Chapter Twenty-one:
When The Sky Falls

"May I continue, Albus? If you have nothing further to ask of me at the moment, that is," I say quietly. The forgotten memory has disturbed me more deeply than he can possibly imagine, and I am eager to forget it once more. Though, I know that to hope for such things is foolish, for my mind will not allow these thoughts to leave any longer. I have learned through my many years of life that it is best to accept what has occurred in the past, for nothing can change it; it has been set in stone.

I tug at a lock of my hair, awaiting Albus' reply. At times, I wonder if what I have done was right. Even I do not always follow my own advice.

For most, I do not exist, though such has been accomplished by my own assent. I have been erased from the minds of many, and have appeared as but a name—no being to partner it—by others. It is a lonely life that I have come to live, and I do not intend for my time here to last much longer. For the few who remember me do not look upon my face with love or compassion as they once did. They despise me, save for Albus. Yet there is only so much an aged professor can do.

It was he who first suggested that I go into hiding. At the time, it had seemed the only option there would ever be, and so I agreed. Albus feared that Tom would come for me, to use me as he had so many others. I mirrored his concerns, then. Albus had always been a wise figure to me. Someone whom I could rely upon; trust. I find it ironic that I once thought these same things to be qualities of Tom. Perhaps this is why I do not think as highly of either of them any longer. I do not wish to be betrayed.

"Please, do," he tells me, and I part my lips to speak.

-

It seemed as soon as I had regained one friend, I had lost another. Never at concurrent times could I have them both—though in a different sense—and never could one accept what the other had done. A Slytherin and a Gryffindor, how different they are, I mused sadly.

Heavy droplets of rain pounded around me and the heels of my boots sunk slightly into the moistened ground. My hair hung limply to my shoulders, the tips curling slightly and disrupting the steady, trickling flow of water along the strands. Long before, I had shed my woolen cloak for one of invisibility, and although it kept me from being seen, it was far too thin to retain any warmth.

My knuckles seemed as white as the bone which lay beneath my flesh, so tightly I gripped the cloth about me; I shivered. I had not been able to escape until after nightfall, so by then the impending storm had already begun to arrive. It seemed worse than what I had imagined it to be. Gales of wind ripped and exposed my legs to its wrath. Yet I could not turn back, I knew, for I had come too far to have second thoughts, though even before the day had dawned my mind was firmly set. If Tom had been aware of such midnight wanderings, he surely would have stopped me from doing so alone, but I did not find it appropriate that he should know. Fiancé though he was, he could afford ignorance at times.

It was to become a daily routine, this journey across the grounds, though I had not yet realized it. I was to grow accustomed to the weather; whether the rays of the sun beat upon my back or total darkness pressed in about me, I would come sometimes once, oft times twice. Never at the same time but always to the same destination.

The grey-green blades of coarse autumn grass lay flat against the rich soil, sodden from the persistence of the rain. It mattered not their length, nor would it have mattered had I chosen to stamp my way through them; my chosen path could not be distinguished from that which surrounded it. It was as though I had never set foot there and never would so long as I remained unseen and the sky fell.

In my mind, I prepared what I was to say lest words helplessly tumble from my lips like fallen leaves, carried away by the wind. It would not do for me to blunder; at the time, I worried that it would be the only chance I would ever receive—though it was not as if it had been given to me. And I was not to fully know just how much I would come to regret the things I once said until much later, when I had learned the affect of which they had upon the recipient. For then, I had only focused my attention toward the present, not the chain-linked reaction to the future.

As I neared the hut which lay at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, I froze. What precisely was I to say? What was there possibly to explain? What had occurred had been stated; it was now obvious. Suddenly, I felt foolish. There seemed to be nothing logical that I could do, yet it was too late. My hand was held in a ball, poised mere centimeters from the door. How I had reached it so quickly I did not know; my limbs felt as though they had begun to operate of their own accord.

The sound created as I timidly rapped upon the wood briefly brought to mind the somber peals of muggle church bells, crying out for those that are doomed to die. I listened for a moment, pressing my ear to the spot where I had knocked, yet there came no reply. I glanced at the sole window which bedecked the hut and found it dark. The curtains had been drawn, no glow of light to be seen through them. I sighed, thinking that perhaps he was abed at such an hour, yet knowing, deep inside the epitome of my heart that this could not be true. For the pup was gone, the crossbow as well. The latter, for as long as I could recall, had always leant against the wall nearest the garden hose.

Defeated, I turned from the hut's protection and into the force of the gale, allowing air and water alike to thrash at my skin. And as I breathed in deeply the misty silence which had befallen the grounds, I glanced at the patch where the pumpkins had been lain. The ones which I had planted so carefully had been destroyed. A single tear fell from my eye and melded with the rain.

That night, sleep eluded me. Instead of returning to the Ravenclaw Tower, I aimlessly wandered through the very-most outskirts of the Forest, knowing that if I was to lose my way, I would not be rescued as I had before. And though the tangle of brush hid me well enough, the Invisibility cloak I still kept tightly to me. At such times, I did not fear the many creatures which roamed throughout the trees; my mind had grown overloaded with an abundance of emotions, the cloak merely a way to protect me from them. It was as if what I felt overpowered me to an extent that I could feel nothing, see nothing, yet hear all the voices in the world as one. They taunted and pitied, encouraged and loathed me, abusing the final bits of happiness which clung desperately to my soul as I trudged on. I was void of thoughts.

The rain could not as easily reach me through the scattered canopy of branches above. They protected me as thought I belonged to the Forest, ushering me into my woodland home with the care of a mother hen. If I imagined long enough, I could nearly have thought the trees sought to comfort me in an ancient way of their own. I longed to believe, as my mind began to clear, that such foolish ideas could prove true.

Yet, if there was one thing which I required, it was to be embraced; held in the arms of my beloved. At the time, I was still vulnerable to such girlish fantasies that believed Tom had the ability to make every wrong right itself, and heal each small fracture to my heart.

If only these ideas were not farce.

I cast aside the cloak, tiring of the hindrance that it had become. I did not care that I would surely grow chilled to the very marrow of my bones, not did I give much thought to my actions thereafter. Perhaps it was for the fact that I did not realize just how utterly exhausted I was that I continued on so carelessly. Perhaps it was because Hagrid's absence had distressed me far greater than I could have imagined. Either way, I paid no heed to my surroundings.

Suddenly, I heard the subtle snapping of a twig, the sound muffled by layers upon layers of dead leaves. For a moment, I thought that I had imagined it, as soon after, the forest was silent. I paused with my foot half turned, glancing warily over my shoulder to be assured that I was alone. My heart pounded with an unnatural force; the dripping from the branches had ceased, or were otherwise not of enough volume to rise above the resonating beats within my chest. I did not call out lest my presence had not yet been detected.

"Do not be frightened, young foal," a soothing voice murmured. Automatically, I told it that I was not afraid.

"Who are you?" I queried, more curious than anything else. The words had barely escaped my lips when a figure emerged from the trees; I gasped.

At first glance, it seemed human; a man of sorts, yet not quite so. Darkness shadowed all but his torso, slices of moonlight glinting in his eyes as though they glowed. "The stars are shrouded this night," he said. "The future is hidden."

I nodded, unsure, though I realized at once what this creature was.

The centaur stepped forward just as a passing cloud shifted once more to cloak the moon, engulfing us in darkness. I could hear the gentle swish of his tail swaying back and force in sync to the rhythm of the wind. Never before had I encountered such a creature, and I was at a loss for words as for what to say to him. I longed to ask why he had ventured so far from the heart of the forest, yet I supposed that I would not receive an answer—or he would be otherwise insulted.

"The future?" I offered after a moment of hesitation.

"Yes."

I sighed. "I cannot say I know much of the future. Divination is not something which interests me any longer."

He pawed at the ground, chortling. "Disinterest, or whatever it is you wish to call it, will not allow you to escape. You must know this. A third eye, so rare in the human kind, is not so easily avoidable as that. It has been written in the heavens."

"How is it you know this?" I asked. "There are no stars this night."

He shifted, his hooves pressing deeply into the soil. The moon had at last been unveiled for a moment, thus enabling me to gaze upon him in full. I did so in awe. His face was pointed, framed by raven locks, each flawlessly placed as though help upon him by magic. The hairs which covered his horse-like body consisted of a softer tone, a smoke-enveloped charcoal.

"The rain," he gestured to the sky above, " was not due to arrive until tomorrow. Remember this, Danielle Parmellie. The stars have not been known to often deceive us. Let us hope their meaning can be changed."

His statement befuddled me. I recalled that Hagrid had once mentioned the elusiveness of centaurs, advising me against believing what riddles they were sure to tell. Although, I had not yet decided whether to heed his advice. While Hagrid was far from being a simpleton, he could not perceive things as I could. Surely I, at the head of my year, would have the ability to decipher such a code.

At the time, I took my intellect for granted.

"Someone approaches, young foal. Return to Hogwarts where you are safe for the time-being." He stamped uneasily. "I must leave you now."

I felt as though I had been struck dumb, unable to voice the many questions which skittered about my mind. And so it was in silence that I watched him fade into the trees from whence he had come, a shattered twig and soft imprints upon the dirt the only evidence of our encounter. And soon, they too had disappeared, marred by the steady fall of moisture, falling as though the sky itself had decided to give way and collapse upon me.

-

I awaited the intruder from beneath the folds of my invisibility cloak. I had no reason to return to the castle just yet, for I would only be plagued by nightmares if I did so. Minutes passed, and I began to suspect that the centaur had been mistaken, though I could not imagine why this would be. Perhaps the clouded sky had given him clouded thoughts. However, suddenly, I felt a presence behind me, and it gripped my shoulder tightly.

I let forth a shrill scream, the outburst piercing the night. I heard a small creature rustling through the brush beside me, startled.

Frantically, I grasped for my wand, and when I had found it, I whipped it out before me and cried, "Lumos!"

"Danielle," a voice hissed. A voice which I had come to know nearly better than the path by which I traveled to Charms.

"Tom?"