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Part Six

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The person standing on my front step as though she owned it was one I quite disdainfully recognized – frizzy hair, overlarge glasses with stuck-on rhinestones, and teeth that hadn't seen a whitening charm since the days of Merlin himself. "Ms Skeeter," I said politely. "What brings you here?"

We both well knew the answer. I gritted my teeth into a smile that probably looked pretty horrendous. The sky had just gotten dark – so that made it, what? Four or five hours after my very impressive threatening of The Prat? Seamus, I am going to kill you.

As a side note, I have heretofore decided to refer to Seamus as The Prat, which is capitalised because it gives it a sort of notoriety. Like The Boy Who Lived, except pratlike instead of noble. Heh.

"You know my name," Rita said.

"Yes, well, muckrakers do get rather infamous."

Her painted mouth curved into a simper. "May I come in?"

Ugh! She had such a smug little look on her face. "You certainly may not," I told her icily. "I'm trying to have a quiet dinner. Why don't you go make up stories about top Ministry officials or Celestina Warbeck or whatever it is that you do?"

She put on this insulted look that made her look like a puckered owl. "I hope you do know, Miss Brown, that I will inform the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures if you don't start being a little more co-operative."

Somehow, I managed to keep my smile. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Perhaps you need to wander back into the St Mungo's ward you came from," I couldn't help adding. I swear, sometimes I'm too snippy for my own good.

"You rude little snipe—"

"Get off my property. This instant."

I think I must have looked particularly scary because she obeyed, scurrying off into the night. I slammed the door shut and took a deep breath, but not a few moments later, another knock came. This time I charmed the door to see through it without having to greet the person. It was a young man with a quill and notepaper – another damned reporter. And, hell, Sara Barnes was already hovering in the background, looking altogether too interested.

"I'm not having visitors tonight!" I shouted.

His faint voice responded. "But ma'am—"

Ha! As though I'd open the door to some little snot who calls me ma'am. As calmly as I could, I walked back into the kitchen, where Firenze was still waiting with his customary bewildered expression. "I want you to go into my bedroom and shut the door," I said, with as ordinary a tone as I could muster. "Don't get in view of the window."

"Why—"

"Because I can still deny you're here, that's why. All I have to do is paint Seamus as a nutcase who'll say anything to besmirch my good name." Really, besmirch is a word you don't get to use very often. "It's less of a stretch, actually, than me harbouring a centaur."

"Was it the Ministry at the door?"

"No, the press." At least we didn't have to worry about the law yet. Rita Skeeter and her ilk couldn't break down my door, but the Ministry sure had the authority. "Now go."

He did, and I went around the house as quickly as I could, placing Privacy Charms on the windows and the best wards I could on the door. My heart was hammering – geez, that's not just a cliché used in bad novels, I tell you, it really feels like someone's nailing boards together in your ribcage when you're freaked out like I was.

When I was finished with the spells, I darted into the bedroom, drew the curtains as surreptitiously as I could, then sat on the bed with Firenze. I hugged one of the pillows against me.

"What'll happen when the Ministry comes?"

"If they come, Firenze."

"Either way – what will happen?"

I racked my brain for an answer, but the only thing that came to mind was what happened to all the goblins who rebelled in the war – even the innocent ones. And those were just goblins. "You would probably stand trial for war crimes."

"Would they convict me?"

Once again, I was struck by how desperate his situation was. Asking me for expertise – the poor bastard. "I don't know," I said honestly. "People – well, people are still angry about what your herd did in the war. We expect centaurs to stay out of things altogether – you're meant to hate us – and sometimes people won't be satisfied until someone is punished."

"I understand that. When a family in the herd is shamed, the head of that herd need not offer himself as the one to be punished. It may be a son or daughter." He gave a short, humourless laugh. "I suppose I am the unfortunate son of the Forbidden Forest."

"If you start that self-deprecating repentance I-deserve-all-this stuff again, I am going to have to yell at you," I said.

He shook his head. "I do not deserve this."

"Well," I said quietly, "that's personal progress, at least."

After that, there was nothing more to say; we only kept a quiet vigil, both of us staring emptily at the walls and floors. I kept myself entertained by constructing elaborate revenge fantasies on Seamus, including one where Parvati was somehow a Lethifold in disguise and I let it spill to the press.

I really am crazy.

Neither of us slept a wink that night.

……………

Mrs Greenwich came early next morning with a copy of the Prophet in her talons. With Firenze looking over my shoulder, I unrolled it and we both read the first story together. There was absolutely no need to flip through the pages; a picture of my house, ominously backlit, was splashed across the front page.

YOU-KNOW-WHO'S FOLLOWER HIDING IN GODRIC'S HOLLOW?
Highly reclusive centaur harboured by dangerous witch

Exclusive for the Daily Prophet by Rita Skeeter

It has come to the Prophet's attention that not all of Voldemort's centaur army has been defeated or driven back into their herds. A protected source told this reporter yesterday that a centaur from the infamous Forbidden Forest herd has been living in Godric's Hollow with one Lavender Brown, 25, astronomer under Professor Francesca Vega.

Brown refused to comment yesterday evening, apart from childishly insulting this reporter. She appeared wild and disarrayed. The centaur in question has been living in hiding for years after the war, first entering under false pretenses into the neutral Ateratra herd, then attempting to hide himself in the wizarding world with the help of the devious Miss Brown.

"It sounds like something Lavender would do," said neighbour Sara Barnes, 31. "She has always seemed a bit batty. I mean, she talks to her cat as though it's a real person. It's really very insane."

The Forbidden Forest centaurs became infamous in the latter stages of the war against Voldemort, when they inexplicably sided with evil and became responsible for the murders of countless wizards. Speculation at this point is more than warranted. Do this centaur and Miss Brown plan to have us return to those dark days? Certainly the Ministry should act against these two subversives before anything grave can happen.

"Filthy rag," I spat. "And to think it was meant to get better after it lost that wretched libel case." I flung the paper across the room. "We have to get out of here right now, before the Ministry shows up to arrest you. And me."

He got into his chair as quickly as he could and I pushed him to my fireplace, both of us forgetting all about grabbing anything but the clothes on our backs. There was only one place I could think of to go, and I grabbed a handful of Floo powder and threw it into my dying fire. "Dean Thomas' flat!" I shouted.

The flames flickered on as though nothing had happened. Mystified, I grabbed another handful of Floo powder and tossed it into the fire. "Dean Thomas' flat," I said again, not bothering to hide the urgency in my voice. Still, nothing happened. "Oh, no," I breathed.

"What is it?" Firenze asked.

"I think they've shut off my Floo portal."

"What?"

"And I can't Apparate because you can't," I said desperately. "Oh – oh, no." I bit my lip and thought for a moment. "We'll have to take the broom and leave your wheelchair behind."

"But Dean lives in a Muggle neighbourhood, does he not?"

"We don't have another choice. The Statute of Secrecy can hang for all I care." I used to wand to Disillusion both of us and made a quick half-hearted attempt on the poor Comet.

I poked my head out the back garden door, slightly afraid that a horde of Magical Law Enforcement wizards would swoop down on me, but, thanks to the privacy of my garden, we could escape unnoticed. Firenze loped after me, half-walking and half-tripping like a colt taking its first wobbling steps, and we both set off on the old Comet as quickly as we could. Our food from the night before still sat on the kitchen table; our books were still strewn around, opened and dog-eared.

Up in the air, Firenze spoke in my ear. "They will find us at Dean's."

"I know – it's only temporary – we'll do something. Don't worry."

I felt him shift uncomfortably behind me. "I would not have you take all the worry for yourself," he said quietly. The words were almost lost in the roar of the wind.

"Worry, then," I corrected, and felt myself smiling inexplicably. I could no longer see my house. We rose up into the clouds, both of us getting soaked, but it was better than risking being seen by wizards with trained eyes.

After thirty minutes or so, we made it to Dean's flat. I landed on the balcony, whipping my dripping hair away from my face as I rapped on the glass door leading inside. Dean was there almost immediately and he didn't look particularly shocked.

"Lavender! Have you seen the news?" Then he hit his head with his palm, looking chagrined. "Sorry, sorry – stupid question, I suppose, since you're here and Disillusioned."

I propped the Comet against his wall and started stalking around the room. "Yes, I have seen the news, and I was about to go over to Seamus' and set his house on fire and then dance around it."

"Oh, Lord." Dean stopped me by putting a hand on each of my shoulders. "Listen, Lavender, it wasn't him."

"What?"

"I was over there this morning – right after I saw – and was prepared to tear him a new – well, you know – but it wasn't him."

"How do you know?" I demanded.

"He told me."

"He told you, and you believed him? Is that what you mean? I'll tell you what, Dean, Seamus Finnigan is not exactly the most honest person in the world!"

"Lavender!" Dean said angrily. "I know Seamus has made mistakes, but he is still my friend, and I have known him for years, and I have got to the point where I can tell if he's lying or not! I swear to you, Lavender, it wasn't him who went to the press and the Ministry. He might be a bit weak-minded at times, but he isn't hateful."

"Then who was it?"

"What am I, a Seer?"

"There's no need to be smart," I snapped.

"Sorry." Seeing my mutinous face, he sighed. "I said I was sorry, Lavender, and yes, you may stay here for the time being – but I don't think that's the best idea. They'll be at my door soon enough. I imagine you were too harried to think to burn your recent correspondence with me."

"Oh, hell."

"That's what I thought," he said grimly. "Come on, you'll both have to dry off and hopefully by then there'll be somewhere for you to go." He ushered me into his room and left me with a big West Ham T-shirt, and practically pushed Firenze into the bathroom with something equally Muggle. While I changed, I heard him talking into one of those strange telephones, and I dressed as quickly as I could – though it was hard to figure out the infernal T-shirt because the sleeves could also accommodate my head – so I could get out and hear who he was talking to.

"Yes, Lavender, who you met the other day," he was saying. "She's in trouble – no, nothing against the law, at least not how the law should be – never mind that – all right – fine – I'll send her through the fireplace." He placed the funny thing back on its receiver and turned to me. "That was my Mam, she says you can stay with her. For now," he warned. "It's still not a great solution."

"They're probably ransacking my house this very minute," I moaned, hoping that the Ministry would have the decency to not riffle through my knickers and rather obsessive collection of Weird Sisters magazines. Then I gasped. "Oh, please, let them feed Mr Peabody and Mrs Greenwich!"

"You're so odd," Dean said. "You have bigger things to worry about."

Just then, Firenze came out, still staggering. Automatically, I went to help him, even though he was managing – painfully managing, but managing nonetheless.

"Ready?" Dean asked, passing me his pot of Floo powder.

"Where are we going?" Firenze asked.

"Dean's mum's," I said quickly, taking the powder. Dean sent us off with a wave and we came tumbling into Augusta's living room, still panicked and paranoid.

She was there waiting for us, and helped Firenze to his feet when he struggled on the hearth rug. "Where's your wheelchair, dear?" she asked.

"We had to leave it behind," I said.

Augusta raised an eyebrow. "In that much of a hurry?"

I smiled grimly. "Considering that the law was liable to show up at my door any minute, I'd say yes." Then I closed my eyes and craned my neck downwards. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she said simply. "I trust my boy, and if he says you two don't deserve the trouble you're in, then I believe him." She still had Firenze by the elbow, so she settled him down into an armchair. "You're getting better at walking," she observed.

"Thank you," Firenze said, with an involuntary yawn. I took a good look at him. He was paler than usual, his hair still stringy-wet from flying through the clouds. I imagined that I looked very much the same – what a pathetic pair we must have seemed like to Augusta!

She must have thinking along the same lines. "You both look tired as hell."

"Neither of us slept," I admitted. "I – I don't think I could at the moment, still." I get horribly insomniac-like when I worry about things. After the whole Seamus debacle I didn't sleep for weeks. I'm surprised no one asked me to use the hollows under my eyes as storage space.

"What's happened? Dean said something about a newspaper article—"

"I'll—" I was about to say I'll tell you all about it later, but my gaze fell on Firenze on the armchair. He was fast asleep and curled up. "Yes," I said quietly. "You see, most wizards aren't too friendly to centaurs, even ones that have been transformed into humans – er, not that it's ever happened before or anything. So Dean and I were trying to keep Firenze a secret, but – well, it turned out not to work."

Augusta's face worked a little, as though she were straining to understand. "Did someone spill the secret?"

"They have to have done," I said heavily. "I thought it was Seamus – he knew, he found out just yesterday – but Dean swears it wasn't him and I trust Dean and hope he's got Seamus' number all right. I mean, I've certainly got a biased view of the man myself."

Augusta chuckled, and then, in a flash, her face turned serious. "What does that mean for him?" she asked, indicating Firenze.

"He would probably face a trial and – to be honest – he'd probably be punished for things he didn't take part in from our war." I clenched my fists at my sides – oh, how it hurt to say that out loud! I looked at Firenze and knew instantly that I would not let him take any sort of fall for his fellow centaurs, even though I could definitely see him doing something that stupid and calling it noble. Men are funny like that – they think the most ridiculous things are honourable, when sometimes it's just the best path to watch out for your back and not ruffle any feathers.

"And you?" Augusta asked gently, startling me out of my reverie. She had gone into the kitchen and was back with a tea-kettle and a plate of little sandwiches, though I had never in my life felt less like eating.

"What about me?"

"How did you get caught up in this? He was staying with you, wasn't he?"

"Oh." I frowned. Of course she'd want to know. "Better take a seat," I advised. "It's a bit of a long story and I tend to ramble on and on about the most irrelevant details." So I told her the whole thing, still fearing that the Magical Law Enforcement Squad would bust through her front door and take Firenze away and throw me in Azkaban for not telling them about him – just for good measure.

"So," Augusta said slowly, after I had finished. "His own herd wants him to suffer?"

"Yes."

"And you wizards have no love for centaurs, either?"

"Right. The grudges from the war run deep in most circles." I thought of the other centaurs I had met, and I found I could not exactly hate wizardkind for its mistrust of them. Firenze really was an anomaly.

"Poor fellow."

"Indeed." And we both sat there, looking at him, both of us with our own impressions of his grief. "He has nowhere to go. I bet they expected that he would just die in the Forest Ateratra – but then they didn't count on me, did they?"

Very few people do. Their loss. Heh.

……………

Firenze woke in the middle of the night, after Augusta had gone to bed. I was sitting at another chair, reading an odd Muggle book under one of their odd electrical lights, when I creepingly became aware of his unwavering eyes on me. I closed the book and looked back at him.

"Have you not slept?" he asked.

"I couldn't if I tried," I said honestly, laying my head against the back of the chair. I hate that feeling – being weary but not sleepy. "I'm frankly amazed that you could."

"I wish," he said, and then he stopped, as though the words were too large and awkward to get out. He began again. "I wish that everything could go back to the way it was – not even before this, or before you coming to Ateratra. I wish I could go back to before I ever decided to leave the Forbidden Forest. Perhaps the stars meant for me to remain there, so that I could try and exercise some control over the rest of the herd."

Oh, geez, again with the martyr stuff. "Firenze—"

"Perhaps," he whispered, his eyes closing, "I might have kept them from turning to Voldemort, and perhaps the war would not have gone on as long as it did – and perhaps there would now be peace between centaurs and humans."

"Firenze," I said sternly. "We've been through this. I know – I can tell you – it's dangerous to live on possibilities that don't exist anymore. We're stuck where we are." I flashed him a smile. "Whether you like it or not."

Seriously, he was in need of a permanent Cheering Charm.

"We cannot stay here long," he whispered.

"I know. I won't let Dean and Augusta put themselves in danger for us. The Ministry aren't stupid, they'll be able to track us down here eventually. Hell, one of Dean's letters even invited us here, so once they dig that out of the mess, we're toast."

"So we must leave."

I looked at him seriously. "I think we should now, before someone gets hurt."

To my surprise, he shook his head. "No. It would be a discourtesy to Dean and his mother – we must tell them." Then he forced himself to his feet and came over to me, perching himself on the edge of my armchair. His fingers dug into the upholstery to maintain his balance; I pretended not to notice. "And you, Lavender, should sleep before we go running off into the unknown."

"I won't be able to, I told you."

"I will not have my partner in crime falling asleep in exile," he said softly, sternly, and – I imagine before he could think better of it – he threaded his long fingers through my hair, just for a moment, and then returned, with great effort, to where he had been sitting.

For all the times I had touched him – helping him move and whatnot – it was still a curious sensation to have him touch me. "I – er—" God, I was stuttering like Neville Longbottom in a Potions class. Real brilliant, Lavender. "I – I'll sleep if you promise to cut the self-deprecating stuff."

He lifted one eyebrow. "For that, it had better be a full eight hours."

"Deal," I said, trying to curl myself up into a comfortable sleeping position. Augusta had offered me a bed, but I didn't want to venture upstairs and possibly wake her up with my loud, ungraceful walking. "As long as you try to smile once per day."

His answering grimace wasn't really the best sign that he'd keep up his end of the bargain.