Weft of Power, Warp of Blood: A Tapestry of Desire

Chapter Twenty-Eight
Fireworks


“You did well, telling your little friends to go into the shop,” Lucius said, tracing his fingertips over his lady wife’s shoulder. Cuddling her from behind, he seemed to be enjoying the sight of her pale skin laid out before him. Her hair was pulled up in an impossible twist, giving him easy access to her tender flesh. Long ago, he had expressed a preference for clothing that just hugged her shoulders, giving him an expanse of pale skin to admire.

She remembered a time, just after they were married, that her mother had arrived for an unannounced visit, to find Narcissa’s neck covered in love bites. They had all been embarrassed – but Lucius had enjoyed the view of her legs as she dashed upstairs to get a scarf. Mrs. Black had been too proud of her daughter’s good catch to complain out loud. On this night, Narcissa had chosen a sleeveless gown to sleep in, not wanting to be naked and more vulnerable around Lucius, even though he was in a loving mood this evening. Narcissa tilted her head to the side, enjoying this gentle touch. So often it was hurtful, but she knew that he loved her. When he was gentle she could almost forget how cruel Lucius could be.

“You wanted gossip, I gave them some. It wasn’t terribly difficult.”

“What, exactly, did you tell them to say?”

“I didn’t tell them to say anything, Lucius.”

He stopped petting her.

She braced for a flash of annoyance and impatience, his hand squeezing tender flesh, but she felt none – this time. She continued, hoping her words would please him. “I had Harza and Dorcas over for tea the other day. We all commiserated over how much time that you men were spending in Wales….”

“Ireland. We’ve been in Ireland, for all they need to know.”

“I’m sorry. I said Wales. I forgot.” She winced when he placed his hand on her shoulder again but was slightly surprised when he continued petting her.

“The Dark Lord wants to keep Dumbledore’s dogs as far away as possible. A different island would have been the best choice, but Wales will be fine, I’m sure.”

His teeth were clenched; she could hear it in the words he was grinding out. Hoping that he wouldn’t be punished by the Dark Lord for her error, she apologized quietly.

“Don’t worry, my sweetness, he is pleased. Travers and Goyle were both praised, as was I – and you for your cleverness. He does know what happened,” he murmured smoothly.

“How does he know?” she asked. Once upon a time, Lucius told her everything that happened when the Dark Lord called, now it was only bits, when she was needed as a tool to win the silent war they were fighting.

“I don’t know, but I’m sure he uses something to listen at the dress shop. The Dark Lord always has one eye on the woman.”

“Why does he want her? She’s just a dressmaker.” Narcissa almost felt sorry for the woman - she made excellent clothes - but when it came down to saving the dressmaker’s skin, or her own, she would always choose to save herself and be rewarded by her husband’s good graces.

“A dressmaker and Dumbledore’s great-granddaughter, Narcissa. My Lord has had someone keep an eye on Jasmine Swan for some time now. He wants her for a broodmare to make little Dark Lordlings,” he thoughtfully, as though he was still considering the consequences. His slow stroking because a gentle massage.

She flinched when he pressed on a sore spot on her shoulder, a bruise covered with Myrtle’s Miracle Maquillage. He’d given the bruise to her the week before but she hadn’t wanted to go to their healer for it. She saved going to him for more important things. Like … falling down the stairs or accidentally walking between Lucius and Draco while they practiced dueling. She read about the makeup in the back of Witch Weekly – she no longer read Machiavelli or Tsun Tsu, for even they knew when to stage a strategic retreat and wait for a better time to engage the enemy. Instead, she waited and read what he wanted her to read and nothing else. It was simply easier that way. Besides, she’d memorized her favorites long ago.

“My sweetness, whatever has happened?” he asked, touching the spot again, harder.

“Nothing, my beloved. Nothing at all,” she whispered, not wanting to show her weakness or remind him of his anger.

He stared at then waved his hand at the sore spot; it came clean. Most of the bruise was still mottled red and purple. It was a perfect imprint of his teeth.

He stared at it for several long moments then said in a whisper, “Mon Dieu, I did this to you.”

Narcissa tucked her head down into her chest, feeling blonde tendrils of hair cover her cheeks as she nodded. She had learned that when he asked a question, he wanted an answer, she muttered a muffled “Yes.”

He touched it again, in exploration. Narcissa gasped and curled into a protective ball.

Lucius scrambled off the bed to kneel in front of her. Gray eyes filled with concern and remorse and his perfectly sculpted face melted in anguish.. “Narcissa… I…. I am so very sorry. I don’t know what happened…. I’m so sorry…. Please forgive me…. Please, say something…. I’m so very sorry. It will never happen again. Can you ever forgive me? Please Narcissa….” It became a tearful litany.

She couldn’t fully look at him. Seeing him this way, hearing the raw emotion in his voice and what she could see of his face through her hair, hurt her heart. This proud man that she loved so very much, was on his knees in front of her. Tears filled her green eyes and slowly trembled down her cheeks. Her breath hitched. She had wanted him to pay, to be sorry for hurting her, but seeing him so abased made her agony unbearable.

“My sweetness, please…. Please forgive me. I’ll give you anything you want. Jewels, clothes, servants, we’ll… we’ll go to the south of France for as long as you want… Books, I’ll get you books, all the ones you like, in first editions…. Please, my beloved… my love… please forgive me…. “

Whispered words and apologies always followed pulled hair and slapped cheeks, always excuses and tears on both sides of the pillow. It had happened before, twice before and she didn’t know what to do this time. He was so worried, under so much pressure from the Dark Lord and from the Ministry and keeping the family together. She always gave in and accepted the whispered promises of ‘never again’ and begging for forgiveness. He was always so sorry if he let his temper and frustrations out on her.

Crying, she lifted her head; her normally alabaster-white skin was blotchy from her tears. She sobbed, “Lucius, no…. please stop hurting me when you’re angry with the Dark Lord. It’s all I want, I can’t do this anymore…. My beloved, please - all I want is the man I fell in love with.” How could she not forgive him? She loved him – though it didn’t hurt that she would be able to spend some time in the south of France on a holiday, away from him.

He stared, his own face red and swollen from his tears and blandishments. “Never, my beloved, I will never hurt you again. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s come over me…”

Being around so much dark magic, so much caged power, made Lucius act in horrible ways – ways he’d never act by himself, Narcissa knew it. He was tired and frustrated and the Dark Lord put so much pressure on them all; Lucius did love her, she was absolutely confident of it. He just needed rest. Once the Dark Lord was where he should be, Lucius would be able to relax and enjoy his family again. She was sure of it. So she forgave him. Again.

They spoke in time then, each listening and murmuring words of comfort. Soft murmurings of apologies for crimes committed and shame felt and promises of kindness and care. She again accepted his apologies and demanded only love and tenderness. He promised her gentleness with whispered words and the softest touches.

He slid his hands into her hair but she flinched. “I just want to see it down, my beloved. Nothing else…” he murmured in the same, soft, slow whisper.

Narcissa leaned into him, pressing her cheek to his and nodded. His hands moved in her hair once again, removing jeweled pins and murmuring counter-spells to those he knew she used to keep it in the perfect chignon. It tumbled down, like a waterfall of spun sunlight, trapping his fingers in silk. Slowly, his fingers moved, rubbing and pressing until her eyes closed in bliss. Still on his knees, he leaned forward to breathe in her floral and oriental perfume, and the unique smell of her skin, a scent that had always driven him wild. He drew a handful of her long hair toward him, and buried his face in it – the scent was heady. He rubbed his face in his hands, still trapped in her hair, luxuriating in the texture. Several strands caught on the beginnings of his beard, but he relished the feeling of it on his face. As he moved her hair, it dried his tears but his gray eyes were closed. Drawing down his hands, his face tilted up, his expression was one of rapture, of having received a blessing – or a pardon, from his goddess.

Eyes opening, he pushed her hair back over her shoulders. She started but he made a shushing noise. She lowered her head but green eyes the color of spring, stayed open, watching him.

Drawing a single finger over her cheek, he murmured, “How stupid have I been to harm my greatest treasure.”

“Lucius…”

Moving his finger to trace her lips, he said, “Shhh. Even my name is too base for these lips to say. These perfect lips should be only for kisses.” He leaned into her but she shied. “A kiss, beloved. Only a kiss.”

Lashes fluttering, her eyes closed and she felt his lips on hers. A tender caress, he brushed his lips over her in a worshipful seduction. His tongue slipped into her mouth when she parted her lips for a breath that turned into a sigh. Minutes passed as he kissed her into a response, only their lips touching. She softened, leaning into him and his kiss grew more passionate, moment by moment, until she was returning his kiss equally. It was she who touched first, her hand, wedding rings asparkle, moved to his shoulder then to caress his neck.

Breaking the kiss and ignoring her moue and moan of displeasure, he brought her hand to his lips, nuzzling a kiss into the palm. Another kiss was pressed to the inside of her wrist and he paused to breathe in her perfume for so long that he seemed drunk with it. Tearing himself away, he kissed a line up the pale skin of her forearm, where the Dark Lord had once contemplated burning the Dark Mark into the spouses of his Death Eaters. At the inside of her elbow, he dared little tastes of her flesh. Sweat had risen there; her skin was slightly salty but he licked all away as though it were nectar. With nuzzles and licks, he made his way to her shoulder, ignoring the strap of her gown and settled at her neck. Since that day when her mother had seen his love bites, she’d hated being marked there, he took care to kiss her gently behind her ear.

Lucius lifted himself to perch on the edge of the bed; Narcissa was enjoying his gentle caresses so much that she forgot to be frightened of the movement. Cradling her face, he pressed two formal salutes to her cheeks, in homage to her beauty and honor of her position as his lady wife. She curled and stretched herself to a half lounge and returned his formal kisses before brushing her lips over his. Soon, they were lost in each other again.

“My beloved, you have to know how sorry I am,” he whispered against her lips.

Tears overflowing again, she nodded and but said nothing. She only captured his lips again for a tender kiss and hoped.

He whispered, “Let me show you how much I love you. Please, let me try.…”

“Lucius, I…”

“Shh, beloved…. I won’t hurt you. I want only to give you pleasure. Trust me.”

Narcissa looked deep into the eyes of the man she loved and desperately wanted to trust. Lucius… her husband, her love – her lover, of fifteen years. She’d been betrothed to this man since birth; they had been destined for each other. Once, they’d been happy, they could still be happy – showing him how much that she loved him would be the best way to start and it would get better. He promised.

She drew her hand down the front of her gown, it parted, framing her breasts in satin and lace. Shrugging each shoulder, the thin straps fell. Narcissa looked down at the bruise, framed by her blonde hair and the ivory of her gown. Sideways, she looked up at him.

Lucius, too, was staring at the bruise and looked despondent. He reached for it, but his hand dropped and he lifted his gaze to hers. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

Making the choice to believe him, to believe in him and to believe that they would be better, she tugged the gown off. Unsure of his reaction and unable to lift her eyes from the velvet duvet, she was still, waiting.

In a smooth motion, Lucius dropped to the side of the bed, on his knees once more. His dressing gown fell to the floor. A thick wool rug saved his knees from the marble floor, though it was unheeded as he gazed at her. Holding his hand out to her, he begged, “Trust me.”

She took his hand with a loving smile.

He placed his other hand behind her hip and murmured, “Mobiliarbus.” He soothed her when she squeaked and the movement and tried to move herself. “No… let me… I want you to lie back and relax, my beloved. Let me do everything.” When she was perfectly situated with her knees bumping into his chest, he countered the spell.

Lowering back onto the bed, Narcissa instinctively parted her thighs.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, stroking her thighs wider. “What did I do to deserve you?” He leaned forward and kissed her knees farther apart. Pressing kisses up her thighs, he stroked her velvet soft skin with his thumbs. When they could go no higher, he lifted his head to look up at her. He summoned pillows to prop her head and shoulders up. When she blushed like a maiden, he smiled a gentle rogue’s grin and pressed a kiss to the curls to her neat thatch of curls. She closed her eyes and arched into him but he pressed her down again and murmured, “Look at me, beloved. Watch what I do to you.”

Forced by desire, she opened her eyes to see him pressing kisses down the valley of her thighs. Fingers tipped in platinum reached for him, burying themselves in his hair. She didn’t have to guide his head, he knew her body so well. She knew what to expect, even though when he parted the delicate folds with his thumbs, she sighed as though it was all new. He touched his tongue to the nub then ran his tongue around it, teasing her until it was swollen and erect.

He laved and teased, his tongue swirled over her nub and he took pleasure of scraping it with his teeth with the force of a fairy landing on a flower petal. She pulled his hair and he only moaned into her flesh. She could only twist against his hot, hungry mouth – and smolder. When she thought she would melt all over him, he lifted his head to look at her. She whimpered his name.

He ducked his head into her heat again and whispered into her flesh, “My beloved.” The movement of his mouth built the fire again, higher and hotter – then he thrust his tongue into her womanhood and she knew, in an instant, that she would not shatter, like glass, but explode like a star. She screamed his name, “Lucius!”

In an instant, he rolled away from her and onto the bed, tugging her shuddering body over his. She moved with the knowledge of a woman who knows her lover’s body better than her own and knelt over him, one hand between her thighs, gripping his cock. Here she was safe, here she was in control. Teetering on the precipice, she looked down at her lover. His hair was a wild, silver tangle on black velvet. His eyes were a darker silver, deep in desire.

His hands lifted to her waist and guided her over him. She watched his face as she impaled herself on him, his face tightening as she descended. As she stretched around him, her head fell back. Releasing his cock, she balanced one hand on his flat stomach. The other lifted to caress her breast as she moved over him. The fire burned hotter again, and she clenched around him. She ground her hips down, twisting and writhing over him. In the distance, she heard him moan her name she knew that he would lose control soon, but she didn’t care. The explosion built faster than before, in panting and sweat and desire and the flush of trust and love. He brought his thumbs to touch where they were connected. His hard knuckled brushed her nub and they exploded, then melted into each other.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Kiaya decided not to take her usual after dinner walk around Norwich since she needed to get to Hogwarts. Instead, she dressed in clean black work robes over jeans and a light pullover, ate a ham, cheese and tomato sandwich, tugged the trunk full of supplies she’d need out of the corner and made her way to Scotland. As usual, she apparated short distances, via eight Ministry-sanctioned apparation points, instead of going directly to the gates of Hogwarts. She was always terrified of splinching by going too far in one hop.

“Up! Mobiliarbus!” she commanded, her wand pointed at her trunk. It lifted from the ground just enough to follow her as she trudged up the hill to the castle. Dumbledore had offered her a carriage ride to and from the castle as she needed but she had refused. Her daily walks, either in Scotland or Norwich, kept her from getting pudgy from standing about all day and night in a laboratory.

Just as she passed the lake and started trotting up the up the final grade to the castle, a shadow fell across her path. Startled, she looked up but before she could recognize the person, the trunk bumped into the backs of her knees. Grunting in pain, she stumbled. Strong arms caught her just before her face hit the ground.

When her head stopped spinning, the aching began and Kiaya winced. The trunk was still digging into the backs of her legs. Her knee was skinned under the holes in her work robe and jeans. Powerful fingers bruised Kiaya’s side, still holding her up.

As she was lifted to stand, Kiaya looked for the feet of her rescuer. Hoping beyond hope that they would not be shod in black leather boots under close-fitting black trousers and designer robes, she was astounded by what she actually saw. Instead of her bête noir, she saw hooves; hooves that were a shiny, healthy chestnut color – perfect for a strengthening solution or a virility tonic. Her eyes moved over equine legs, then a horse’s palomino-colored flank and barrel chest. Confused and still in pain, Kiaya looked further up to see a naked man’s chest. It was a very nice man’s chest, tanned, well muscled and covered in a tangle of reddish-blonde hair. Once she was set on her feet by the creature, Kiaya tilted her head back – way back. He was incredibly tall. Meeting his astonishingly blue eyes, set in a lean, tanned face, she melted. The fear that all human females shared about centaurs and the bias against non-humans that she shared with almost every wizard conveniently disappeared in a hazy mist of azure eyes and white-blonde hair. She looked up at him and lost herself in her long-forgotten girlish fantasies of riding off with a handsome prince on the handsomest steed in all of England.

“I was told that students are not allowed outside at this hour,” he said in a deep baritone.

His voice was perfect, just right for a knight…a steed… a hero. He smelled divine, sweaty, clean, horsy, and so very very male. She fluttered her eyelashes and sighed in bliss, completely ignoring the scientific reason for her amour. Pheromones, designed to do exactly this, were hard at work turning her brain to mush. Any second, her legs would be spread and she wouldn’t give a good God-damn about centaur rape, inter-species breeding, biases against non-humans, the tosh of love at first sight, the immorality of lust, the potential social ostracization of any female that bore a centaur colt and the sheer ick factor involved in bestiality. He was gorgeous. That’s all that mattered.

“Girl, you are to be studying. Why do you just stand there?”

His words sank through the fluffy pink haze in her brain, “Oh, I don’t have to study anymore. I’m all done with that. Now I teach. I’m a teacher. Potions. I’m sure you could teach me, though,” she said in a breathy voice, not exactly sure what she was saying but knowing that she didn’t want him to think she was a child.

“You are a teacher of Hogwarts? The years have not touched your face as so with the other human females, you seem to be still a colt. Is there a wizard’s curse that prevents your aging normally?” he asked, sounding genuinely interested. He gently disentangled himself from her and stepped backward with a small, knowing smile.

She clung but allowed herself to be disengaged with a small whimper. As soon as they were no longer attached, Kiaya took a deep breath, then another. While the fluffy pink haze of lust faded with each new breath, horror mounted. This was the new Divination teacher, since Trelawny had been sacked. Moreover, this was a centaur she’d been mooning over, and she was a human! She felt ill, even knowing the cause. There were no female centaurs. The males kidnapped human females to breed with. There were hormones that made any human female turn into a bowlful of marmalade so that they wouldn’t resist rape and impregnation, once she got over the shock of being kidnapped. Wizards had been trying to simulate the stuff for generations but no centaur would allow himself to be subjected to … She’d fallen in temporary lust with an animal!

Shame, horror, disgust and embarrassment washed the last of the short-lived crush away. Face aflame, she muttered something that sounded like ‘Unkerdinklyoo,’ and fled up the hill, her trunk bouncing and bobbling behind her.

Once inside, Kiaya endeavored to shove the incident to the back of her mind. Whenever it would come forth, she’d shove it, forcefully, back into a small locked cabinet. Quickly, she started steeping bloodnuts, ambergris, rosemary, unicorn hoof shavings, and a nice pot of tea – all separately, of course. She fell into the rhythm of stirring, steeping, boiling, simmering, grating, chopping and stirring more, until the clock chimed six forty-five. After checking to make sure that nothing would be ruined if she took a few minutes away, she wrote little notes on each bowl and pile, explaining exactly what everything was, what it was for and when it was started. She cleaned up everything that wasn’t immediately in use, removed her work apron, fluffed her hair, shoved the thought of the centaur and her deplorable behavior away and marched toward the Slytherin common room.

It was easy enough to find. She simply followed two of her students to the common room, in the guise of asking how their homework was going and issuing promises to help as soon as she got in. Stopping just inside the door, she took the room in. It seemed to have been etched right out of the mountain’s black stone and decorated in black leather that reminded Kiaya that they were, indeed, in a dungeon. It was embellished in formal, heavy greens for pillows, knobs and lampshades. There were no windows. To Kiaya’s mind, it was oppressive. Nodding to all, she set to her task of helping the Slytherin students cheat. She muddled along well, answering questions about asphodel and wormwood, adult unicorns versus babies and their coloring, how “swish and flick” turns into a lazy wave as one gets older but proper form is important when just learning and toad slime as used in potions. Kiaya skirted around a transfiguration question by propping a hip on the desk and flipping through the book with Miss Thornquist looking over her shoulder until she found something that looked familiar. Thank goodness McGonagall hadn’t changed textbooks in thirty years.

There was a slight stir when the Malfoy retinue entered. The flunkies entered first, clearing their throats dramatically, ensuring that people would look. Then the girlfriend entered, pug nose high in the air. She was too busy fluffing her hair to see Prince Malfoy himself stroll through, bodyguards trundling through after. The blonde boy rolled his eyes at the girlfriend before spying Kiaya, still perched on the table. His grin was slow and predatory; it reminded Kiaya of the boy’s father, whose manipulations the night of the ball she’d never quite forgotten. Speaking of not forgotten… the centaur… no! Malfoy sauntered to Kiaya’s side, eyeing her like candy. His entourage followed faithfully. She held the transfiguration book in a small, feminine defense against his marauding eyes and was once more, grateful for the loose work robe she wore.

“Professor Roundtree, it’s so good to see you again. I hope everything is going well with your first overnight stay so far?” Malfoy oozed as he bowed over her hand. Light glinted off a small “I” pinned beneath his prefect’s badge.

“It’s going very well, thank you, Mr. Malfoy,” she said.

“If there is anything you need this evening, feel free to call on any of the prefects or on the Inquisitorial Squad. We’ll all be very happy to help you.”

“The Inquisitorial Squad? I don’t know what that is.”

Malfoy tapped the silver “I” on his robes and explained, “The Inquisitorial Squad is a group of students that have been handpicked by the High Inquisitor, Professor Umbridge, to aid her efforts in securing the Ministry’s position here at Hogwarts,” he said with a condescending smile.

“I see. I must have missed that memo.”

“We’ve all been chosen because of our obvious loyalty to the Ministry, rather than any secular loyalty to anyone here at school that might be trying to harm the Ministry’s interests,” his words sounded rehearsed and smarmy. “We have a great deal more power than simple prefects, in the interest of preserving the Ministry’s influence here at Hogwarts.”

“I see. Congratulations on your appointment, then. I have work to do, as I’m sure all of you do, as well. Goodnight.” Kiaya handed the book back to Thornquist and aimed for the door.

Malfoy’s words made her pause, “Professor Roundtree, I do hope that we’ll be seeing much more of you in the future. Crabbe, Goyle, don’t we?” He looked to his henchmen, who snickered and nodded like trained apes.

Sure that he couldn’t be hinting at anything crude, though equally sure that he was, Kiaya smiled tightly and said, “Thank you, Mr. Malfoy, though I’m sure that I’ll only be here as Professor Snape needs me to be.” Kiaya nodded to the room at large and scuttled out. Secular loyalties? Ministry appointments of students to be… guard dogs?

Not really sure of all that it meant, Kiaya walked back to her classroom, reasonably sure that she stood by Dumbledore, rather than any Ministry official that was nasty to teachers and appointed nasty students to bully others. She wondered why on earth all of this was happening – was it He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Why would anyone doubt Dumbledore’s word? It was all too confusing. Immersing oneself in potions seemed to be a great deal easier than trying to muddle through the tide of public opinion, government edicts and randy schoolboys with equally randy fathers.

As Kiaya made Mr. Jugsons’s Stomach Tonic, prepared Headache Powders, Birth Control Potions and bottled perfume for Mrs. Lewbody’s birthday, her conscience grew more insistent that she look at her own behavior earlier. The reaction to the centaur was normal – any adult female would have had the reaction. Fleeing the way she did, without a word, was terribly rude, especially after he saved her a nasty scrape. He’d done nothing but help her and she’d reacted like a blithering idiot. She really ought to apologize, especially since he was a fellow teacher, non-human or not. She would stay a safe distance away from him, just in case he got any ideas – and so she couldn’t smell the pheromones. The clock chimed nine and Kiaya’s official work was finished – she had time to work on the Lycanthropy Potions… or to go apologize. Tummy in a jumble and a rivulet of sweat rolling down her spine, Kiaya debated. He wasn’t human, it wasn’t likely that he had real feelings on the matter. Thinking on it, she wasn’t quite so sure, though. He sounded human, his thoughts and questions, even his face were human. Maybe they did have feelings. Centaurs were classified as beasts rather than beings because they chose to be classified that way – chose. Damnit. Feelings or no, if the beast could choose to work for Dumbledore, if he could choose to work with humans toward a peace, if he could choose to keep her from falling on her face, then she could damn well choose to apologize like a civilized adult. She took a deep breath, bit the inside of her lip, straightened her black workrobe, and marched out of the dungeons.

She knocked on one of the closed classroom doors on the ground floor. She knew it had been assigned to him; there had been a memo from Dumbledore. In the middle of her deep breath, the door opened. Tentatively, Kiaya stepped in. She thought she heard a swish of tail of thud of hooves. “Hello?”

“Your coming was foreseen,” he said, though it was disembodied in the dark.

A light bubble appeared and she saw him, standing in a clearing in the trees that were conjured for the room, one arm raised toward it. He was staring at her.

“I don’t understand, my being here was foreseen? How?” she said, trying to keep her tone well away from both strident and quivery. Looking down, she saw the floor was covered in grass and moss.

“We were fated to meet, but not in fear. You are a human female. You had to recover from your fear of a centaur for the future to come forth to meet the present,” he said, looking directly into her eyes.

“Er…” she bit the inside of her lip again, composing the proper words into a apology rather than a rejection of his centaurly … whatever. “Er, look… I … er… I just came to apologize for earlier. Er… running off without thanking you for helping me up was really rude. I’m sorry.”

“Your apology is accepted, Kiaya Roundtree,” he said in his calm voice.

“Thank you, Firenze,” she replied. She knew his name from the memo about Trelawney. She stepped into the room, the moss under her feet was springy. Puzzled, she asked, “How did you know my name?”

“I asked Dumbledore.”

“Oh.” She tried not to roll her eyes at herself; the statement had been so very profound. “Why?” Even more profound. Why would he not want to know the name of the silly urchin that had crawled all over him, then run off like scared rabbit.

“You have been foreseen in the fume and flame of mallowsweet. It was best that I have your name for my dreams, Kiaya Roundtree,” said Firenze quietly.

“What?” she squeaked. “My future is foreseen in fume and flame? What future? What mallowsweet? What did you see? Why are you dreaming of me?”

”Ask no more. I will tell you nothing. It is not yet time.”

“But… this is me! You can’t very well go about saying that you’re dreaming of someone and not say what about? Is everything all right? What’s going on?” she demanded. Damned horse, couldn’t speak a plain sentence.

“Kiaya Roundtree, your time has not yet come. In several of your months, you will return to me. Then, it will be time. I will tell you no more until then. Now, it is time for you to insult me by asking for hoof clippings or some such” He closed his eyes, waiting for her to stop spluttering.

“Hoof clippings! You want me to forget everything that you’ve just said and ask for hoof clippings?” She was amazed. Not only was this creature as oblique as he was handsome, he was utterly barmy, as well. “Fine! When you shed some of the layers of your hooves, will you please notify me, I should like to use them in some of my potions’ ingredients.”

Firenze opened his astonishingly blue eyes to stare at her.

She gulped but continued on. In for a dram, in for a gallon, her mother always said about her mouth when Kiaya was upset. “And while you’re at it, I’d like to have some of your blood. It’s very good for Virility Potions. The hooves and hair are good for Strengthening Potions, so whenever you want to be groomed, you’ll kindly let me know and I’ll just take the leavings.” Her voice was shaking by then. Tears welled but were quelled with great effort. “Now, is there anything else you wanted to discuss?”

He dimmed the light bubble with a wave of his hand and pointed to the stars that shone through the forest in the room. “The Pleiades are dancing, it’s quite lovely – and a sign of joy. Venus has been changing, growing bright and dim but she is growing brilliant again. But Mars has been bright for many years.”

She blinked, her pique deflated. Kiaya decided that she was tired and confused and no longer able to continue with this bizarre conversation. Emotions sill running high, but body weary, she asked, “But why?” The question encompassed everything, all of the questions of the night.

“Because it is foretold,” Firenze answered simply.

“I’ll… er… I’ll stick to potions, thanks,” she said, it as almost a murmur. “Thank you, again, for picking me up outside. You saved me a nasty scrape. Thank you,” she whispered. He nodded and she left the forest room, disquieted.


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Dear Remus,

The worst thing that could have happened, has done so. Dumbledore is gone! We were practicing our Patronus spells in the Room of Requirement, when Dobby came in to warn us that Umbridge was coming. We all scattered but Harry was caught and brought to Dumbledore’s office. I tried to follow but I couldn’t get through the statue at the entrance to his office. Marietta Edgecombe – you know, the daughter of Mme. Edgecombe from the Floo Network’s office – told on us! Of course, she’s Cho Chang’s friend, so I’m not at all surprised, but still she’s the cause of it all! Harry told me what happened it the office – Marietta broke the promise not to tell anyone about the DA, so the hex that I put on the contract got her. She had “SNEAK” written all over her face! They’ll never get it off, it has to wear off. In about two weeks, the lesions will be gone, but it’ll take a long time for the discoloration to fade. Harry said that everyone was yelling but Dumbledore took the blame for the DA – he said that he started it, not Harry and Me. when Umbridge asked Marietta if that was true, Harry heard Kingsley Shacklebolt whispering something and Marietta went into a kind of a trance and didn’t say anything at all and lost her memory. Then Umbridge attacked her and had to be hauled off by Percy Weasley, Minister Fudge and two Aurors! Dumbledore said that the DA was his idea and that he’d never go to Azkaban because he’d just break out and no one could stop him. Harry said that when Fudge tried to have Dumbledore arrested, Dumbledore knocked everyone except him and Professor McGonagall out. Dumbledore told them that he wasn’t really going into hiding and Fudge will wish he’d never tried to fire him from Hogwarts and then grabbed hold of Fawkes and disappeared! If you know where he is, you don’t need to tell me, but please let me know if he’s alright. I am worried about him and Harry is understandably quite upset.

Remus, Umbridge is still after Harry, she dragged him into her office today (Dumbledore’s office has locked itself against her. She’s having a right tantrum about it, I’m told) and tried to drug him, probably with Veritaserum in tea. She asked him if he knew where Sirius is and was telling him to drink his tea. Thank goodness for Moody’s lessons, Harry didn’t drink anything she gave him, instead poured the tea out and only said that he didn’t know where Sirius is.

That’s when the fireworks started. Literally. Fred and George did it – of course, they’ve been planning it for weeks. They set of fireworks throughout the school just at lunchtime – they said that the new Head deserves a bit of mayhem. I’m just afraid that they are going to get expelled. Every firework, every pretty exploding spell, every popper and noisemaker they had, they set off. Most of the teachers are amused, they just shut their doors against the fireworks and are making Filch and Umbridge deal with them. Of course, every time Umbridge tries to use a spell to make one of them go away, it either explodes and makes a hole in a wall, or it splits into smaller versions and continues on. They’ve been going for hours. Flitwick was really funny, he just said that the teachers didn’t have the authority to remove the sparklers from their own classrooms, so they were all calling on Umbridge to remove them! The only place they didn’t go off is in the dungeon classrooms – George said that Fred has a crush on his potions teacher and she would get upset with things blowing up in her room. They’ve made a fortune on orders for the Weasley’s Wildfire Wiz-Bangs. I just hope they don’t get caught.

In other news, Umbridge has created the Inquisitorial Squad, we found out about it just before Harry was dragged off to Umbridge. They are all students, Ministry of Magic toadies, all handpicked by Umbridge to dock points and rat out other students that aren’t following all of the new rules. She’s chosen Malfoy to lead them! I can barely believe it, but it’s just so. Rules wise, we were told that there’s going to be a new educational Decree number 29, so that Filch can use corporal punishment! He’s so excited, I think he’s dancing jigs – as much as his rheumatism will allow.

By the way – after all that, my Patronus is an otter. Do you know what causes a Patronus to come out a certain animal?

Your thoughts and advice are always appreciated – at this point, they are needed.

Yours, as always,
Hermione