for now,” he said slowly, and Umbridge tried to hide her relief. “Until I decide otherwise.”
It was not lost on Umbridge that he said “until,” not “unless.”
“Come,” he said, and he gestured for Umbridge to precede him out of the clearing and up the path.
“Wh-where are we going?” she quavered, hating herself for sounding so timid.
“You are going where we lead,” Bane said, and he broke into a trot. The others swept in behind him and soon Umbridge was left in the dust—literally—coughing and stomping angrily in the direction they had gone, aiming a petulant scowl at the ground and muttering curses and threats under her breath.
After a moment she realized she could no longer hear anything but her own heavy breathing so she stopped and looked up. There was not a Centaur to be seen, and the path was no longer much of a path; there wasn’t a lot of underbrush, but a carpet of dead leaves stretched into the gloom in every direction and made it impossible to see just which way they had gone. She was not used to this kind of activity and felt extremely ill-used; her bare feet hurt, she was short of breath, and quite frankly the morning air was cold since she had no clothes on. She’d had a furtive look round the clearing as they left but could see no sign of them. Even as trampled and covered with dirt and bits of leaves and twigs as they probably were—wherever they were—she would gladly have put them on now. Besides needing the warmth, it was oddly disconcerting to be walking through the forest so blatantly naked; what if someone should come along and see her? Merlin! It wasn’t to be thought of. She reassured herself bitterly that it was likely the horses had buried her so deep in the forest that no one from the castle, and certainly no casual passer-by, would just happen to come across her here.
Even as she thought the H-word she heard the sound of hoofbeats. Surely the cursed animals didn’t hear that—I can’t even see them! She peered through the trees, squinting to see into the gloom that persisted even in daytime, and finally she saw one of the Centaurs coming toward her, his skin such a deep mahogany color that at first he blended into the maze of tree trunks. Although she would never admit it she was a little relieved to see that it was not Bane but Ronan, she thought his name was. He usually appeared to be deep in thought and so far she had never heard him speak, although if she’d thought that meant he was of a gentler nature than the leader she was about to be disabused of that notion.
“Why do you not obey Bane’s order?” Ronan asked. He folded his arms across his expansive chest and frowned down at her.
“I’m doing the best I can,” she snapped. “I only have two legs, you know! I can’t run nearly as fast as you lot.”
“You are just standing there,” he said. “Standing still is the best you can do?”
Umbridge opened her mouth to issue a biting reprimand for his sarcasm but all that ended up coming out was a squeak of surprise when he reached down and took hold of her wrist.
“You are meant to learn obedience,” he reminded her sternly. “Bane’s patience is not endless. You must come—now.” He pulled her firmly along behind him at what was for him a slow walk but, since his legs were so much longer than hers, had her half-running to keep up.
How he knew where he was going Umbridge couldn’t tell; she could see no discernible trail or any hoofprints. Once or twice she tried to ask, but if he heard her he gave no sign. Before long he was more or less dragging her along beside him, since her legs felt as limp as noodles and she kept tripping and falling. He took no notice of her difficulties but kept up a steady pace for about ten minutes, ignoring twigs and rocks on the forest floor that Umbridge was then unable to avoid treading on with her bare feet. He ignored her periodic cries of pain and refused to slow or stop for her to tend to her aches, so by the time they reached the rest of the group she was gasping for breath and sobbing with humiliation and fury at his ill treatment.
Ronan flung her down in front of Bane and they both scowled at her. Umbridge pointedly ignored them and turned up her foot to see if it was very badly injured. She would have given anything to have even just her shoes back.
Eventually she raised her head and looked around. They were in another large clearing, this one containing nothing but a knee-high, relatively flat boulder—not a particularly surprising sight until she realized that what she had initially thought were little heaps of dirt on top of the boulder were actually rusted chains. She wondered how they’d got there but didn’t have much time to think about it because Bane was speaking again.
“This is what you, who call yourself a teacher, consider obedience? What would you do if a student was disobedient or continually showed disrespect?” Umbridge’s chin jutted out and she pouted but refused to answer, but it didn’t matter. He could see her thoughts as clearly as if she had written them on her face. She thought of Harry and his detentions with the blood quill and Bane’s eyes widened. She hadn’t actually seen Filch whip the two first-years she’d sent to him to be punished for playing with a deck of Exploding Snap cards in her classroom, bored by the excessive reading that was all she would let them do in Defense Against the Dark Arts—had not personally watched him mete out their punishment, but she was well aware of the great glee with which he had performed it. She had enjoyed watching the two boys in class the next day and teasing them slyly about being slow to take their seats, knowing perfectly well that their badly bruised bottoms ached fiercely. A dozen other instances where she had handed out punishments or sarcastic little comments calculated to cause discomfort flitted through her mind, and so through the minds of Bane and the other Centaurs.
Finally Bane held up his hand. “Enough!” he said firmly. He held Umbridge’s gaze steadily but it was clear that he was shaken. “Your every thought makes it amply clear that you embody a spirit of evil far more powerful than I had thought. We Centaurs do not normally involve ourselves with the affairs of humans, as you know. And we do not perpetrate violence against humans without reason.”
Umbridge wasn’t sure whether that was meant to be reassuring, but it wasn’t particularly.
“However,” Bane went on, “I see now that any attempt to teach you is in vain. No respect resides within you, no care for others, only a great emptiness that is being filled by evil. I have only rarely seen worse. You are a danger to your own kind, but even so we would free you to fulfill your destiny—but for the fact that you wield this evil as a weapon against the young who are in your charge.” His expression softened a bit. “We are somewhat indulgent toward the young of your species; some of them are . . . almost bearable. We can not allow you to disrupt their intended destinies merely to fulfill your own desire to inflict suffering.”
“But I’m teaching them!” Umbridge interrupted, scrambling to her feet. “Don’t you see? They show no respect for me so they must be taught. You can see that, surely?” Ha! Gotcha there, haven’t I, horsey? she thought triumphantly.
Bane reared up and plunged his forelegs down so close to her she felt the spray of bark and dirt when his hooves landed. He lowered his face until it was mere inches from hers, and she had to force herself to look him in the eye and not give ground.
“One does not teach the young by torturing them and reveling in their pain,” he said, his voice menacing in its softness. “You are no teacher. You are a monster.” His eyes narrowed. “I suspect you are one of the Dark One’s creatures, brought to Hogwarts to break her spirit. We can not allow you to meddle with so many who are important to the future of the magical world, some with destinies more far-reaching than even we can see.”
He turned to the others. “It is my judgement that she shall not be allowed to live. What say you, brothers?”
One by one they signaled their agreement. Even Helanor, who Umbridge secretly hoped might speak up in her defense if for no other reason than that he might want another chance at her, gazed at her stonily and echoed the others’ nods. Ronan went to Bane’s side and conferred with him quietly for a moment, then Bane turned to Umbridge. “Ronan has seen in the stars that indeed your destiny will find you today. Come here, human.” He indicated the boulder, and Umbridge just looked at it and then looked back at him.
“What do you mean, my destiny will find me?” she asked suspiciously.
“Up,” Bane ordered. “I will not ask again.”
Umbridge reluctantly got to her feet but made no move toward the boulder. “I demand that you—“ she began, but Bane nodded to Ronan and Magorian and they took her by the arms and dragged her over to the boulder, ungently depositing her on top of it.
“Kneel,” Bane said, and Umbridge snorted.
“Like hell I will!”
Ronan and Magorian pushed down on her shoulders, their combined strength forcing her inexorably to her knees. With a single wave of Magorian’s hand the chains leapt toward her as if attracted by a magnet and the shackles clasped around her wrists and ankles. They abruptly pulled taut and she fell forward and found herself effectively spread-eagled, fastened hand and foot to the unyielding rock.
It had all happened so fast that she didn’t have time to break her fall. Her mouth was bleeding from where her face had impacted painfully with the boulder, and her knees were on fire where they had scraped across the rough sandstone. In vain she tried to cast a wandless spell but of course the damned horse heard her, and he had the gall to laugh at her!
“This forest is ruled by a magic much older than yours,” he told her. “Your evil is no match for its power.”
She fumed. Clearly she hadn’t developed her wandless skills nearly well enough; it was unthinkable that the horse could be right and her magic wasn’t powerful enough to work in the forest.
“If you refuse to learn respect in this life,” Bane continued, “we will send you into the beyond, that you might learn it when you become one with the stars. You have shown your great disdain not only for those in your care but for us, the guardians of the Forbidden Forest. We now show you the same, in our fashion, that you might remember the feeling and be humbled. Step up, brothers, and aim true.” He gestured toward Umbridge and indicated that the others should come forward.
Ronan, being closest, was the first. Umbridge twisted madly in her chains, trying to look over her shoulder. What was going on? What were they going to do? Suddenly two enormous hands landed on her rump and pried her cheeks wide apart, exposing the small brown crinkle of her hole.
She uttered a panicked shriek and tried to clench her cheeks together, but the hands were having none of that. There was a disgusting hawking sound and then a gelatinous mass of…something…hit her squarely on the asshole, cold from its passage through the air. Umbridge screamed and heaved as much as the chains allowed, which was not much. All she received for her pains was a stinging slap on the rump, presumably from Ronan. She heard slow hoofbeats as he moved away and someone else took his place. Another pair of hands landed on her outraged person, pulled her cheeks wide, and another glob of mucus was let fly. It joined the first and together they dripped down over her pussy and into her pubic hair before dropping to the ground. The second Centaur, too, slapped her—even harder than Ronan had—before he walked away and another took his place.
One by one the others all took a turn at her. One or two squeezed her cheeks, which bore the shape of several large handprints in bright red against her pale skin, and when one of them maliciously raked his fingernails down them she screamed in agony.
The last pair of hands that rested on her caressed her cheeks gently, and she felt a warm torso rub up against her. “H-helanor?” she quavered. Was he going to do—that—right here in front of everyone?
“Helanor. No,” Bane said quietly, so like the others, Helanor merely spat into her dripping crease and reluctantly dropped his hands and moved away.
Umbridge waited, tensed against whatever would come next. Now what? she wondered. She did not have to wait long to find out. Two warm, firm hands gripped her cheeks almost painfiully and spread them wide. She braced herself for another round of spitting but instead she felt something warm, hard, and impossibly huge nudging here there, somewhere she had never in her life imagined would be violated.
And if she had imagined it, she wasn’t sure she would have imagined it hurting nearly as much as it did, the copious amounts of saliva and phlegm notwithstanding. Her anus simply was not made to handle anything as large as what was now inexorably drilling its way into the very core of her, or so it felt. Bane—for it was he teaching this particular “lesson”—was not gentle. He took no time to prepare her or ease his way in; this was not for her pleasure, after all—quite the opposite. If it gave him pleasure, however, he saw no reason to deny himself.
He grunted as he slammed into her repeatedly, his enormous curved cock coming all the way out and then stabbing in again, any ground he had gained having to be re-won with every thrust. After his initial stab—upon which she had uttered a bloodcurdling scream and stiffened in protest, unknowingly making it that much harder on herself—Umbridge was too busy trying to breathe to make much noise.
After several more thrusts into her unwilling rectum there was enough blood mixed with Bane’s own fluids and the spit contributed by the others that his thrusts became longer and smoother and Umbridge was finally able to catch her breath. By now she was nearly in shock. The Centaurs touching her personal, private parts was bad enough, but spitting on them—and now this! She sobbed noisily but was too dazed and pained to summon a coherent protest.
Bane settled into a rhythmic rocking in and out, enjoying the sensation of her extremely tight passage and, it must be said, the sight of all the bright red handprints adorning her buttocks. He did not find her physically attractive but was male enough to decide that he might as well have something for himself in return for the lesson he was teaching her. He grunted behind her, driving forward so that her knees scraped painfully along the stone, and wondered at the cacaphony of disjointed thoughts and impressions that ran through her mind.
Umbridge knew this was a punishment, and even though it was enormously painful and she wasn’t supposed to like it—and she didn’t, of course she didn’t—she kind of did. The repeated stimulation of her anus was starting to feel tremendously exciting, and she found herself thumping back against Bane as he pounded away at her, straining to find that insubstantial thread of fulfillment that kept floating just out of reach. Her awareness of the other Centaurs looking on solemnly, every cock erect, faded and she realized with something like gratitude that the familiar wonderful tension was finally starting to build in her core.
It was different than when she made herself come in the solitude of her heavily curtained bed at night (only a few times ever, and certainly only at night; such shameful things were best kept hidden from the light of day). She would tease herself gently until she could stand it no longer and allowed herself to suffer in delicious agony from head to toe, her bed often shaking so hard with her shudders that she was surprised none of the house-elves ever seemed to hear it.
It was different, too, from when Helanor had toyed with her. He had been bent on giving her pleasure knowing it would increase his own, but Bane had no such motive. She feared that if he knew she was starting to enjoy herself he would stop just to spite her, so she tried her best to silence her gasps of delight. But she couldn’t silence her thoughts.
Oh, gods—Merlin—please, oh please—almost—gah, ouch!—yes, that’s it, come on—come on—oh, yes—
And Bane heard her. He was near completion so it was an effort to stop, but he slowly, deliberately pulled out of her; in any case he would never share his essence with any but his own mate, certainly not with this evil, undeserving human. Instead he finished himself off with his hand, coming in enormous spurts over Umbridge’s back and buttocks and gripping her so hard with his other hand that his fingernails left deep indentations in her reddened skin.
“Nooo!” she wailed, and she started to cry again, this time with frustration. “Finish it, you damn horse—you can’t leave me like this!” She glared at him over her shoulder.
Bane sent a vicious slap flying at her buttocks, and as they were covered with sticky cum it hurt far more than it would have otherwise. “Silence!” he bellowed. He motioned at her and the chains fell from her wrists and ankles, causing her to fall forward and lose her balance. She rolled off onto the ground, landing with a thump. She lay there for a moment, stunned, and finally raised herself on weak arms and looked around. Without exception, every Centaur stood with arms folded across his chest, staring down at her with open revulsion and disdain. She would rather have seen even a lust-filled expression on Helanor’s face than the cool dismissal with which he now regarded her.
“On your feet, human,” Bane ordered. He bent and picked up a fallen branch, thin and whiplike and with dead leaves still clinging to it. The others did the same, and Umbridge slowly stood up, her face twisting with distaste at the mess of twigs, dirt, dead leaves, and small pebbles that her sticky skin had picked up off the forest floor. She looked with misgiving at the collection of sticks the Centaurs held and wondered what would come next.
“We have far to go, and we must be there before darkness falls,” Bane said. “Brothers, you know the way. We must not tarry when we arrive, but deliver our gift and begone. Come!” He stalked over and gripped Umbridge’s arm, then started to trot along a path she couldn’t discern, pulling her with him. She was forced to run to keep up, and within moments she was panting with exertion. Fortunately Bane soon let go of her, but before she had time to feel relief from the new set of bruises his grip had inflicted his lash fell upon her sore buttocks and she squealed indignantly.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she gasped. She really needed to stop for a moment; it’s difficult to be properly indignant when one is naked and panting with exhaustion.
But another lash descended on her, and another, and another, and soon she was too busy trying to dodge their blows to worry about her dignity. She flew over sticks and stones and pinecones and vines and hollows that she came upon quickly and without warning, so that she stumbled and even bit her tongue rather badly once or twice. But every time she chanced to glance behind her she saw another branch heading her way, so she whimpered and continued on, somehow finding the strength to keep running. She had a feeling that if she stopped and refused to go any further the damned horses would drag her by the hair, if need be, so determined were those grim faces.
After what seemed like forever, and truly had been more than an hour, the Centaurs in front came to a sudden halt and moved to left and right, creating a path between them. When Umbridge realized they were at the brink of a small gully it was too late to stop and she was already running down the side of it. She tried to stop but lost her footing and rolled ungracefully, arms and legs flailing, to the bottom, where she lay aching and sobbing to catch her breath.
Over the sound of her gasps she heard a strange rustling sound and wondered what it was. When she shoved the hair out of her face and looked back up at the Centaurs, they were standing side by side in a long line, staring solemnly at something on the far side of the gully. She turned her head and froze.
She was inches away from the face of an enormous Acromantula, so close she was actually unable to see all of it to be able to tell just how large it was. Its pincers opened and closed spasmodically and its head nodded slowly as the incredible multiple eyes looked her up and down. It rose to its full height and addressed the Centaurs in a slow, gravelly voice.
“A fine specimen you bring me, Bane. What do you ask in return?”
Bane’s demeanor was humble. “We offer this gift in the hope of continued peace between us,” he said.
“Ah, indeed. Have my offspring been intruding on your territory, Centaur?” A low choking sound came from the Acromantula and Umbridge realized that he was laughing.
“No, Lord Aragog,” Bane said with a tiny smile. “You have fulfilled your side of our agreement with honor.”
Aragog bent and sniffed Umbridge, a long inhale that made the hair on her arms stand straight up in horror. “As have you,” he said. “I acknowledge your gift—but now you must leave. My children approach, and I trust you do not wish to be mistaken for their next meal.”
The Centaurs nervously looked off into the trees, where a much louder rustling could now be heard. Umbridge looked that way too, still not quite comprehending what was about to happen. The Centaurs wheeled as one and galloped back in the direction from which they’d come.
“Wait!” Umbridge croaked. “Don’t leave me here!” She scrambled to her feet, but a moment later a furry projectile of some kind knocked her over. She thrashed around until she was facing up, and her mouth opened in a silent shriek at the sight of several dozen smaller Acromantulae—the largest one the size of a large dog, perhaps—crowded around her and Aragog.
“Patience, my dears,” Aragog crooned. “There is plenty for all of you. It is a gift from the Centaurs.”
Suddenly Umbridge felt a tentative poke at her waist and looked down to see one of the Acromantulae’s pincers sliding along her waist. She shrieked again and tried to back away, but something touched her back and she whirled to find another of the giant spiders pushing against her. An inquisitive pincer ran along her leg and she squealed and tried to turn again, but there was nowhere to go. She was surrounded, with Acromantulae pressing in on her from all sides.
Then one of them bit her on the inside of her knee and she fell to the ground…and they were on her.
A final scream escaped her before a pair of pincers ripped her jugular open, and suddenly everything was hot and red and confusing, and the pain—oh, the pain—
In a short time the forest was quiet again. The Centaurs, miles away by now, had slowed to an easy walk and spoke quietly among themselves of the coming summer. It was time they returned to their females, who awaited them with loving arms and eager lips, and met the new crop of young that had swelled the herd this spring.
In time, what was left of the thing that had been Dolores Umbridge broke apart and was scattered over the floor of the gully like so many fallen leaves, leaving no trace.
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The Bane of Her Existence