One
Centaurus
The forest is dense, sentient with magic older than memory.
Older than civilisation.
Older than life.
Neutral, yet neither silent nor colourless, it saturates everything: the air, the water, the world.
Hermione has spent her life learning the language of nature. Each facet of the forest has its own dialect. The world is as alert as her centauride companion, Vasades, who trots beside her, gripping her spear as if anticipating an attack.
"It has been five hundred years since a graphorn has been sighted in this forest," Hermione teases. "Do try to relax."
The comment earns her a sharp look most unimpressed, but Vasades remains silent.
Hermione's gaze returns to nature.
Ancient trees dance to the wind's song, changing direction when a dragon races above the treeline. Slicing through the air like a crack of thunder, the branches sway and treebound creatures scatter, the rustle of leaves and wings and feet adding a chorus to nature's sombre tune.
But nothing falls.
The forest remains sturdy, graceful and elegant.
A cloak of moss connects the base of the trees that line their path, and plant life and fungi flourish in pockets between. Thickets of thorns and ropey vines serve as unconquerable obstacles.
This place is home to many creatures. They live in harmony under Vasades' protection.
But today, there is something different in the air.
Something Hermione cannot articulate.
A sensation. A shift.
The scent of resolution and the inception of an unidentifiable something.
"I do know the way." Hermione adjusts her quiver and bow, offering yet another warm look to loosen the stubborn tension. "Have I not spent every year of my life at your side?"
"You have." There is fondness in her tone, but Vasades stomps it out with a particularly hard trot.
Taller than any human and far prouder, the centauride looks ahead as she leads them to their destination. Her headpiece and the chimaera teeth dangling from either side both tell of her hardest kills and her rank in a herd that no longer exists.
A leader.
Nothing that lives within the forest challenges her rule. It—
Distant buzzing distracts Hermione. Fairies. They are near and animated, which is peculiar as noise attracts predators.
She wonders if the source of their agitation is the same as Vasades' silence.
"I do not need a guide if you are troubled."
"It is not safe for you. Not as it once was." Vasades' hoofbeats add a soothing rhythm to the melody of the forest. "Soon it will not be safe for me."
Which means there is a threat approaching.
Hermione's silence does not last long. "Will you fight?"
It is a fair question. She has helped Vasades defend in the past. Five summers ago, they created traps to fool an invading centaur herd into believing there were more than one centauride and one human ruling this part of the forest.
"I cannot fight what is coming. It has been foretold." The trees part overhead and the sun breaks through; Vasades stares at the shining path before them. "This land is not my destiny."
Concealing her surprise as they walk on, Hermione reaches, placing a hand on her withers.
The sentiment is not rejected. It is always hard to leave home and Vasades has done this twice.
"Where will you go?"
Her companion does not answer.
"You are cross with me."
As they venture deeper in the forest, the silence grows heavier. Soon, it will be too much to carry.
Their adventures always involve Vasades ruminating on the history and wisdom of centaur-kind: showing Hermione nature's secrets and cures, testing her knowledge on poisons and potions by smell alone, or riddling her future as a mother of constellations.
Now a deep frown mars Vasades' beautiful features.
They are not alone, but there is no danger.
Voices and heavy, fumbling steps behind them keep the wildlife away.
"They are too loud." Vasades casts a sharp look over her shoulder. It makes the children fall silent. Temporarily. "They disturb the tranquillity of the forest."
"I believe at one time you said I did the same." Hermione touches the trunk of an oak tree as they pass.
"You have always been different."
"Am I not an orphan like them?" Hermione challenges.
"Do not eagerly step into the shoes of others. They may fit but they are not yours." Vasades' irritation is more emphatic than the children, but Hermione can read between her lines well enough. She is expressive only in the set of her jaw, the stiffness of her shoulders, and the change in her trot. "You are an orphan, but in title alone. You negate the near lifetime being raised as a Potter to focus on the few months when you were not."
"I may not remember my parents but I love them. I am allowed to." She swallows the lump in her throat. "Just as I am their daughter, I am also a Potter—a Lady, and they treat me as such, but allow and encourage me to honour my parents' memory whenever I can. You do the same with your family. We were orphaned the same night."
Moments pass and Hermione knows where Vasades' thoughts are.
On the night when the Carrow armies came to kill and destroy.
The town's wards fell and dark curses poured from the wands of the invaders.
Fire rained from arrows, scorching everything.
Dementors gorged on the souls of the survivors.
In the morning, Vasades' grief over losing everything was interrupted by a baby's cries.
"You were near death when I found you." The centauride's brown hair catches the breeze. "I thought to raise you to save myself from loneliness, but from the moment I picked you up, I saw fragments of your future. You needed to become part of a family and I chose the best humans I knew."
"But you never left me. There were herds who would have taken you in, but you chose to stay with me these twenty-two years." The air passes through Hermione's fingers, charged with a sense of change.
Tension. Urgency. Magic.
"My most stubborn student," Vasades says proudly. "We have learned much from one another. From you, I learned the purpose in loss, to find joy and meaning in the unexpected."
Hermione smiles. "And from you, I learned to respect nature. To give as much as I take. I learned to heal without a wand, fight with weapons, and read the stars. I aim to do the same with my students, Vasades."
"You did not take so kindly to Divination." A slow smile grows. "Much to my eternal disappointment."
The very name of the subject makes her scowl. "It is not exact."
"Perhaps your disinterest in foresight will serve you well. Knowledge is powerful, but this would diminish your fearlessness."
"Cryptic as usual." It feels like the tension shrouding the walk since they met in the clearing has somewhat lessened.
Vasades dips her head, voice low as she says, "I wish your students would not stare."
"Apologies." Hermione gives them a sharp, chiding look. "It is not polite to stare." Her words leave them collectively humbled. "I speak of you often, but they have not seen a centaur outside of art. They are fascinated and have been excited to meet you since I suggested the trip."
The centauride's face softens slightly, then more when one of the boys, Angelus, stumbles over a tree root and apologises to it. She bites back a smile. "Perhaps not all are predestined to destroy."
Hermione grins before addressing her students. "My mother, the Duchess, taught me that humans are not one way or another. We are both and everything that lies between."
"Is it true centaurs hate us?" another student, Cassia, asks bravely.
"Indeed, it is. Centaurs have little love for your kind," Vasades replies as they walk. "Our history is a complicated battle for dominance."
Thousands of years of uprising caused by wizards invading herd lands to expand speak to this. Humanity's extensive history fighting all other intelligent beings who refuse to be oppressed reinforce it as well.
"Why?" The little girl is almost as curious as Hermione was at her age. It warms her heart.
"Humans believe their intelligence and magic makes them superior to all life when we have both as well." Vasades never minces words. "Our ancestors foretold that should centaurs unite under one herd and declare war against humankind, we will lose. This is why we keep to the forests and are territorial with our lands."
Hermione has heard this story before, but the eight students listening have not.
"As there are exceptions in nature, the same exists in humans." Vasades' glance tells Hermione that she is no longer speaking to her students. "You and the Duchess may not share blood but you are both the exception to the cruelty of humanity. There may be more, but I find it is safer to distrust what I do not yet know and make my decisions after I learn."
"I understand." Hermione lowers her voice so they cannot hear. "But they have no families to learn from. They deserve to be given the same opportunities as those who do, as I have. They may belong to the orphanage my family patrons, but more than that, they have a lot in common with me."
The ambitious desire to learn and understand.
To hone their magic, create, and build a better future any way they can.
Wands are for warriors, noble men, and royalty. Like those with mothers or tutors, Hermione teaches them to tame their magic by helping shape their natural gifts while teaching them new skills. To protect, transfigure, and charm. To create potions and gain an intuitive understanding of beasts, beings, and nature.
Those here today are interested in the other part of her lessons.
Maths, history, instruments, speech and writing, languages, and magical theory. Hermione teaches them a world beyond magic, beyond learning trades or becoming a soldier. Unlike some, she believes they should acquire more than the basic skills to run a home by becoming someone's partner.
Knowledge is more than power, it is freedom.
The light that drives away darkness.
"We are here." Vasades stops in front of an archway covered with vines. "I can go no farther."
She can enter but never does. The memories are too strong, the feelings too profound.
The tendrils of pain are still deeply wound around her heart and will likely never unravel.
Vines part to reveal the source of their mutual grief.
A hush befalls the students as they look around their destination.
Destruction stretches as far as the eyes can see.
The charred ruins of the town in the centre of the wasteland speak less of its bustling past and more on the sorrow of loss and the cruel side of magic. Few structures have survived, and what has endured is close to crumbling. The earth beneath their feet is still scorched by fire.
Time has transformed this place into nature's wasteland of debris. Soon enough, nature will reclaim it.
The awe in their eyes resembles fear, but as Hermione guides them deep into the burnt husk of history, it evolves into a blend of confusion and curiosity.
The merciless sun overhead marks the peak of the day. No trees or clouds can protect from its wrath. The five hippogriffs she's left in the clearing fly overhead, chasing both birds and each other.
"I have been here many times. It is safe," Hermione says. "Form a circle around me."
After they are arranged, she remains silent, waiting for the first brave student to speak.
"Why are we here?" It is hard to determine if it is fear or excitement that causes the tremble in Emilia's voice. Both the youngest and smallest, her dress is orange and held together by a brown belt around her waist.
"This is a forgotten village." Hermione gestures to the destroyed landscape. "I brought you here to see my history. Vasades' as well. She does not enter this place, as it causes her great pain. I, too, would struggle if I had any memories of what happened." Hermione lowers her head in respect to those who died here. To her parents. "This was the Kald Village."
"What happened to it?"
"The village's magical protection runes were destroyed. Soldiers from the Carrow Kingdom raided it and razed it to the ground. They also murdered the centaur herd when they attempted to fight. Vasades and I were the only survivors."
"How old were you?" Manius, a quieter boy, stares at his leather boots. He is the newest addition, orphaned last year after Vanishing Sickness ravaged his village. Hermione has been working to determine his interests.
"Nearly a month old." The others are familiar with the answer that troubles the boy. She never lies about her origins. "The Duke and Duchess are the only parents I know."
When Hermione begins her lesson, she notices the smudges of black ash on their clothes and is glad they are wearing their worst as instructed.
It is everywhere, coating every surface and lingering in the air. Time has not washed it away, only hardened it into the ground.
"In light of word reaching us of the latest battle, we will review your knowledge about the Great Wars."
The fall of the Carrows feels like vindication to Hermione, but it expands the Malfoy Kingdom's territory to new lengths. A terrifying prospect, as a third of the realm is now under one crown. Good for those who care for such things, but bad for those whose fathers, uncles, sons, and brothers are soldiers.
It makes her miss Harry more.
It is unlikely he will return home soon.
"Shall we start?" She points to Cassia. "From the beginning."
"The First Great War began when the Sacred Twenty-Eight rose up to stop He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."
"Correct." Hermione points to the boy next to her. Angelus is short for his age but healthier now than he was when he was jailed in a nearby town for stealing. Father paid his fine at her insistence. He has never stolen anything since. There is no need. "However, you must be careful. Why, Angelus?"
"Fear of a name gives it power."
"Yes, but naming said fear can strip that power away. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was the name given to Voldemort, the last ruler of the Gaunt Kingdom." Hermione taps her chin. "Remind me, why are the kingdoms of the realm called the Sacred Twenty-Eight? Are there twenty-eight kingdoms?"
"It is a misnomer, Milady—I mean Teacher." Angelus blushes.
Out here, she is no Lady. "Go on."
"There were twenty-eight, but now there are ten. Some like the Weasleys, Greengrasses, Notts, and Parkinsons lost land and power over time. Their descendants are both upper and lower nobility in the remaining kingdoms. Some were united through marriage—like the Malfoys and Blacks. Others died out completely and their lands were absorbed. The last six who fell were conquered."
"Very good, now can you list the kingdoms that remain?"
"Shacklebolt, Shafiq, Fawley, Longbottom, Macmillan, Malfoy, Slughorn, Crouch, Abbott, and Sewlyn."
"Excellent as always, Angelus," Hermione says proudly. "Now, someone else tell me about Voldemort?"
"He was cursed to feel no love for all his days." Cassia's hair is so red it is a surprise she is not a Weasley. "He heard a Seer's prophecy and seized control of the Gaunt Kingdom from his uncle and grandfather."
"Which was?"
"That he will fall to the heir of an enemy kingdom that has thrice defied him. He was to be born as the seventh month dies. Neither could live while the other survives."
"To prevent this," Hermione clasps her hands together, "Voldemort sought to destroy the entire bloodline of his enemies by marking future generations for death. He then broke the realm's peace treaty and attacked what is now the Lost Kingdom. Why is it lost, Selene?"
Selene is an older student, only six years younger than Hermione and clever enough to absorb all her teachings. Her aspiration is to take over for Minerva, who runs the orphanage with a firm yet kind hand. "Voldemort used dark magic to wash away the memory of his crimes, but the survivors who were not touched by the rain told the tale, proved its truth to the other Sacred Kingdoms, and protected the heir's identity."
"What are they called?" Hermione opens her hands, inviting all to answer.
"Unspeakables!"
"But how is it that you know the story?" Emilia asks.
It is not a question Hermione has been asked before.
"I was taught, just as I am teaching you."
But Hermione keeps a secret. She has seen the ruins herself; the abandoned castle that sits above the ghost town serves as a haunting presence. Only survivors can enter without being tainted by the cursed magic. Vasades' ability to come and go unharmed is the only clue of her past before their paths crossed.
Two destroyed homes.
Hermione feels a pang of something she knows all too well.
Empathy.
"Antoninus, tell me what happened next in the story of Voldemort's fall."
"When V-Voldemort attacked Queen Augusta Longbottom, the other Sacred Kingdoms banded together and declared war."
"How long did it last?"
"Thirty years, but Voldemort was not defeated until King Lucius betrayed him. He learned that Voldemort was seeking to sever his soul into fragments to guarantee immortality." Not exactly accurate, as Manius struggles with history, but it is close. It lifts her hope to see his improvement.
"Did the prophecy ever come to pass?"
"Yes, when he killed Prince and Princess Longbottom," Selene answers. "The princess' love for the unborn Prince Neville saved him and destroyed Voldemort."
"Very good, but is that the end of the tale?" Hermione asks. "Does the realm live in peace?"
"No!"
The collective answer makes her smile. "Tell me more." She sweeps a hand down the front of her breeches, ignoring the hint of soot and rubbing her hands together.
"King Lucius took over the Gaunt kingdom." This is Varius' favourite part and he tells the story with passion. Hermione will not be surprised when he joins the ranks as a Malfoy Kingdom soldier when he is of age. "He wanted to bring unity and peace to the realm once again, but the others were jealous of his power and declared war on us. The Second Great War began. It wages on today, but we will win. We are winning. The Carrows have now fallen to the Dragon King, just like the Yaxleys did within the last year."
The answer is both correct and incorrect, but Hermione is too wise to speak the truth.
Royal propaganda.
It has an expansive reach and her students are influenced by the lies woven in the web of truths. She values her life too much to squander it by being caught speaking ill of the long-since-dead kings of the Malfoy line: the tyrant King Abraxas who—before Voldemort's rise—refused the peace everyone sought in favour of a generational war. Or King Lucius, who went mad and waged war against the entire realm. Or even King Draco, the warrior Dragon King, who assumed the throne seven years before and has continued his father's war.
"Having a dragon is no guarantee for victory," Hermione says. "There are many with dragon familiars, just as there are many who tame beasts for combat." She raises a finger. "Who can tell me the difference?"
"Beast tamers have no magical connection to those they tame." Festus is the only student with a familiar—the mouse currently sitting on his shoulder. He often speaks as if he is the only one knowledgeable on a topic she has taught him.
The others roll their eyes.
Hermione suppresses her amusement. "Those with animal familiars are magically connected at birth and are natural born Legilimens. Go on, Festus. Tell me what makes you different."
"Nothing, except I'm bound to Rollo and will be trained as a Royal Legilimens when I am of age."
Had his familiar been a flying beast instead, his destiny would be that of a soldier.
"That—" Only then does Hermione notice one student drifting from the circle. "Emilia?"
The girl looks back, deep concern making her appear ill. This is not the nature she loves.
"What destroyed this place?" Her voice shakes, brown hair catching the breeze.
"Dark magic and fire," Hermione answers. "The forest hides this wound while time heals it."
"How long will it take?"
"As long as it needs, but there is hope." When Emilia returns after Hermione's gestures for her to come back, she breaks through the hard layer of ground with the heel of her shoe. Then she picks up the piece to reveal what is hidden beneath the ruins.
Life.
Her students are audibly amazed when she touches the ground, closes her eyes, and focuses on the life beneath her hand.
A whispered spell—one Vasades taught her to perform without a wand centring her magic—breaks the cracks in a perfect circle around her.
They rush to uncover the grass beneath.
Real and alive.
"Just as life and death are cyclical, war leaves destruction." Hermione watches them reveal more and more grass, the hardened ash forming a pile away from the circle. "It transforms what is familiar into places like this, but nature will heal and life will return better and stronger."
"Does that mean war always makes life better?" Emilia's eyes fill with tears. "War killed my papa."
He was a soldier. Sickness took her mother and siblings soon after.
For a moment, Hermione struggles to answer the child in a way that will ease her mind, but then she settles for honesty. "We are all boats in the middle of the ocean. We cannot control the tide of war, or stop its ebb and flow, but we can ride its waves and learn magic to protect ourselves."
"But what if we want to stop war?" Festus asks softly.
"We cannot, but we can do the opposite."
"Find peace?" Cassia asks with wide blue eyes.
"No." The grass dances beneath Hermione's fingertips. "Create."
The hippogriff launches into the afternoon sky with the last of Hermione's students on its back.
One remains.
Although eager to take to the skies, Buckbeak waits for Hermione. He belongs to Harry, but after he left to train and later fight, he has become her companion. She does not bow, only touches his steel-coloured beak while Vasades lowers to check his chipped talon.
"There is no further breakage." Vasades dusts her hands before standing. Buckbeak lowers for Hermione to climb onto the harness. When she is settled, the centauride pats his side. "Your master shall return."
Harry.
"Have you Seen his return?"
"Among other things." Vasades gives nothing away. "This is the last time we will meet as we are now, Hermione."
Dread blooms like a flower. "I thought you were not fighting the invading herd."
"I am not, but the stars speak of you." The centauride's words seize Hermione's attention. "Our paths overlap and change in ways that are unclear."
"What does that mean?"
"This is not goodbye. I will see you again."
No matter how reassuring, it feels like an end Hermione has not prepared for.
From the damp meadows, the morning dew beads to greet the rising sun.
Hermione forages in the clearing with little time to spare. After a night of indulging in elvish wine to avoid a dull conversation with Viscountess Weasley, her mother will likely have a late start.
With bottles and vials clinking in her bag, she leaves Father with the promise of returning in time for breakfast and a morning sparring session.
Ingredients for potions and salves are best found in nature, rather than purchased in the Apothecary. Hermione seeks what she can find. Beetles, ants, and flobberworms are easy to fill jars with. Hermione captures a few lacewing flies and picks a few caterpillars off the trees. After shaking off the strange sensation of being watched, she is about to whistle for Buckbeak when she notices them.
A kaleidoscope of Monarch butterflies.
It is far too early in the day for them to be so active.
Something has disturbed them.
Hermione follows the swarm through the meadow, into the thick mist, then loses sight of them and her direction.
But she finds both on the other side.
Along with something else she does not expect.
A dragon.
Hermione has never seen one up close. The free dragons that roam the skies are green and red, but this one is the colour of darkness and by far the largest she has ever observed.
Brave curiosity will always win over her good sense.
She fully emerges from the mist.
The dragon notices immediately. The pupils of its red eyes contract into slits as it takes a huffing breath in warning. She is undeterred, even when it spreads its massive wings and casts a shadow over her, blocking the sun.
It is majestic, more graceful than frightening, and awe keeps her still.
Motionless.
Hermione is entranced.
Its scales look like solid lava—impenetrable wings weathered with rips and holes. This dragon has seen much war and violence, and Hermione cannot stop looking for all the signs of suffering.
The missing claws. The burns on its legs. The wounds.
There is a harness strapped to its back and—
She was not alone in the meadow.
A stranger sits on the saddle.
"You."
He is too far away to hear her, or for Hermione to see any distinguishable features except for his hair. She does not know anyone with hair so blond it is white or a noble with a voice that sounds like a cold breeze.
"Wiap!"
The command is in a language she does not speak, but the dragon takes flight as if obeying. The force produced by its flapping wings clears the mist and nearly takes Hermione off her feet.
Her heart beats wildly in her chest long after the dragon and stranger vanish from sight.
Centaurus: The origins of Centaurus go back to the constellation that the Babylonians knew as the Bison-man ( .ALIM). They depicted it either as a four-legged bison with the head of a man or a creature with a human head and torso attached to the rear legs of a bison or bull.
A/N:
- And here we go! Hope you enjoy the ride.
-This story is completely written. Fantasy with a play on canon elements. Much different beat from MoaM.
-Each chapter is named for a constellation because K loves her themes. LOL.
-It's a fic/art collab so there will be illustrated scenes posted on ao3.
-We will be updating approx weekly as to not stress out me or my beta, and to give Jaxx time to perform her magic.
-Wiap - I googled Draconian translation for Up. Also Centauride is the name for a female centaur.
Bonus A/N: This fun collab was born randomly from a piece Jaxx did on her July 2021 that inspired me to dump a 21k rough draft in a week of unhinged writing. Then we started talking details, tropes, plot, etc. The world and characters started expanding, taking shape, and here we are. Lots of late night/early morning/international yelling/screaming/word vomit. Jaxx, this has been such an honor and it's just so damn fun working with a friend. We both came a long way out of our comfort zones with this creation and honestly, there's no other person I want waking me up at 3am with artistic violence. Also: *cough* horse chixken Mushu *cough*
