……………

Part Four

……………

Professor Vega's eyes were shining when I walked into our disarrayed office; she could hardly wait for the results of my trip. For my part, I'd completely forgotten that I was supposed to come strolling in with stacks of brilliant Ateratra star-charts. "How did it go?"

I took a deep breath. All right, Lavender. Do not lose your temper. You are a cool and rational woman. "Oh, apart from getting lost, having to muck around in the dirt for hours, not finding anything of use, and getting nearly killed by a horde of murderous centaurs – perfectly fine."

I thought it politic to leave out the fact that one of the not-so-murderous centaurs was currently taking up residence in my little house.

Fran was looking predictably horrified. "Lavender! What?"

"You heard me – I swear, Fran, I don't ever want to do anything but tedious paperwork and even more tedious chronicling ever again. I'd rather die of boredom than injuries sustained during trampling."

"Oh, my dear." She got up and gave me a tight, choking hug. That's the wretched thing about working for batty old ladies; it's hard to rip into them because they're usually very nice and really they can't help being daffy. I bet I'll be completely senile by the time I hit fifty, walking around in my knickers and asking what time supper is at breakfast. "Why in the world didn't you Disillusion yourself before going into the forest?"

If she hadn't been hugging me I would have smacked my own forehead. I swear, I would have been better off as a Squib. "Fran," I said seriously, "I completely lack common sense."

"So do I, for sending you out there." She let me go – I took a huge gasping breath – and gave me a great grandmotherly smile. "How about I give you some incomplete star charts for this week and the next? All you'll have to do is fill them in. It doesn't matter from where, you can do them in your own garden if you like. It'll be a real holiday."

I don't know if she was truly feeling nice and remorseful or if she just wanted to keep me from quitting or having a fit or reporting to the Ministry's labour people, but it worked – a couple of weeks off was just what I wanted.

I spent the evening at my desk while Fran took over the outside telescope. Luckily enough, I still had the books on centaurs stuffed into my bag, so I pulled them out and began to read though, making sure that Fran didn't see. It wouldn't do to have to explain a sudden interest in centaurs after a near-death experience with them.

They turned out to be relatively useless. The first one, called The Mysteries of the Centaur, was just that – a list of mysteries. Can centaurs really practice Divination? Do centaurs have powers different from those of wizards? "I need answers, not questions, silly book," I said angrily, and put it down. But the other two were more of the same – vague guesswork and information culled from school textbooks. And I already knew that centaurs were proud and regal creatures. Any school-child does, Geez. You'd think someone could write a decent book about them.

……………

Dean was still there when I came tumbling out of my fireplace and back into my living room, but he had fallen asleep on one of the chairs. He was snoring lightly, with one hand dangling close to the floor. For a moment I very devilishly considered shouting him awake, but then I recalled how bloody nice he'd been and let him stay asleep.

"Firenze?" I called.

"Outside," he replied.

I followed his voice to my back garden and noted with surprise that Dean had installed a long piece of board from the door to the little stone laneway so that Firenze could easily wheel his way out. Firenze himself was watching the sun rising, a closed book resting on his lap. Obviously Dean had kept his word – Firenze was dressed in a pair of Muggle trousers and a black jumper. In the ordinary clothes, he looked less human – he was like something otherworldly in a costume, with a face that didn't quite fit the body. "Did you have a good night?" I asked.

"Mr Thomas is very helpful."

"And how are you feeling?"

He considered the question. "Better."

And that's a good way to describe how that first week went – progressively better. Luckily, Firenze became an avid reader of both Muggle and wizarding novels, and I didn't have to worry much about him being bored while I spent the evenings with my astronomy. I let him pick and choose from my bookshelf, and Dean brought him several more Muggle novels similar to Treasure Island. Dean himself popped in and out whenever he cared to, bringing clothes and books and cheerful comments, and I managed to head off Sara whenever she came nosing around. She was so aching to know what was going on and it was killing her. I can't say that I wasn't a little satisfied over that.

The walking lessons were improving steadily. We only did them for half an hour every day because they frustrated him so, and more often than not I had to keep my hands lightly on his as we took baby-steps through my living room, but he was getting better, and it was gratifying to see. I was afraid that Firenze would get too attached to the wheelchair when he didn't really need it.

The only thing that nagged at me tremendously – apart from my usual mental breakdowns regarding Seamus, Parvati, and eventual wretched spinsterhood – was the fact that I had no clue how to make good on my promise to correct the centaurs' curse. Books were useless – no wizards had ever dared to collect enough information about centaurs. My own magical knowledge was far too limited for something as huge as Firenze's transformation, and I couldn't precisely ask around because then they'd know I was harbouring a centaur in my house. If only Dumbledore were still alive – that man was like the magic solution to everything.

Friday came around, peaceably enough – making it one week since I'd dragged Firenze, unconscious and bleeding, into my house.

And to think that other people have ordinary milestones.

……………

On Friday morning – okay, it was more like Friday afternoon – I rolled off of my makeshift sofa-bed to find Firenze reading The Love Potion Disaster, which is an Aphrodite Jones. It's actually very good; it's about these two witches who are in love with two brothers, so they concoct a potion to make the wizards fall for them, only the wizards each fall for the wrong woman and they have to figure out how to set everything right and of course they end up not needing the potion after all because the wizards turn out to have liked the witches all along.

Really, Aphrodite Jones is brilliant to come up with this stuff.

Firenze saw me sit up and indicated the book. "Why are your shelves stocked with such rubbish?"

Oh, I thought, he did not just insult my Aphrodite. "Excuse me?"

"This is terrible – Dean's books are so much better. The language is poor and the story is confusing and only based around a ridiculous misunderstanding."

"Ah," I said sleepily, "but why are you reading it, then? There are plenty of Dean's books left lying around."

"I need to learn more about how humans interact with one another socially," he muttered.

"Perhaps that's not the best resource. Men like the ones in those books simply do not exist."

"How so?"

"Oh, you know, ones that aren't self-absorbed, neurotic, philandering, co-dependent prats who think chivalry is one of the seven hundred Quidditch fouls."

"I see." He went back to reading and I had to laugh at the screwed-up look of concentration on his face. Aphrodite Jones isn't an author you read with careful consideration; she's one you read in the tub with a bar of Honeydukes. "Are all human females as frivolously absorbed in finding a mate as the ones in this novel?"

I got up and started to fold my blankets. "Not me," I yawned. "I've sworn off men forever. No good, the whole lot of them."

"What's this, then?" Firenze asked.

"What's what?" I turned around and saw that he was holding the picture that I keep on one of my side tables. I don't know why I haven't shredded the damn thing. It's one of me and Seamus, at our Leaving Feast years ago, both of us giggling madly and waving like a pair of goons. "Oh," I said dully. "That's something I keep forgetting to smash into little bits." And then smash the little bits, and then smash the smashed little bits, and so on and so on and no, I'm not obsessive at all.

He raised an eyebrow.

I sighed. "He and I were supposed to be married. Then he decided he didn't want to marry me." This all came out very quick because I was afraid I would choke up on all the words; as it happened, I managed to say it all with only a little tremor.

Firenze nodded. "Did your family attack him for breaking his contract?"

Of all the responses he could have made, that was one I had certainly not expected. "What?"

Firenze shrugged – again, an oddly human gesture on a not-quite-human figure. "It is what happens in centaur herds when male promised to a female decides to disobey the will of the heavens."

I sat down. Now this was the sort of fascinating thing you couldn't find in books. "Centaurs have arranged marriages? I've never seen a female centaur!"

"We read the stars to decide which two are destined to be together, and – as I have learned time and again – it is unforgivable to defy what we read to be true," he said reasonably. "The female centaurs have their own council-ground, and have their own affairs to discuss, and you never saw any in the Forbidden Forest because Hagrid asked them to stay deep within the trees." He coughed. "You see, the male students would venture into the forest to gaze at them, and Hagrid was always having to rescue them. It was very troublesome."

"Oh!" I laughed. It was the sort of thing Hogwarts boys would do – sneaking into the Forbidden Forest to ogle the female centaurs. "Do you have an arranged marriage?"

"No. There are very few fathers who would accept me into their families. I have always been considered slightly insane. Even when I was a foal, the stars failed to hold me in good graces."

I leaned back in my chair and smiled, thinking of Seamus and Parvati. "I know exactly what you mean."

……………

Later that day, an owl came from Dean.

Dear Lavender,

I had a thought – you and Firenze should come to my mum's for lunch tomorrow. She won't give two figs about Firenze; she doesn't even know that centaurs exist, let alone know that the whole wizarding world has this huge prejudice against them. And Mum makes a really good vegetable pasta. She says to tell you that you seem very nice but look like you could use a home-cooked meal, which is her usual line on me, but it can never hurt to take a break from Culinarius Insta-Spell Suppers once in a while, can't it?

Hope you're doing well,

Dean

To my surprise, Firenze thought it was an excellent idea once I told him that Dean's mum lived in a big neighbourhood filled only with Muggles and that he would probably be able to spend the whole time outside breathing in fresh air. So I sent Mrs Greenwich back with an affirmative reply.

After supper, when it was dark enough, I grabbed a sheaf of Fran's star-charts. "I'm going to sit outside and work for a spell."

"May I come with you?" Firenze asked. He was still reading The Love Potion Disaster, despite several derisive snorts and comments on its foolishness.

"If you promise not to make fun of my silly human pursuits."

"Of course," he answered with a smile. So he wheeled himself out there, and I lay stomach-down on the back porch with my charts spread around me and my elbows propping me up, occasionally rolling over to gaze at the sky and check to see if I'd missed anything.

For a little while we were silent, both of enjoying the cool summer night and the fresh air, and only the movement of my quill over the parchment maps broke the silence. It was pitch-black, but the glow from my parchment kept it so I could see the outlines of trees and fences and things. Astronomers' parchment is really very neat as it glows a little in darkness so we can still see it – too much light is bad for the night sky.

Firenze shifted in the wheelchair. "What are you mapping?"

"Right now, Sagittarius." I scratched out a star I had mislabelled. "You ought to be amused by the story behind Sagittarius, Firenze. We say it's the representation of the centaur Chiron."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I suppose it doesn't really look like a centaur, but Chiron was supposed to be this great and kind centaur who taught the ancients all about the natural world and healing and such. And Chiron was accidentally wounded by a human, only centaurs are immortal in this story, so Chiron couldn't die but no one could heal the wound. So Chiron, since he was suffering from this incurable wound anyway, decided to be good and noble and took the place of Prometheus."

In case it's escaped your attention until now, I am far from a master storyteller.

Firenze snorted. "And who is Prometheus?"

"Oh, Prometheus decided to give mankind the gift of fire, only that made all the other gods furious, so the other gods chained Prometheus to a rock in the underworld, where every day birds would pick out his innards and then they would grow back and the birds would get right back on him every day."

"And this Chiron willingly took his place?" Firenze asked, bemused.

"As the story goes, yes." I finished the chart of Sagittarius and rolled it up, then began a new one of Perseus.

"That is—"

"Ridiculous nonsense, I know."

"I was going to say it was interesting," Firenze said. "Centaurs do not have the need to create tales that never happened, complicated pictures from things as simple as stars, and the human need to do so is entirely strange. And," he added with a small smile, "if this Chiron did exist, he would have been banished by his herd in an instant."

"It might be true. He could be just like you, a bit of a centaur misfit. Hey, there's even a connection – you both taught things to humans, although Chiron's humans were probably more receptive than Hogwarts students."

"His teachings were likely of more use; I found that very few students understood how I look at Divination." Firenze gazed back up at Sagittarius. "To us, that grouping of stars tells of the coming weather. The brighter it burns, the hotter the next day will be, and often we cannot see it at all."

It made sense, as Sagittarius is hardly visible outside of summer. "That is far more practical and far less interesting."

"Humans truly do have an odd notion of what centaurs are."

"The Chiron story is mostly a Muggle idea. They think you lot are ageless and peaceable and all that – that you go around weaving flowers into wreaths and communing with Mother Nature. You'll see that wizards have a different view of these things nowadays."

"Yes, I know," Firenze said darkly. "I wish it could have been otherwise. I have always spoken quite forcefully about making peace with all humans. Once – in my Forbidden Forest herd – I suggested using the Centaur Liaison Office at the Ministry."

"I bet that went over real well."

"I took a kick in the stomach for it."

"Ouch."

"Indeed," he said wryly.

"During the war, Firenze – why did the centaurs side with Voldemort?" Even though he'd been dead for more than half a decade, I still got a terrible little chill whenever I said the name. Everyone did, of course, but when you get used to doing something one way it's extremely hard to learn to do it another way. "I mean, he might have looked all twisted and gross, but he was human as well. Why trust him?"

"It was not my decision."

"Of course it wasn't – you were still exiled at Hogwarts and confusing us with your vague statements." I grinned. "But you must have some idea of why they did it. They're meant to want to stay away from humans entirely, not meddle in wars." For some reason, I very much wanted to know – perhaps because no one else in the world did.

"I imagine," Firenze said slowly, "that Voldemort offered them things they could scarcely dream of. He whispered beautiful promises into the ears of many, and, like humans, centaurs are not infallible. We can fall prey to greed and anger, and we can read the stars wrong because our minds want them to tell us certain things. The night sky can be obscured by ambition and evil. Humans will see what they wish to see – and, at times, so will centaurs. I imagine it would take a great deal of will to turn down vows of fame and glory and victory, and I imagine that the centaurs who decided to go to war saw a prideful, beautiful future."

"But what about the fighting? The general perception of centaurs before the war was that they just wanted to be left alone to be proud and imperious and whatever else they are."

"There are some centaurs who enjoy the brutalities of war. The archers see attacking humans as sport."

"How terrible."

"I have encountered some humans who think the hunting of centaurs is a game. There have been many centaurs who have ended up stuffed and displayed in the houses of rich wizards."

"Yes, well, they're terrible also," I said, anxious to steer the conversation away from violent centaur-stuffing. "So you're not an archer?"

"Only our best warriors are. I'm still far too young." He smiled wanly. "And, perhaps, too impetuous and unconventional."

I was curious. "How old are you?"

"Forty-seven, next full moon."

"You're kidding."

"Not at all. An ordinary centaur lives for four hundred years or so. Padear – the leader of the Ateratra herd – was four hundred and twelve a short while ago."

"And he didn't look a day over three-fifty," I said dryly. Then I glanced down at my charts. "Would you look at me! I'm not getting any work done at all." I sighed and began to gather up my things. "There are just some days when, no matter what, I can't get a thing done."

"That would explain your persistent lateness in handing in essays when you were my student."

"Very funny." I rose and dusted myself off. "Up for another walking lesson?"

"I have come to understand that such a question really gives me no choice," he said, but he willingly wheeled himself back into the house. We took our usual positions in the living room and I half-lifted him from the chair. His legs were getting stronger and he could hoist himself in and out; he could also take a few steps without me and without having to fall all over walls and furniture.

We started moving. "Were my essays really that terrible?"

"No, but the pink parchment was slightly hard on my eyes." He smiled at the memory. "Although it was never as offensive as Miss Patil's perfumed assignments."

"She had such a fierce crush on you."

"Did she?" He looked surprised. "Silly girl."

"That's an understatement." Ah, Parvati-bashing. Some people have things like knitting and Quidditch as hobbies, and I guess my own personal favourite pastimes just happen to be more bitter. I don't see anything wrong with that.

Heh.

"You were actually one of my better students, given that you were one of the few who believed in what Professor Trelawney had to say," Firenze noted.

"Well, she turned out to be crazy, but she did make one of the most important prophecies ever, so I can't have been completely remiss."

"Indeed not." I noticed that he was hardly paying attention to his feet. Slyly, I slid my hands away from his, so that only the ends of our fingers were touching. "Most human Seers are like that – they only See in sudden fits of clairvoyance."

I rolled my eyes. "And centaurs See better?"

"We do not See. We interpret what everyone can look at."

"Well," I said, breaking into a smile and nodding down at our hands, "look down and interpret that."

He did, and realised in a second that he had just walked ten steps on his own without even noticing. His eyes flew to meet mine; they were a mixture of shock, joy, and apprehension.

"I think that's enough of a lesson for today, don't you?" I asked, stepping back. I hoped he wouldn't be upset – in a way, every time he grew closer to acting like a proper person, he drifted further from what he truly was.

Firenze was wobbly without me, but he managed to remain standing. "I don't know, Lavender, if I am happy or not," he said solemnly. "If I am successful in these human endeavours—"

"It doesn't make you less of a centaur—"

"And I believe I'm correct in assuming that you've had little luck finding a solution."

"It's not easy."

"I know," he said quietly. "I do not mean to insult you. I know you try, and I know I am an imposition. And I know that I am not going to become human in my mind even if I have become human in my body, yet I fear that eventually I will want to be human."

He looked so desperate standing there. I placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed briefly, trying to ignore it when he flinched. "Firenze," I said sincerely, "if you ever want to be human, just come and get and me, and I will tell you all the things that are wretched about it. I mean, centaurs don't have to have jobs or go to school or pay fines for magical mishaps or worry about having their house-bills paid on time."

He shook his head and laughed and I couldn't help but note that it was a very un-Firenze thing to do. Perhaps I was rubbing off on him too much. Then he swayed forward and I had to reach out to steady him. Lavender, note to self: act more like a centaur. Also, figure out how to act more like a centaur. Actually, scratch that – just find a way to get Firenze back to normal. Also, stop making notes to self. It's abnormal.

He settled back into the wheelchair and went back to sleep. For a long while, I sat in my armchair and gazed moodily at the closed door of my bedroom. There was a sneaking feeling coming over me then, though, left over from the amiability of our conversation under the stars and the success of the walking lesson, and coloured my own self-denied loneliness – I was growing to like having him around.

Oh, hell, Lavender. You just have to complicate everything.

……………

We took my old Comet to Dean's mum's house, where she had a spread already all laid out – salad and pasta and ice-cream. Dean Apparated to my house for the wheelchair and the four us of crowded round a checked table in her garden, which I thought was bright and lovely.

"Thank you for inviting us, Mrs Thomas," I said politely.

"We're not at the Prime Minister's tea party," she said laughingly. "You can both call me Augusta."

"Right then, Augusta." I was ravenous and probably ate very disgracefully, but, then again, a voracious appetite is the best compliment one can give to a chef. "In my house," I said through a mouthful of coleslaw, "we never had much a big family do for mealtime. Everyone was always going in and out. My dad's an Obliviator so he's always on call."

"What's an Obliviator?" Augusta asked.

"Someone that erases memories, Mum," Dean said quickly. "It's not harmful at all and it's strictly regulated; we use it for when Muggles know too much."

"Oh," she said keenly. "Have I ever been Obliviated?"

"Well, no, you wouldn't have to, you already know about wizards – but remember when I was eighteen and always flying low in the garden? The Sullivans next door had to be Obliviated once because they saw me."

I laughed. "I remember that! You got the worst fine."

"Shush, shush," Augusta said, mockingly covering her ears. "I'm the sort of mother who just likes to wear her blinders and pretend her son is perfect. I'll not hear any more of these indiscretions." She turned to Firenze. "Dean tells me you're called Firenze."

"Yes."

"That's an unusual name."

"He's a centaur, Mum," Dean said. "Well, formerly."

"A centaur?" Augusta asked. She seemed entirely calm about the whole thing, but I supposed she had grown used to oddities, what with having a wizard for a son. "Like – a horse body and hooves and all?"

"Yes," Firenze said.

"How did you eat?"

Dean and I exchanged a glance – it was such an odd thing to ask that I was surprised it hadn't been me who'd blurted it out.

Firenze was confused. "I beg your pardon?"

"I mean, where would your stomach be? In the man part, or the horse part?"

"Mum!" Dean admonished.

I smothered a laugh.

Firenze seemed to think the question was entirely normal. "I had two stomachs," he said, matter-of-fact. "One in the horse part and one in the man part. The horse stomach digests coarser foods, like what ordinary horses enjoy eating."

"So you would get a craving for a lot of hay once in a while?"

"Something like that, yes."

"Remarkable," Augusta said, shaking her head. "I bet the man stomach hated that."

Dean still looked stricken at his mother's audacity, but I was smiling and Firenze looked oddly amused. Muggles really were gentler when it came to things like these; they didn't hate centaurs for picking the wrong side in a war because they simply didn't know any better.

Then it dawned on me – while it wasn't safe to have Firenze out in the wizarding world, it was perfectly fine to let him loose on the Muggle world. To Muggles, he would only look like someone exotic, like a foreigner, and they would never suspect him of being a centaur. Once again, I was flabbergasted by my own brilliance. "Firenze, Dean," I said happily, "you'd both better get some rest tonight. Tomorrow we're going to London!"

They both looked bewildered. But really, the timing couldn't have been better. I really needed some new shoes, and Muggles really do make some nice ones. They have excellent craftsmanship, some of them – and they don't even have magic! I decided it would be prudent, though, not to mention shoe-shopping to Dean and Firenze. Men simply don't appreciate the beauty of a finely-crafted heel.

Philistines, the whole lot of them.