Good day chickadees. Oh your feedback on the previous chapter had me grinning from ear to ear. I cannot tell you the relief I felt. As for this chapter, finally, here is the third perspective that I promised in chapter 5. I have been looking forward to this scene since the very inception of the story.

Triggers - gore/lots of blood/panic and anxiety symptoms - I don't think there's anything else, but if you see anything let me know!

Any and all mistakes are mine.

Without further ado, enjoy!

Military tactics are like unto water; for water in its natural course runs away from high places and hastens downwards. So in war, the way is to avoid what is strong and to strike at what is weak. Water shapes its course according to the nature of the ground over which it flows; the soldier works out his victory in relation to the foe whom he is facing. Therefore, just as water retains no constant shape, so in warfare there are no constant conditions. He who can modify his tactics in relation to his opponent and thereby succeed in winning, may be called a heaven-born captain.

The five elements (water, fire, wood, metal, earth) are not always equally predominant; the four seasons make way for eachother in turn. There are short days and long; the moon has its periods of waning and waxing.

- Sun Tzu, The Art of War

Chapter 8 – T'es dans la merde

11:05 am, 10th of September, 1999 – The breakfast room, The Craigdarroch Inn, Loch Ness, Inverness, Scottish Highlands, Scotland, UK.

Now that the restoration of Diagon Alley has finally been completed and the Hogwarts project all-but finished, this reporter took the streets to be amongst her people. To hear your voices. Your stories. Your worries and woes and oh boy! You did not disappoint! Readers, I heard you. Your uncertainty in these trying times is palpable. While the Ministry is focused internally, scooping out the toxic infection that they knowingly left to fester right under their noses for decades, they've left the rest of us adrift - still broken, still shell-shocked, still grieving.

Well, my dear readers, I will always put your needs first. Many of you spoke of your concerns, that there were death eaters still at large. That the government were not telling us everything. That they were keeping us in the dark as to the true state of affairs.

I can tell you readers it is far worse than we feared.

And the hypocrisy of it all will leave you as breathless as it left me.

Ron sipped from his coffee cup and straightened the newspaper, eyes eagerly skimming the words. The tell-tale signs of warm anger started to burn beneath his sternum.

One of my sources informed me of an emergency hearing relating to the dashing fallen prince that we just love to hate – Draco Malfoy, the heir apparent to the Malfoy estate. Draco Malfoy received his sentence for his crimes as Death-Eater last July, which is expected to end in July, 2000. This reporter took it upon herself for you, my dear readers, who so trustingly placed your worries and fears in my caring hands, I had to find out what the Ministry would not tell you. I went undercover, deep behind enemy lines, to check if our beloved bad boy was still serving his penance at Azkaban and why would the Ministry be holding a hearing this early before his release back into society.

This reporter can confirm dear readers, that Death-Eater Draco Malfoy will be attending an emergency hearing later today (1pm on the 10th of September) at the Ministry of Magic courtrooms.

But what, I hear you cry, could possibly warrant such an exceptional event?

"Money," Ron scoffed, shoving a scone slathered in strawberry jam into his mouth.

Well dear readers, this reporter witnessed first-hand that the once revered, pureblood aristocrat Draco Malfoy is no longer human and has undergone a creature inheritance.

And you know what that means readers?

The Malfoy blood isn't as pure as we were led to beli-

Ron coughed, choking as he sharply inhaled his half-chewed scone. He pounded his fist to his chest and grasped for the coffee mug, eagerly downing the contents. When it was finished, he took a deep, clear breath and blinked the moisture that had accumulated in the corner of his eyes away.

"What happened here?" Hannah's melodic voice asked as she sat in the chair opposite him, reaching for the cafeteire and pouring herself a black coffee. Ron gulped down some air as he examined the remnants of the scone he had spluttered onto the table surface.

"Scourgify," Ron muttered with a dismissive flick of his wand. He shunted the paper at Hannah and reached for another scone. Whilst she read the front-page article, delicately sipping her drink, Ron aggressively ladened another pastry with a dangerous level of cream and jam before ramming it into his mouth.

"Oh no!" Hannah bemoaned sorrowfully, her brow creasing with sympathy.

"Mmph, Cn oo belif di dit mm-"

Hannah peered at him over the top of the newspaper, her brow slowly lifting.

"I can't understand a word you're saying, swallow," she chided.

Ron rolled his eyes and worked his jaw around the claggy dry pastry, cream and jam coating his throat in a saccharine film. He gulped a mouthful of coffee to wash it all down, much to Hannah's evident disgust.

"I said, can you believe that this fucker has the fucking nerve to be a twat for our entire school life, and he's a fucking creature! Fucking wanker, I sw-"

"Ron, keep it down other people are trying to have breakfast in peace," Hannah sighed tiredly offering a small smile to the elderly couple across the way who were looking over with identically put-out expressions.

"Sorry," Ron grumbled in their vague direction, "but still Han, can you bel-"

"I feel sorry for him."

The rampant irate voice in Ron's head screeched to a stop. He froze mid-gesture and blinked with rounded eyes at Hannah, who busied herself applying jam to her scone with precision.

The third chair pulled out from the table and Daphne Greengrass lowered herself demurely into the seat, crossing her ankles under the table, her soft auburn waves pulled over one shoulder.

"Good morning," she announced in her clipped received pronunciation while she reached for the cafetiere.

"Mornin', sleep well?" Hannah asked brightly.

Ron still hadn't moved.

"Awful, I kept waking from horrid dreams in which we kept getting killed. I tell you," Daphne said conversationally, taking a brief sip from her mug. "I don't know whether I should be impressed or horrified at the variety of ways in which my subconscious can pull a spine from a torso." Her nose scrunched in dismay.

"Oh no, that's awful. You okay?" Hannah leant forward concerned.

Ron still hadn't moved.

"I'm quite well darling, they were just stress dreams about today I imagine. Nothing to worry about, just a little peaky. I'll need an IV bag of caffeine with me to get me through this horrid day and a week or two in Mauritius once this is all over and I'll be right as rain," Daphne offered a charming smile to Hannah as she reached for a scone. "Whatever is wrong with Weasley though? It's not even noon and he looks like he's already having a conniption," she commented as if his behaviour was completely normal.

Which is was, but Ron would never acquiesce the point.

Hearing his name brought him screeching back into the conversation.

"How can you feel sorry for him?!" He hissed. "Just because he's all fluffy now doesn't change the fact that he is still a monstrous fucking weasel."

Hannah sighed and gave Ron a look of disappointment.

"I'm sorry, to whom are you referring to?" Daphne interrupted, taking a delicate nibble of her pastry and dabbing away the jam from her lip.

"Y'ere, read this lass," Hannah said, handing her the paper. "And don't be so closed-minded Ron. Any sort of inheritance is a traumatic event, it can be exceedingly painful, and I doubt very much he 'as the adequate medical treatment. On top o' that," she said, her voice growing sterner as she held up a hand to physically ward off Ron's interruption, "his legal standing has changed entirely. I can imagine for someone in his precarious position, this is goin' to be terrifying for him," she finished as if berating a child. "So while I am not Draco Malfoy's biggest fan, he is still another bein' on this planet and causing pain and misery for the sake o' it solves nothing. So yes, course I feel sorry for him because I have a heart. Now grow up and eat your food." Her eyes flashed dangerously as a lock of blonde hair fell down into her face.

Ron closed his mouth from where it had fallen open and looked down at his plate, chastened but feeling no less indignant about the entire situation. Bloody women.

"Fuck," Daphne said quietly, bringing her hand to her downturned mouth.

"I've been trying to get you to swear for a year Greengrass and you waste it on this?" Ron whined.

"Quiet!" Hannah snapped at him before she turned to the sorrowful beauty. "Are you still friends with him? Is there anythin' we can do?" She asked tentatively.

Ron's squawk of outrage was ignored.

"Of course we are still friends, we grew up together. I need to owl Pans," Daphne said, her eyes re-reading the article. "I knew I had a bad feeling about today," she said more to herself.

"Offer my services to Parkinson," Hannah replied, a kind smile on her face.

"You both can't be serious!" Ron exclaimed, sitting back in his chair with a look of disbelief on his face.

Daphne and Hannah were an exercise in opposites and Ron had mused for many a moment on this fact. Where Daphne was pale, brown-eyed and auburn, Hannah was blonde, blue-eyed and tanned. Where Daphne was all cheekbones and a jawline that wouldn't quit, Hannah was rounded cheeks and soft chin. Where Daphne was cold, speaking in the clipped English accent with the soft-palette of the aristocrats, Hannah was warm and lyrical, with the yawning vowels of her Northern accent. Where Daphne was stand-offish and squeamish at the mud on her heels, Hannah was in wellies laughing at her.

Where Daphne said buns, Hannah said baps.

But Ron never truly knew fear until he witnessed them join forces against him.

Like they were doing at that moment.

The two women levelled him with piercing looks, lips thinning in repressed aggression.

But Ron had faced worse, he coul-

"And tell Parkinson that Weasley offers 'is help too," Hannah added sternly, her blue eyes pinning Ron to his seat. He opened his mouth and drew breath to power his rebuttal when…

"Of course, such a good idea. One of the golden trio supporting him! They will be so thankful," Daphne replied, her features sharpening under her Machiavellian words. Ron frowned, his mouth hanging useless.

"It's not a worry, course we will do everythin' we can, won't we Ron," Hannah said pointedly, "because we're not in school anymore." Her brow lifted gravely.

Ron's eyes bounced between the two women, flabbergasted.

"Have you both gone insane? It's not about being in bloody school! He's a bloody death eater! Have you forgotten that small war we were part of? Or did those years pass you by?" His voice rose dramatically, his brows high in incredulity.

"We have not, and you'll do well to discontinue this patronising tone Weasley," Daphne snapped. "I'm going to owl Pans before we head out. I'd be ever so grateful if you were done with your tantrum by the then please?" She rose from her seat, collecting her coffee to take with her and looking pointedly at Ron as she went.

As her steps faded away, Ron glowered into his coffee mug, deep in thought. They were all stressed, he knew that. It had been a manic couple of days. Since the moment Hannah had pulled him from his bed and brought him to the prospective Quidditch grounds to see the remnants of the battle between the yeti and centaur, it had been none stop. Ron had had to recall the entire team to Inverness, their base while they had been location scouting in Scotland. Mr and Mrs McNealy ran The Craigdarroch Inn; an elderly couple, with white curly hair and warm welcoming smiles. Craigdarroch estate had been in the McNealy family for nearly a century, and the homely witch and wizard were the epicentre of the bustling magical community that lived by Loch Ness. They were more than happy to accommodate Ron's team, blocking off the conservatory that provided a breath-taking panoramic view of the loch and free tea and coffee - Ron had promised them free tickets in gratitude.

While the team had been locked away, brainstorming ideas of how to resolve the situation, the yeti and centaur had had a further two skirmishes. The area in which they were fighting, was just north of the loch. By the end of the first day, the team had been scratching their heads at the lack of ideas and leaning toward letting to the two races get on with it until it fizzled out. Deadlines would just have to be pushed. Except one of the tributaries that fed Loch Ness ran right through the battleground, and so when the team had sat down to eat breakfast the day before, Martin Selwyn who worked at DMGS with Ron had given a startled cry in horror and pointed to the Loch. In the shining morning sun, the blue-grey waters were turning a coppery-brown that was slowly spreading from the north corner across the loch. Ron had watched the water glint ominously in the cold September light before sending off the relevant people to inform the Ministry. By midday, his team had quadrupled in size. Daphne's team had spent the day corralling and obliviating the muggle population of Loch Ness to then sending them all on surprise holidays elsewhere. They had worked tirelessly well into the night to set up anti-muggle warding around the entirety of the Loch Ness and another perimeter spanning fifty miles around the battle site. Hannah's team made up the majority of the new team and had predominantly been dealing with the magical creatures that resided within the loch. The Merpeople had threatened an uprising at the insult of having their waters polluted by Earthen beings; meanwhile, the influx of blood had sent the pair of Nagas, who were gentle herbivores that had lived in the lake for the better half of a century, into an outraged frenzy upsetting the Ashrays, usually nocturnal creatures for good reason, who then proceeded to have a mass evacuation from the loch. The result being, the sight of hundreds of ghostly apparitions rising from the water, only to turn into gelatinous puddles on the banks once their ethereal bodies hit the sunlight.

It had taken thirty people nearly two hours to push bank the initial mass exodus into the water, now a team of ten were on rotation, pushing back those who were still trying to flee.

The previous evening, the entire team – seventy-three people, all housed by Mr and Mrs McNealy – had gathered in the conservatory for a meeting. It was well understood by everybody present, that the situation had become untenable with the centaurs and yeti showing no sign of halting their disputes and the ecosystem of Loch Ness very much at risk because of it.

It was decided that drastic action had to be taken.

After the discovery of the loch, they had sent a couple of envoys to treaty with both sides of the conflict, in an attempt to broker peace. The centaurs hadn't been receptive to the idea but had eventually reluctantly agreed to allow someone who followed their way to talk to them. The yeti meanwhile, agreed to talk to the leaders of the group only.

Thus, Daphne and Heather, Hannah's second, were going to attempt to talk to centaurs, while Hannah and Ron were going to try and talk to the Yeti's Salun (their leader, Ron had been promptly informed before he could crack a wise comment). Whilst a third team was being dispatched to follow the tributary of the hundreds of miles it spanned, to see if there were any other affected areas. Though neither Daphne nor Heather were practitioners of Divination, Daphne held a touch of sight and had been raised on the old traditional ways, while Heather was a natural dab-hand at tarot and palmistry. This left Ron and Hannah, the most senior in the hierarchy to deal with the yeti.

The whole thing had been Hannah's idea. Hannah, who thought that Draco Fucking Malfoy, the fluffy creature that he was, deserved sympathy. On the one hand, Ron had to admire the woman. She was fearless. On the other, Ron thought her fearlessness was a symptom of her insanity, rather than a noble characteristic. Like the Naga! She had cooed softly at their angry growling faces, their sharp teeth bigger than her entire person, their serpentine bodies disappearing under the murky water only for their tails to splash fifty foot away.

Let's just talk the yeti. They'll listen to us. It'll be fine. No Ron stop being dramatic, they won't eat us.

He scoffed and took another sip of his coffee. Mad. Completely mad. Why are all the women in my life bonkers? He had barely slept as it was over the past couple of days. Between running the war room and pulling shifts down on the shore, managing the new arrivals, fending off his boss and trying to keep the whole thing as confidential as possible (the last thing he needed was the media to find out), he felt the exhaustion seep down into his bones. He marvelled for a moment, how his goal to have a quiet life and decent Quidditch had resulted in him trying to maintain the Scottish Magical ecosystem. He wasn't qualified for this. Sure he could run a war room better than anybody there, he was a natural strategist after all, but this entire situation had spun so quickly out of control that it was a case of damage control and all hands on board. And when this was resolved quickly and peacefully, him and his rag-tag team of comprising largely of accountants, researchers and paper-pushers, would be exalted for their monumental feat.

"Have you stopped being a prick?" Hannah inquired mildly, her eyes glued to the Society pages of the paper.

"Have you stopped thinking that all creatures great, small and death-eatery are cute and cuddly?" Ron snapped back, barely hiding the wince at his poorly formed retort.

Hannah gave him an exasperated tired look over the top of the paper before she grabbed her coffee mug and drained the dregs. She stood, folding the paper and swept her travel cloak over her shoulder in one swoop.

"Where you going?" Ron said, confusion evident on his features.

Hannah paused her actions and cast him a beseeching glance as she fastened her thick forest green cloak shut.

Seconds tick by before –

"Oh! Right, yes. Is it really time to go?" Ron exclaimed his heart sinking at the realisation as he gathered his wand and papers from the table and threw his cloak on haphazardly. He hurried along to catch up with Hannah, juggling the various items as he made his way through the lobby and out the front door. He tripped down the final step, nearly dropping all the papers, adrenaline coursing through his veins. The sun was bright in the cloudless azure sky, a gentle breeze rolled through, carrying the open scent of clean air and freshly cut grass. Around them, the colourful flowers of Mr McNealey's flowerbeds swayed gently, the hanging willow that stood sentry on the path to the loch brush its hanging leaves lovingly over the manicured lawn.

"You are an utter disaster sometimes Weasley," said Daphne as she reached over and plucked the messy pile of papers from his arms, freeing them from their burden.

"I am not, it's all by design," he sniffed proudly, righting his cloak and fastening the collar again the Scottish chill.

"Of course dear," Hannah clucked soothingly in the same voice she used to barter with the Merpeople. Ron scowled at her as she passed him by but she had already turned to the gathered teams who were awaiting their orders.

He tuned her out and focused on his shaking fingers that fumbled on the cloak ties. He huffed a quick frustrated breath and tried again, and again the ties slipped from between his jittery fingers. Everything's going to be fine. He swallowed and re-focused on the ties. You've done this before. His heart skipped a beat. Everything's going to be fine.

He dropped the ties again.

Before he could pick them back up, perfectly manicured nails appeared in his vision. He looked up into Daphne's passive masked face. It had taken him a while to become comfortable in her presence when they'd first started working together. He complained for months that she was a cold ice bitch pureblood queen with no personality. Then one night, they had gotten into an argument over Quidditch of all things, and Ron had realised that the calm emotionless exterior that she had been wearing was a mask to cover her discomfort. Since that day, the mask only came out when she was stressed in some way, and Ron had grown to like the quirky, well-spoken weirdo underneath.

But the mask was in place now.

She quickly fastened the ties and met his eyes. They held a look for a moment, assessing whether the other was sound before she moved back with a nod.

"You'll be fine," Ron said out of the side his mouth to her, not wanting to draw the attention of the subordinates. He hesitated a moment and watched as the gathered teams took notes of their orders. "I…" He swiped a hand over his jaw, bristling the growth that had been left unchecked for a couple of days. "I'm sure Malfoy will be fine too." He rolled his shoulders as if to rid himself of disgust.

Daphne remained silent until the groups started to disperse. Then Ron felt her smaller hand take hold of his and gently squeeze in comfort before she moved away to greet Heather.

Ron blew out a short breath that puffed his cheeks, bound and shrunk down the stack of papers that Daphne had organised and left on the wall and pocketed them, before moving to join Hannah, his still trembling fingers tucked securely in his cloak.

"All good?" He asked when he reached her.

"Aye, Selwyn's taken lead on the team to head up the tributary. He's taken about thirty with him. I've got Philip overseeing Ashray rotation and Felicity with a small team to maintain the wards, and provide back-up with the loch," she said, her eyes critical as she watched the mass of people divide into their respective allocations. The air shifted beside Ron as Daphne and Heather joined them.

"Ready?" Heather squeaked in her high-pitched voice. It had taken Ron a while to acclimatise to the tiny woman, but he now no longer winced every time she laughed and he considered that a victory.

Hannah and he nodded their confirmation. Ron held out his hand and felt Daphne's grasp his in turn. With a final parting look to Hannah, who readied herself to side-along Heather, he apparated them away from the safe, idyllic lawns of the inn.

The crack boomed loudly in the open air, high up on the hilltop. Ron looked over at the second crack as Hannah and Daphne appeared. Neither Daphne nor Heather had seen the field yet and both started, horror dawning on their faces as they took in the scene below. The sun that had been right in Hannah stepped over to him and nudged his elbow to get his attention. He looked down at her and saw her gesture with the tilt of her chin to the west. He swung his head around and looked down the valley of the field. The light of the high sun was almost gone; the smoke from multiple pyres that burned a heinous red glow in the gloom, gathered in the sky like a nuclear winter. For as far Ron could see, the sky was black with soot and dust. The air hung oppressively around them. The cloying tang of metal and blood seasoned the heavy scent of ash and burnt flesh. Hannah covered her mouth and nose in a scarf she wrapped tightly around her neck.

Ron rolled his shoulders and took an unsteady breath.

"Let's get this over with. Remember, if it turns south, get out of there first. You can send a patronus just as easily when you're safe back at the inn. Got it?" He commanded to Daphne and Heather who nodded their assent.

"You'll want to follow this path when you reach that outcrop of there, see it?" She gestured with an outstretched arm and a tilt of her body. "Cast 'banefinner' with a clockwise twist like you're lockin' a key, alright?" She motioned the movement with her wand. "Green lights will appear in front of you, they'll lead you to the centaur basecamp."

"Very well, take care you two," said Daphne, righting her cloak in a nervous gesture.

"Yeah, see you for dinner! The McNealy's are doing a hog roast this evening!" Heather's muffled voice squeaked, her eyes bright with joy.

"Great, now I'm hungry." Ron moaned, turning away from them with a wave. Hannah swatted him on the arm as she fell into stride with him.

"You've just eaten a dozen scones! How can you still be hungry?"

"I'm a growing boy!" Ron squawked offended and Hannah scoffed and rolled her eyes at his antics.

They walked in silence for a while, their strides lengthy down the mossy incline. Ron thanked the Gods that he'd worn his sturdy leather boots as they sunk into the boggy banks with each step and with every squelch, dark liquid licked the tops of his feet. The skirmish fields were silent, barren of any movement whatsoever.

"Bannefinner," Hannah muttered and a blue glow illuminated before them and disappeared as it wound its way into the murkiness of the smoke. The envoys had laid the paths of entry the day before, following the guidance of each of the camps. Ron was only half convinced that sticking to the paths would keep them alive; he wanted to get out of no-man's-land quickly before someone mistook them for an enemy and he ended up with a spear in his gut.

Or worse.

Ron and Hannah walked in silence, the only sound was their boots squelching in the sodden earth. The smoke was so thick Ron could barely see more than a couple of metres ahead of him. After that, it was a swirling wall of grey and black, accented with red and orange glows of pyres in the distance. A tall shadow loomed suddenly from the shadows and Ron jumped back, flinging an arm out to protect Hannah.

The shape didn't move and Ron noticed it was strangely thin with a bulbous top. Hannah tapped the arm he still held before her and ducked under it, approaching the thing.

"Hannah what are you doing!" Ron hissed.

She ignored him and continued forward, the smoke closing in behind her, threatening to swallow her whole. Ron jolted into action and marched after her, coming to an abrupt halt before a tall log that was stuck into the earth like a pillar. Ron's eyes travelled up its shaft and craned his neck back to see what was making the bulbous shape at the top. The air shifted, clearing the smoke momentarily, but long enough for Ron to look into the lifeless eyes of the bloodied head that with pierced with the tip of the log. He wrenched back, pulling Hannah with him. He strode with determination along the blue path, Hannah hurrying along beside him, keen to put distance between them and the pillar. Except the further they went, the more pillars began to appear from the depths of the smoke. He glanced over his shoulder down at Hannah, whose mouth was drawn tightly in dismay.

"Please tell me you still believe that we won't be eaten," Ron muttered quietly from the side of his mouth.

Hannah's brow creased as she looked up at him. "Of course I do; I just don't understand why this has happened. All year, all the clashes that we've seen. They've were gettin' worse and more frequent, but this is just the cherry on the cake. I mean, yeti," she wet her lips nervously and eyed the smoke, "there's so little literature on them 'cause they're so elusive. That bein' said, both centaurs and yeti are such peaceful creatures," Ron snorted and raised an eyebrow at her, "they are peaceful!" Hannah defended earnestly. "They're fierce warriors, but neither would go out o' their way to start a fight. Which makes this whole situation a hundred times weirder. Neither species are native to this area. It's not a known migratory path. And now they're warrin'. And I just don't understand it." She frowned at the ground.

"Well I guess we're about to find out," Ron intoned darkly.

From the dark swirling abyss, a structure emerged, taking shape the closer they got. It was a crudely crafted gate towering twenty-odd foot above them, the same spiked pillars formed walls that spread in both directions either side of the gate. Ron and Hannah came to a stop, unsure of how to proceed. Movement caught the corner of Ron's eye and he snapped his head to the left. He could have sworn he saw something, but as the smoke remained still he chalked it up to a trick of the light. He felt Hannah step closer to him.

Suddenly the gate started to levitate upwards, opening the entryway to a bridge. Ron and Hannah shared a look before stepping through. Their footsteps echoed ominously on the boards as they started to cross it. Ron peered over the side to see a bubbling moat of an oily tar-like substance. His face grimaced in disgust as a particularly large bubble belched an old musky smell right up his nose. He wretched slightly and felt Hannah pull him away from the edge. She gave him a stern look before she went to stand before a second gate. Ron joined her, wiping a hand under his nose, trying to rid the smell from his sinuses. A moment later, the second gate levitated and Hannah and Ron shared an apprehensive glance before they stepped through.

They were immediately met with a long corridor, the walls made from stone. Torches flared to life as they passed, lighting the passage forward. Ahead of them, they could see an empty entranceway that looked to open out on to a courtyard. Ron swallowed nervously and wiped his clammy palms against his cloak. Suddenly, the entryway was filled with a twisted silhouette. It was roughly seven-foot-tall by Ron's guess, but the fractured lines of antlers on its head, made the shape seem taller. It was slender and lent nonchalantly against a staff with another gnarled tip. As they neared, Ron could make out the coloured textures of the multiple tabards that the creature wore over its lithe body. Its large feet were bare, its lower calves were covered in matted grey fur mixed with mud. It wore leather straps around its ankles, and as the creature shifted, the glint of metal on the straps flashed in the firelight of the torches. The long body of the creature was wrapped in many layers of varying shades of blue and yellow, all splattered with mud and other darkened stains. Its neck was swathed in thick cowl scarves, the long drapes of material dangled carelessly from its narrow shoulders. Its long sinewy arms were covered in rough-looking grey fur, that darkened to a midnight black the closer to the hand it got. Its face was partially shadowed by a blue pointed shroud that hung low over its forehead; Ron was only able to discern blackened stripes matting the grey fur on the creature's cheeks and the unblinking gaze of two amber glowing eyes.

I have been lied to. Yeti do not look like that in books!

Hannah and Ron stopped before the yeti, who assessed them silently.

"Uh…" Ron croaked, his heart hammering in his throat as he looked up into the fathomless burning eyes. "We're uh here to spe-"

The yeti slammed the tip of his staff against the ground, spun on his heel and began to prowl away.

Ron turned to Hannah who was watching the retreating figure with barely contained glee.

"What now?" Ron said, confused and keenly feeling out of his element.

"We follow him," Hannah whispered excitedly, before setting off into the courtyard.

Just once I'd like a quiet year. Just once.

Ron took off after the blonde, quickly catching up with her short steps. The yeti led them through the encampment. They passed row upon row of billowing tent structures, warmed by roaring fires. Glowing eyes watched quietly from shadowed corners as they passed. Tall creatures with long limbs and sharp claws came to their tent openings or paused the skinning of rabbits or the sharpening of their knives to observe their passing through. Hannah walked with a bounce in her step, her blonde hair bouncing freely, her blue eyes wide with wonder. Ron flexed his wrist where his wand was holstered, his fingers itching to wrap around it. He felt the pressure of dozens of eyes prickle over his skin, his wet footsteps deafening in the oppressively quiet area.

Finally, the yeti brought them to a particularly wide tent. Unlike the rest, its flaps were fastened closed. The yeti deftly undid the bottom rungs and stood aside holding it open with just enough room for the pair to duck through. Hannah ploughed ahead and disappeared into the darkness. Ron cast a final look behind him and saw the walkway that they had just come down full of a growing crowd in their assorted garbs, watching silently.

We're gonna die.

Turning back, Ron gulped and ducked through the flap.

Once inside, he felt the thwump of the flap falling shut behind him. He stood and was immediately overwhelmed by the dewy, syrupy smoke that was so pungent, it made him sneeze. He looked around and in the low light, he saw Hannah lowering herself onto a fur rug. Opposite her, across a smoking cauldron that was dug into the floor, sat a smaller yeti.

Well, smaller than the ones Ron had seen thus far anyway.

Its black fur held a sheen of blue in the firelight and Ron watched as its narrow fur-covered hands tore some herbs into the cauldron. Cautiously, he lowered himself onto the rug beside Hannah. This yeti was adorned in more leather tassels than the others had been; the brown material was twined around both forearms right up to the shoulders, and similarly with the legs too. The black shroud of the yeti's various wrapped material, hung loosely over its shoulders, revealing an uncanny face. The eyes glowed a light blue in amongst the black sclera, the bridge of the nose was short and flat and ended in a button similar to that of a kneezle. The mouth was wide and set far down on the thin face. Under the fur that covered every inch of its body, Ron saw the arresting angles of its cheekbones, high on its cheeks, lending to the athletic physic of the creature. Unlike that other yeti, this one had white paint marking strange patterns over its cheeks, its neck down onto its chest and onto its arm and legs.

Ron watched in a strange type of awe as the yeti reached for the bottle beside it and uncorked it, handling the cork delicately between its long claws, and tipped the contents into the cauldron. A billow of purple smoke rose from within and the sound of hissing bubbles filled the silent tent.

Ron jumped at the sound of the tent flap opening behind him and he whipped around to see a huge grey yeti duck in, cradling its thick arm with care. Hannah gasped quietly as it came closer and the blood that matted its fur became visible. The black yeti reached for a ladle, spooned some of the contents into a bowl and handed it to the injured one. The grey yeti made a chuffing noise with chirruping accents, bowed its head toward the black one and turned to leave.

Once more, silence reigned throughout the tent.

Ron shifted his weight, settling himself into a more comfortable position on the fur rug.

The yeti wiped its hands on a rag and clicked its fingers. Bottles floated down from the shelves that lined the tent walls and began to fill themselves with the contents of the cauldron. Meanwhile, the yeti got to its feet with nimble grace, padded noiselessly to a stack of drawers and began pulling ingredients from within.

Satisfied, it came back to the cauldron that was now struggling to offer the next bottle anymore liquid. The yeti made a low chuffing sound and the rest of the bottles retreated back to the shelves. The full ones were now corking themselves and lining up neatly on a workbench to Ron's right. The yeti waved its hand over the cauldron and with another snap of its fingers, the insides were sparkling clean once more. It reached over, its muscles straining as it lifted a pail of water and poured a steady hissing stream into the heated basin. The air in the tent filled with a warm moisture, coating the inside of Ron's mouth with its herbal taste. The yeti resumed its seat and began adding herbs to the now happily bubbling liquid.

"Your language is not nice," the yeti rasped. Its dual voice was hypnotic with a high melodic pitch layered over a monotonous growling bass. "Your words are unnecessary."

Ron cast a quick worried glance to Hannah who looked as lost as he felt.

"The only other language I can speak is Drow, and I'm not fluent, but we can try that if it's easier for you?" Hannah edged, glancing at Ron in askance.

Drow? He mouthed at her.

She shrugged and raised her eyebrows in the universal 'what the fuck am I supposed to do with this?' symbol.

The yeti snorted, a chuckle deep in its throat. "I would speak your language than theirs," it rumbled, its claws shredding a large palm leaf.

"Very well then," Hannah said, drawing herself up in business. "I am Hannah, this is Ron, thank you for allowin' us to come speak with you."

The yeti continued to shred the leave, its glowing blue eyes watching them with a speculative air.

"I am Kunchen," the yeti said, sprinkling the shredded remains into the cauldron. "I am Salun. Your brethren spoke of wanting an end to the fighting."

"That's right," Ron nodded seriously.

"We're here to offer our help in ceasin' the conflict, to avoid any more loss o' life," said Hannah.

Kunchen snapped its jaw, its teeth gnashing loudly over the bubbling cauldron.

"There is no life lost."

Ron cocked his head in confusion. "What do you call the heads on the spikes out front then?"

"Ron!" Hannah hissed.

Kunchen turned its gaze to Ron placidly and said, "a warning."

Ron remained still, eyes unblinking as he stared into the glowing blue. If he looked away first he'd be showing weakness and so even as the hair on the back of his neck stood at the sinister words, he attempted to stare down the enigmatic creature before him.

"Perhaps," Hannah edged with only a small amount of unease in her voice, "you could tell us why you're warring with them?"

A low sound resonated from deep within Kunchen's chest as it tore its gaze away from Ron, who sagged minutely as he subtly let out the breath he was holding.

"We fight because we must," Kunchen's voice was barely a whispering husk. Its long arm slowly reached to the side and plucked a pot from the pile of ingredients. With a distant look in its eyes, Kunchen poured a liberal helping of orange powder onto the palm of its free hand before setting the jar to the side.

"Forgive me, but why must you?" Hannah said confusion etched on to her pretty features.

Kunchen casually plucked a pinch of the powder and haphazardly tossed it into the cauldron. A belch of noxious green gas rose from within. Ron and Hannah leaned back, their faces an equal measure of displeasure at the smell that gave Ron the visceral taste of candied carrots and boiled gammon.

Or the smell of infection and burning flesh.

He swallowed thickly, his tongue heavy in his mouth as he fought the wave of nausea that rolled through his body.

"You do not know much of our kind," Kunchen said in its hypnotic dual voice. "For many of your centuries, we were healers to your kind. Our lands, the cold tops of mountains. We taught our ways to your monks, who continued to spread the practice. Those to the east called us Shamans. Those to the west called us Witch-Doctors. The teaching changes with the magic of the land, but it is all the same. We heal but blood and bone. We heal from the strength of the land. We breath with Gaia." It flicked another spray of the orange powder. The arch of dust shimmered in the low firelight before it was consumed by the bubbling cauldron. Another plume of smoke billowed into the tent, adding to the already stifling atmosphere.

"We are earthern guardians. In turn, the magic that flows through all things guide us." It threw another pinch, except this time the arch caught fire midway through the air. The instant flash of bowed flame hissed as it was extinguished in the liquid. "It is everything," it said, lifting arm to gesture up and around the smokey air, "the magic. It flows through and around you. Through me, into the floor beneath our feet to the skies and stars beyond. And when the life in us ends, our magic returns to the earth and to the stars only to be used elsewhere."

Ron glanced at Hannah from the corner of his eye and saw that she was rapt with Kunchen's words. He had heard similar teachings from when his mother had spoken of the old way of the Sacred Twenty-Eight when he was younger. A sense of unease crept up his spine hearing the echo of the words now.

"We are here because we are meant to be," Kunchen threw the last of the powder into the cauldron. Again, it ignited into a brilliant cyan flame before fizzling out on the bubbling surface.

And again, Ron swallowed the wretch that rose in his throat.

"We are here because it was foreseen that many of our kind would fall to the hands of the centaur," said Kunchen gravely. "We do not wish to fight - all life is sacred. But we will fight to protect our kind." It reached to the side and picked up a large bunch of dried herbs. Carefully, it began dropping their leaves into the cauldron, perfuming the air with a heady, musky scent over the noxious saccharine cloud that clung to Ron's stomach. Hannah frowned as she processed the words.

"Are you originally from these parts?" she asked, her head tilted in curiosity.

Slowly, Kunchen shook its head, sprinkling more dried herbs. "No, we have travelled over many lands and seas to be here for this day of reckoning between our kinds."

Ron frowned. He felt the unmistakable feeling that he was missing something. He cleared his throat and glanced quickly at Hannah.

"Uh," his mouth made a noise before his brain gave it permission to do so. Two sets of blue eyes turned expectantly towards him. One curious and familiar, the other omniscient and alien.

"So you were um, far away, and you saw that these centaurs were going to attack you? So you came here," he pointed to the ground, "to where the centaur are - away from where you were and where the centaur weren't - because you saw in a premonition or whatever, that the centaur were going to kill you?" Ron's voice trailed up high in uncertainty as he finished his assessment. Hannah's mouth tightened and she turned expectantly to Kunchen.

"That is correct, yes," Kunchen agreed, setting the bunch of dried herbs aside and replacing it with a bunch of fresh herbs.

Silence permeated the tent as Ron sat, utterly confused by the logic. "Surely then you should just leave."

"Ron!" Hannah hissed,

"I'm not meaning anything by it, like stay if you want an' all. But y'know, if you want to protect your people from the centaurs then it seems to me like you should just," he searched around for a way to phrase what he was trying to say, but the words escaped him. "You should just leave," he finished with a helpless shrug.

"Perhaps," Kunchen said cryptically.

Hannah leant forward in her cross-legged position, her eyes imploring. "Why wouldn't you leave? If your goal is to protect your people, then Ron's right, leaving from here would be the simplest solution. Unless there is something more going on?"

"There is always something more going on. The nature of magic cannot be described through words. It flirts with all, drawing us in with temptation. It stands strong and proud, watching over us all in time. But it is so fragile. The frequency of the harmony in which the magic sings is a narrow edge. It is walked by all every day. Sometimes, we living go to close to one edge. But then everything else tips the other way, keeping the harmony for the magic to continue on. But if we all tip one way or the other, the magic is tempted and swayed by those who attempt to control it. Though it is both young and old in its timeless years, it is naïve." Kunchen swiped its palms together ridding itself of the last of the herbs. It picked up the ladle and began to stir the cauldron. "We could leave. But this is not an accident. The magic is moving with purpose. It is restless. It is angry. It is more and more like a caged beast with every moon that rises. So the question is, should we leave?"

Ron wet his lips. "If you want to save your people, yeah you should."

Kunchen hummed, its eyes focused on the swirling contents of the cauldron. "You have a confused soul," it said after a moment of contemplation.

Ron jerked back, mentally rearing at the sudden change of topic. "I have a confused soul?" he asked.

"Yes, you see the world as if you have lived many lives. You think confidently that the messiness of life can be boxed away neatly and assume that others around you should see the same, do you not?" Kunchen's blue eyes glowed through the green smoke, boring into his own.

"Sometimes things just are the way they are, no need to complicate them," Ron replied. That cheeky git! The comforting burn of anger flickered to life in his chest again. "Right is right, wrong is wrong. You want to go right, don't go left, simple as that really," he shrugged.

Eerily, Kunchen made a noise that seemed like it was laughing, its shoulders bobbed up and down and its mouth stretched, exposing rows of stained teeth.

"You have not lived Confused One. You cannot box life away so neatly and expect it to follow your rules. It will throw you a surprise. You live in it, it does not live in you, and if you do not learn, you will not survive."

"Is that a threat?" Ron snapped. Hannah shifted in her seat, her body angled toward his.

"It is a warning."

The words hung in the air between them, the heady atmosphere crackling with an undercurrent on tension.

"The fact is, Confused One, magic wanted us here. I do not know why. But you are correct," it said, tilting its head in acknowledgement of Ron, "that I do not want my brethren to be hurt. And you rightly say, that to leave is a way to make their safety true. But do you have an answer for why magic wanted us here?" Kunchen rumbled. It lifted the ladle from the cauldron to its face and sniffed. It returned the ladle and twisted to pick up another pot and started to sprinkle its contents onto the bubbling surface.

"I don't think we do," Hannah said quietly, her eyes constantly flicking towards Ron's tense posture, "but until we do, we have to find a way for the fighting to stop."

"Then what do you suggest?" Kunchen asked.

Hannah looked to Ron in askance. He frowned, momentarily lost for an idea. Then…

"We have envoys over with the centaurs now. If you agree not to start another skirmish, and we get them to agree to do the same, we can begin to work out the best way forward for what you both want so that everyone can carry on peacefully with their lives, how does that sound?" Ron finished with only a touch of gloating in his voice. Does that sound fucking confused to you? Furry asshole.

Kunchen nodded thoughtfully as it raised the ladle once again and took a tentative sip. Smacking its lips together, it said, "Yes, I can the logic of that decision. However, it is very..." it paused as it reached to its side once again and threw a pinch of something white into the cauldron, "human."

Ron frowned. "Is that a bad thing?"

"Sometimes it is, sometimes it is not. Humans are good at seeing through all of the noise and cutting straight to the point," Kunchen tipped his head thoughtfully. "But also sometimes in the need to get to the point, they miss the detail. They miss the important stuff."

"What are we missing?" Hannah said quietly.

"I can agree that to physically stop the fight, would logically save the lives of my brethren. But I cannot overlook why the magic has brought us here. That," Kunchen levelled its piercing gaze at Hannah, "is something I cannot ignore. My brethren and I hold no ill will to the centaur and we fight to defend ourselves from their inevitable attack. If we withdraw, we may save lives, but we also may not find the answer to why the magic brought us here."

Ron stared into the fire until the room began to blur around him. The argument was circular. It was a paradox. 'Mione would love this. She'd know what to do. He blinked slowly, settling his mind. He was never good at paying attention to 'the noise' as Kunchen had called it. What he was good at was seeing a solution to the problem. It was never elegant. But it was a solution nonetheless.

"I guess you have to decide what means more to you right now? Finding out the answer to your question or the well-being of your brethren," Ron edged in a lowly voice.

Kunchen was quiet as it stirred the cauldron, its glowing eyes focused on the swirling contents of the pot. Ron shot a worried glance to Hannah who mirrored his nerves in the etch of her brow. At what seemed like an eternity, Kunchen nodded shortly with a grunt.

"I can agree to a ceasefire if the centaurs agree too."

Victory spread viciously through Ron's chest. "I'm just gonna send them the message to do that then with a patronus, is that alright?"

Kunchen nodded again, reaching for three bowls. Ron shucked his wand from his sleeve, summoned his jack russell that bounded joyfully around the circumference of the tent, before stopping at Ron's feet.

"The yetis have agreed to a ceasefire so that we can figure out what's going happening on the conditions that the centaur do the same, what say the centaur?"

The little dog shot through the side of the tent, trailing silvery wisp in its wake.

Ron and Hannah sat quietly and watched as Kunchen spooned the contents of the cauldron into the three bowls. After a moment, it held out two bowls to the pair.

"To warm you while we wait," it said. Ron took the bowl, eyeing the liquid inside with suspicion. His stomach rolled again at the faint smell of the candied carrots and boiled gammon that was hidden under enticing layers of earthy herbs.

"Thank you," Hannah said in surprise, a genuine smile spreading across her face. "What is this?"

"It does not have a name in your language, but it is a broth that warms your core. Useful in wilds like these," Kunchen intoned as it snapped its fingers. Two little orbs of light appeared in the air and zoomed out of the tent. Moments later, the flaps opened behind them and a carousel of yeti stepped around the circumference of the tent, filling their bowls as they passed by before they exited again. Ron sat in awe, noting the various sizes, builds and colours of the giant creatures. Some were adorned with paint of their matted fur, others were adorned with antlers or horns of other creatures. Some wore layer upon layers of wrapped cloth while others wore fur wraps and shrouded hoods.

But every single one of them was adorned with weapons and moved with deadly grace.

There was no doubt in Ron's mind as he absently sipped at the bowl, too distracted by the procession to worry about the ambiguous green broth, that these creatures were warriors.

By the time the cauldron was empty, so too was Ron's bowl. A feeling of contentment settled deep within him.

Just then, a ghostly swan flew into the tent, its broad wings outstretched.

"The centaurs agree to a ceasefire and allow for talks to proceed," Daphne's clear clipped voice filled the tent. Hannah looked over to Kunchen, smiling in relief.

"Very well," Kunchen said, rising to its feet. "We will continue our conversation tomorrow. I need to pass this information through the camp."

"Of course," Hannah said, getting up, Ron rising less gracefully behind, punching his thigh where his leg had fallen asleep.

"I have enjoyed this," Kunchen's mouth stretched in a facsimile of a smile, while it walked them to the opening of the tent.

Ron took a deep gulp of the open air as he ducked through, his feet squelching in the sodden earth. Kunchen exchanged words with the yeti who stood sentry outside the tent – the same yeti who had encouraged them in – before it turned back to Hannah and Ron.

"Dorje will take you back, it has been good speaking with you," Kunchen's dual-voice rumbled. They returned their pleasantries and turned to leave.

"Confused one?"

A slice of anger shot up Ron's spine.

That is not going to become a thing.

"Yes?" He said through grit teeth spinning back to where the black yeti stood.

Kunchen's glowing blue eyes assessed him a moment, seemingly weighing his soul.

"You stand on two paths, one foot on each. You will need to make a decision soon of which one you will follow." Kunchen dipped its chin to level Ron with a severe look under its heavy brow. "Do no fight with the magic when it forces you to choose the right one."

And with that, Kunchen turned and gracefully walked down the path leading away, its lithe black body disappeared into the shadows of the camp quickly, leaving Ron standing in the fork of the throughway, watching on in confusion.

20:30pm 10th of September, 1999 – The breakfast room, The Craigdarroch Inn, Loch Ness, Inverness, Scottish Highlands, Scotland, UK

"And then, Fierness said that the stars had guided them to the spot."

"Wait, so the centaurs have no reason for being there either?" Hannah asked, her tea sloshed over the side of the mug in her surprise.

Daphne shook her head. "Not really, well… other than it being foretold in the stars."

"This is why Divination is a bunch of horse shit!" Ron groaned as he banged he head against the window of the conservatory. In the low light of the moon, he could see the surface of the loch break as one of the Naga's flipped its tail, diving down.

They had been going around in circles ever since they had all arrived back at the Inn. Daphne and Heather's conversation with the centaurs had gone similarly to his and Hannah's. It was a coincidence. This whole situation was a bloody coincidence. The whole the Quidditch world cup project was in jeopardy because of a bloody fucking bastard coincidence and bloody, no-good, spiritual fearing creatures finding reasons in tea leaves.

Ron banged his head again.

I hate it.

Suddenly, the door to the conservatory flew open and a man came bursting in, colour high in cheeks, his hair flattened with sweat as he gasped for breath. Immediately Ron tensed on high alert, his wand secure in his hand. Hannah and Daphne got to their feet, matching his readied stance.

"What's happened?" Daphne snapped. Ron recognised that James was one of hers but he couldn't remember what team he'd been assigned to.

"It's - " he gasped. "They're fighting."

The room stilled.

"You're not talking about the yeti and centaur are you?" Ron said lowly, warning in his voice.

James gulped as his chest heaved still trying to catch his breath.

"We heard commotion – from the yetis – uproar, screaming, never heard anything like it," he gasped and leant heavily on the table. "We went to see if they needed help – the field had been quiet so y'know – didn't think anything of it - but," he hung his head briefly before it snapped back up. "When we got there, they were furious. Kept saying that the centaur had taken Salun."

Hannah made a quiet noise of exclamation, her hand shooting to her mouth as she turned to Ronwiht wide fearful eyes. "Kunchen Ron, they took Kunchen!" Her voice built in desperation.

"But…" Why?

It made zero sense. Why agree to a ceasefire and peace talks only to enact a blatant act of aggression moments later? Not to mention how did the centaurs sneak unseen across no-man's land, through the gated encampment and through that tight maze of tents to get to him?

Ron rubbed his forehead, the beginnings of a headache building behind his eyes.

"How bad is it?" he asked.

"We had to leg it to the anti-apparition warding we'd put up. It's a fucking massacre out there." James' voice wavered.

Nobody spoke, allowing the gravity of the situation to settle in.

"What do we do now?" Daphne asked.

Hannah hesitated, her eyes trained unblinking at her fingers on the tabletop. "Well, the yeti won't stop until they get their leader back so…"

Ron sighed, his shoulders heavy. "Guess we're gonna have to find the bastard then."

One day… one day, I will have a quiet life.

20:30pm 10th of September, 1999 – No-Man's Land, Somewhere in the Scottish Highlands, Scotland, UK.

It had been many years since Deimos' feet had touched ground. Many years since the earth had spread beneath her. She hadn't needed to, everything was quiet. Everything was calm.

Everything was mundane.

Peace.

Sure there had been conflict and strife here and there. Rising crime, a few wars, but that was something her children could handle. She would only come when the chaos had reached a fever pitch that she could spin ever higher. In the meantime, she had focused her attentions elsewhere… for a while. Until that too had grown monotonous and boring.

Her sister had left, citing that she had felt the call. Her sister had felt the pluck the strings bringing her back.

Deimos had waited patiently for the same, for one sister never travelled without the other... but it never came.

Not for years.

Twenty, to be exact.

Until today.

Deimos breathed deep, the acidic, smoky air filling her lungs. She carefully placed her bare feet one in front of the other, relishing the blood-soaked mud squelching between her toes. She raised her arms slowly to her sides, preparing to conduct her orchestra.

To her left, a rising bellow of cacophonous bass echoed from the west. Pain, sorrow and fury lacing the sonorous note.

She twitched a finger on her right hand, plucking a string of her own. The stamping timpani of battering hooves shook the ground, the vibrations forcing the darkened bloody liquid to splatter up her bare legs.

The clouds above cracked with thunder, the rolling rumble of lightning building a crescendo as the two sides faced one another.

With a twitch of smile dancing across her lips, Deimos plucked her strings and brought her arms down in an arching swoop and began to conduct the symphony that would be her magnum opus.

As always, your feedback is loved. Constructive criticism is welcome. Tell me your thought and theories. Muchos love!