"What-?" Harry stammered, realizing what he was seeing. The three of them stared in horror, immobilized, at the tattoo. Ron was the first to properly react.
"Fuckin' A" He whispered. They all came to the same conclusion-Voldemort.
"We have to tell someone. We have to go back." Hermione commanded her bossy demeanor back.
"Don't be stupid," Ron mocked, "we can't go back. We're breaking about a hundred school rules being out here." Hermione opened her mouth to say something in reply, but Harry cut her off.
"Hermione's right. This is Voldermort, Ron." Harry's tone was gentle, condescending.
"How do we know that? How do we know that, Harry?" Ron's voice was wild. He didn't even seem to have the sanity to yell at Harry for saying His name. He jabbed his pointer finger at the mark, and at the quarter horse, now twitching, eyes rolling. The dapple swiveled its ears in agitation, stamping its hooves nervously.
"It's the Dark Mark, Ron. The mark of him." Hermione reached over and laid a hand on Ron's arm, patting it in an easing manner. At the same time, Harry walked over to the gray. He petted the large animal's neck slowly, calming it. It hardly had effect-the horse stopped twitching, save for the occasional spasm, and his eyes only darted back and forth dully. Besides that, he was unaffected. Ron and Hermione came to help him with the gelding, each of them having their on say on the horses' fear.
"Now, where did you get this Mark, eh?" Harry rubbed the gray's withers, knowing he probably wouldn't get an answer.
"Perichrysos doesn't like to talk." The sentence came from somewhere behind them, and Ron, Harry, and Hermione jumped. Turning, they saw the blood-bay looking at them intently.
"What? Never seen a Magiquine before?" The sound came from somewhere deep in the horses' throat, rumbling out with a light twinkle. She gave a neigh, which they perceived as a laugh. She went on, oblivious to their gapes. "This one-" she motioned to Hermione "obviously knows her stuff! Not a bad rider, either." As an afterthought, she added, "Not that we are meant to be ridden. Ah, let's say it was a courtesy. Anyway, you seem like a good lot. Friends?"
They just stood there, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, even Hermione, whom was aware of the fact that they may speak. No one did anything for several moments.
"Aren't you going to say anything? Humans are supposed to be smart." The mare mused.
Hermione piped up, egged on by this statement. "I-yes. Friends." She stuck out her hand to shake on it, than withdrew, because the retired racer didn't have a hand to return the gesture with. Another throaty laugh.
"Good," she said, bobbing her elegant neck, "Now I think you deserve an explanation."
Harry nodded. He was wondering why these Magiquines were roaming about by themselves.
"You may want to sit down-all of you." She said, looking pointedly at the other two horses. They obeyed, getting comfortable on the pine needle-strewn forest floor. As Hermione, Ron, and Harry assumed cross-legged positions, Perichrysos, the mare and the colt/stallion knelt onto the dry ground. "First, introductions. We all know you-" she cocked her head to Harry, seated next to Ron, who was suspiciously close to Hermione, "Harry Potter, of course. And your companions-what are your names?"
"Ronald Weasley. Ron." Ron told them all. Harry and Hermione were aware of this, of course, and it was Hermione to finish up for him.
"Hermione Granger. You can call me Herm." She smiled invitingly at the Magiquines.
"Herm. Sounds like Hermes." The mare noted. "Well, I guess it's our turn. This will take some time, I believe. I am called Bavierdage. Comes from the French word for 'talk'. I was well-named." She shifted, and turned to the Arab. "Your highness."
"Highness?" Ron blurted out.
Bavierdage twisted to eye Ron. "Yes. You need to know our story." Ron was silenced.
"I," Said the black, "am Lunadusk." Though his words were powerful his voice held no hint of pride. Harry furrowed his eyebrows.
"Prince Lunadusk." Bavierdage corrected. The prince sulked.
"Whatever." Lunadusk obviously hadn't come to terms with his title.
Bavierdage sighed. "You may refer to me as Bav. Much easier. Oh, and Perichrysos prefers Per. His Majesty is-His Majesty."
"I'm Lunadusk!" The stallion yelped. "None of this royal stuff. I left to get away from that." Hermione, Ron, and Harry shot Lunadusk puzzled glances.
"Not yet! We must tell them the whole thing. Your Highness." Bav insisted. His Highness sent her daggers. "In any event," she picked up where she had left off, "it is time for a tale."
Harry leaned back, placing his hands in the foliage. He could swear he saw Ron move closer-if possible-to Hermione. Was it his imagination, or did Ron clasp his hand tightly around hers? No, it couldn't be. Shaking his head, he focused again upon the three horses. If you could, by any means, call them that. Per had his legs tucked neatly under him, his belly scraping grass. Leaves fluttered about, creating an odd patchwork of colors about them. Lunadusk-the Prince-lowered his head to the earth in a defeated way. Bav, on the contrary, couldn't contain her excitement. Using the English tongue seemed to bring great pleasure to her.
"I was born some hundred years ago. Magiquines age slowly," she told them, seeing the humans faces, "I lived the life of any other filly. I was careless. And I loved to run. Still do. I lived to run. To gallop. To feel the wind whipping at my mane, watering my eyes, rustling my coat. To watch the scenery blur beside me and even the speediest creatures become slow in comparison to me. Nothing could come close to the high I felt doing that. One day, on one of my romps, I was unlucky. A pair of men saw me running-I had unworldly speed, my Magiquine ability-and they stormed after me in a truck. Let me tell you, I ran like the Devil himself. I wasn't a match for their automobile, however, and they eventually caught me, exhausted. Cold sweat running off my back. They herded me like a cow into the back of their truck. I fought-oh yes. They got me in the end. I was taken to a riding stable, trained to race and use a saddle. You see the light one on my back-a jockeys'. I raced, and I daresay I liked it. I won some, too. But I knew my time was running short. I had to get out, before they realized that I wasn't aging or that I was too fast to be normal. In truth, I had to slow down considerably in order to make them believe I was a true horse. At one point I was tested for steroids, because of my skill. It came out negative, and they weren't convinced. So I had to slow down even more. It was becoming tricky. I would lose races on purpose to draw away the suspicion. Still, I knew I had to leave. I made it quick. One night, I ran away. Without a trace. They may still be searching for me. You may have heard-they named me 'Wind Racer' because they said I tried to race the wind. I guess they were right, in a way. I was always competing with it. I stole away into a forest. I remember it to this day. So cold, and dark. I walked, for some reason, it seemed wrong to run. A rat lay in my path. Thinking it dead, I kicked it away. And that is when it transformed. Became a man. Told me his name was Wormtail."