**
On later reflection, Minerva figured she could have saved herself the trouble.
Panting, clutching the stitch in her side, ankle throbbing where she'd twisted it against a protruding root, she'd raced through the Forbidden Forest with her wand outthrust, calling Irwin's name, Snape on her heels like some evil-tempered, muttering mastiff. They'd been so intent on pursuit that they nearly tripped over the Skrewt when they rounded a bend in the path, half an hour or so into their quest, and came upon it, lying neatly trussed with kudzu vines – chittering irritably to itself, but otherwise quite loglike – across the narrow path. Minerva screeched to a halt, shooting Snape a fulminating look over her shoulder when he crashed into her.
"Do keep your wits about you, won't you, Severus?" she inquired primly. "As you can see, the path is obstructed."
He snarled at her.
"It's all very well for you to take this lightly," he said. A muscle was ticking by the corner of his mouth. "The worst-case scenario you'll face upon returning to your classroom is that the pincushions will be strolling about. When I get back, I'll be fortunate to have a room left."
"Well, if you'd thought to dismiss your class when Miss Adams came to get you, you wouldn't have to worry about that, would you?"
His lip curled.
"You may find this difficult to process, Minerva, but some of us don't believe in allowing the students to lollygag about and miss their classes for every little happenstance that turns up. I have an ironclad curriculum to follow, and it's hard enough to herd that bunch of lamebrains through it without further compromising my schedule. If I could afford to give random afternoons off at the snap of a finger, I'd have taken off for Tahiti by now."
He nudged the indignant Skrewt with the stylish squared-off toe of one impeccable Etienne Aigner half-boot. "Far more sensible to put Miss Adams in charge of the remainder of the class, and threaten all concerned with dismemberment if it's not spotless on my return. And why exactly are we out here, anyway? Further testament to the time-honoured custom of Gryffindor meddling? Seems obvious to me that he's got his … creature … well under control without our assistance."
"That," Minerva snapped, "is not the same tune you were singing ten minutes ago. Let's not forget who it was that suggested we bring along an urn to keep the ashes in, shall we?" She stepped carefully over the Skrewt and peered into the dense twilight of the foliage. "Besides – this far in, a rogue Skrewt's the least of his worries. Until we've found the man himself, I shan't rest easy."
Snape had just drawn breath to reply – something profoundly disrespectful, no doubt – when a scrap of boisterous song drifted through the trees. Minerva, frowning, strained to hear.
"You can't loop the loop like a cockatoo – Um-ba-da-lip-ida-da-da! Float and toss like an albatross – Um-ba-da-lip-ida-da-da!"
Merlin in bunny slippers, what fresh new kind of hell was this?
She shifted her gaze to Snape. He was massaging the bridge of his nose and looking pained. Over the bend, the singing grew more raucous: "You silly gallah, I'm better by far than a white cockatoo or a budgerigar! They squeak and squawk and try to talk – why, me and them's like cheese and chalk!"
"What's that sound, do you think?" Minerva wanted to know. "Drumbeats?" Snape rolled his eyes.
"Stomping," he corrected. "It's the centaurs – I've seen them at it before, when I've come out to gather Jocastafari seedlings; you have to pull those just at dusk, you know, or they won't keep no matter how many Preservation Spells you mutter at them. They're tying one on. Could drink an elephant under the table, I'd wager. Quite good dancers, though."
Minerva's eyebrows shot up. "Centaurs?" she said, doubtful. "Aren't they rather … uh, sober fellows? I've always found them very well-spoken."
"Well, they like to put across the impression that they're these esoteric stargazers," Snape said. "And of course they've had Hagrid snowed for decades." He frowned. "But I've never heard them sing before. And that accent—"
He had a point there; the lead vocalist, currently bawling out Ba-da-doo-doo, da-doo-doo-doo at the top of his lungs, was clearly a son of Queensland.
Trading a pained look, they hastened farther into the forest toward the sound of singing.
**
It was full dark before they finally puffed around the last bend and found themselves on the outskirts of the centaurs' camp.
Traditionally, centaurs made their homes in limestone river caves – the Hogwarts contingent, however, lacking that particular bit of topography, had made do with a neat series of four L-shaped stables, snuggled under mighty oak trees in a natural valley and built around a round stone-walled courtyard. Originally, the stables had been shingled over in unfinished wood – somewhere along the line, however, ivy had been Charmed up the outer walls until the material under it was all but obscured by a living blanket of green. There were powerful anti-trespassing wards on the whole structure, Minerva knew; centaurs had their own ideas of humour and vengeance, and often they intertwined to the detriment of whoever crossed them. She kept a safe distance back from the barracks and let Snape approach the centaur on guard.
"Cassius. You're looking well."
The young centaur dipped his russet head and bent one foreleg in a spare-but-courtly bow. "Severus Snape. Greetings in the name of the Huntress." He nodded toward Minerva. "Greetings."
"We apologise for the intrusion," Severus murmured smoothly. "We fear one of our newer colleagues has … lost his way this evening."
"It is difficult to become lost," Cassius rejoined, "when you call no living being a stranger." His face remained expressionless; his eyes, however, danced with grave humour. "And it is a rare human indeed who dares to drink the wine of mandrakes from a centaur's cup. I fear you should have brought a litter on which to bear your straying companion safely home."
Wizard and witch exchanged looks of quiet horror.
"I must have misunderstood you," Minerva said weakly. "Surely you're not giving a human man with no magical capabilities whatsoever mandrake wine?"
From the courtyard within, hidden from view by a gently waving curtain of ivy, came the ever-faster tatatatata of hoofbeats on hard-packed earth, punctuated by laughter and shouts of encouragement. Above the din rose Steve Irwin's serviceable, not-unpleasant baritone: Onsh a jolly shwagman shat b'shide th'bill'bong, Undrath'shideuva cool'bah tree …
Minerva shuddered.
Undee shang azee shat and waited bytha bill'bong – you'll come-a waltzshing Matilda wifme …
"In the name of the Serpent's dry cleaning," muttered Snape into her ear, "will it never end?"
Cassius shrugged apologetically. "You know us, Severus," he said, his voice self-deprecating. "It's no fun to dance if someone doesn't sing, and none of our number has what you'd exactly call a voice. I'm afraid we've been encouraging him."
"Yes, well," Snape said drily, raising his voice to be heard above the chorus, "this one's like crab grass. Give him an inch and he'll take the whole yard." He dug a bony elbow into Minerva's ribs. "Are you ready? It's going to take the both of us to hoist him out of here."
She shot him a sideways look. "You don't sound particularly displeased about it. Has the long walk done for your sarcasm, then?"
He ran a thoughtful tongue over his teeth. "Have you ever indulged in mandrake wine, Minerva?"
She frowned. "I'd say that's a rather personal question, wouldn't you, Severus?"
"I'll take it that's a no, then." He smiled, and it wasn't a pleasant smile. "He can sing all he wants now, the idiot. But when he wakes up tomorrow, he's going to wish that he'd never thought to breathe."
Minerva studied him cautiously. "Am I to assume, then," she ventured, "that someone will see to it that the poor man doesn't miss breakfast?"
There was that smile again. "I'd hardly be a good colleague if I let him go undernourished, wouldn't I now?" He slid an arch glance at her over his shoulder. "Especially on a Saturday morning. Weekends can be so taxing."
Minerva scratched one of the six insect bites presently adorning the inside of her elbow. Revenge might not have been the noblest of motivations, but at the moment she couldn't think of anything else that would get them back to Hogwarts without a homicide on their collective conscience – especially if she had to hear about billabongs and jolly jumbucks all the way there.
"It's so refreshing to see you take an interest in your fellow man, Severus," she said at last. "I'd begun to think you had no philanthropic urges left in you at all."
For once in perfect accord, they nodded to Cassius and ducked through the curtain of ivy.
**