A/N: It was so foggy this morning I couldn't see my hand in front of my face. Literally. I'm surprised I got to clinical without getting creamed by a semi.
Alas, my Beta is swamped in real life. All mistakes are my own.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Chapter 2: More Legs Than Usual
"I'm going to hex Longbottom so hard into the next century that his children will know their father as flat bottom!" Severus' voice bellowed as he struggled to make his legs work and propel him off the ground. He was, whether it was fortunate or not, tangled up with Hermione's equally equine body.
"Get off me, Ms Granger!" Severus seethed, his black tail whipping back and forth angrily.
"I can't, Severus!" exclaimed Hermione with a wince of pain and her own particular brand of fury. Her ears were pinned back against her head. "You're standing on my… tail!" She shook her mane at him.
Severus' eyes slowly drifted downward to see his hoof planted squarely on Hermione's tail. He began to curse rather loudly, and until that point, none seemed to realise it was possible to swear Avogadro's number.
Severus curled his lips back from his teeth in a half snarl and half sneer, looking so much like his wartime self. He attempted again to untangle himself from Hermione's legs even as she did the same, but neither of them were used to having extra legs or the strange top-heavy feeling of balancing a torso on the front end of a horse.
With a swift kick, a nearby table went flying across the hospital room. A jar and a bowl well zinging over Minerva's head. A bent and mangled bed frame crashed over Neville's prone form.
"Severus!" Poppy protested. "This is an infirmary!"
Fabric tore and dropped to the ground as Severus finally managed to stand to his full height, the remains of his human trousers and footwear lay cast aside on the ground. Severus had been a tall and imposing figure as a fully human wizard, but his added equine lower body made him even more so. Firenze, whom had seemed quite tall before, was now a few hands shorter than Severus.
Severus' dark eyes were smoldering with his anger.
Hermione gave a soft distressed whinny as she freed herself from the remains of her lower garments that clung to her transformed legs. She teetered and stomped, and her rear leg went out and knocked over one of the infirmary bedside tray tables.
She snorted, whirling around as the table crashed to the side, and her rump pressed into the nearby bed, startling her. She half-reared onto her back legs and planted her forelegs on the ground, kicking outward with her back legs with a strong bucking motion.
The bed went careening to the side, which only served to startle her more. She let out a distressed whinny, her ears pinning to the side of her head.
Severus, who had been focused intently on the possible stomping of Neville Longbottom into the floor of the infirmary, seemed to come to his senses, and he whickered at Hermione. He pressed his body against hers, allowing his equine lower body to lean into hers. Simultaneously, Firenze did the same, supporting Hermione between them with soft whickers. Both of the male centaur rubbed the base of her mane, which had torn a path out of her teaching robes and exposed part of her back where her human torso connected to her equine body.
The wild look in Hermione's eyes faded as the feelings of panic subsided. Her sides heaved a little, but she settled. Her ears slowly perked back up, releasing their death grip against her head.
Firenze seemed to realise something significant had happened in both Severus' instinctive comfort of Hermione and her equal comfort in the touch of another centaur's body. "Magorian must be told," Firenze said solemnly. His eyes drifted to where Neville was half-buried under the abused bed frame Severus had kicked over him. "And explanations made."
He looked at McGonagall with a flat press of his lips. "The draw of the herd is a strong thing," Firenze said softly. "The instinct is like gravity. It binds the herd together. What this is… it is real. I feel it— in my bones."
"What are you saying, Firenze?" Minerva asked, rubbing her temples.
Severus let out a long, equine huff, his ears moving slightly back on his head. He stomped his front legs as he absently rubbed Hermione's withers with his hand. "He means there is a very good chance this is not going to be a temporary issue caused by some wayward transfiguration spell."
"Severus?" Minerva replied, her face lined with worry.
Poppy Pomfrey was waving her wand frantically over the three centaur standing in her infirmary. She tutted, trying a chain of different spells. She looked up at Minerva with a sad expression. "He's right, Minerva," Poppy said after a long chain of diagnostic spells. "This… is now their natural form."
"I need air," Hermione said suddenly. She broke free from being between Severus and Firenze, using her new bulk awkwardly as she propelled herself forward. She staggered at first, unsure of her footing and control of her muscles.
Her face was red with emotion as she looked at those present and then bolted out the hospital wing's main doors, the sounds of her hoofbeats ringing against the flagstones.
Firenze and Severus looked immediately distressed as the new female centaur fled the scene, their ears pinned back against their heads simultaneously.
Severus grit his teeth. "What is this… feeling? This… drive?"
Firenze made a fist with his hands as he attempted to wrestle with his emotion and instincts. "To protect the females is… instinctual. Primal. Kin, herdmates, or mates make no difference. She is fully mature and without a mate." Firenze paused and shook his head. "This is awkward."
Severus narrowed his eyes, his rear hoof stomped into the stone floor with a sharp clack.
Firenze met his gaze. "She will attract... suitors," he said after a moment. "Centaurs from my herd and nearby territories will compete for her... favour."
"What!" Severus roared, his voice coming out with a challenging equine scream.
"Peace, brother, please," Firenze placated. "You must realise how unnatural it is for a mature female centaur to not... have a mate at her age. Our people pair off practically as foals emotionally, so the transition during maturity is only a formality. If a female somehow reaches maturity and has no mate, it is the only time males from other colonies and tribes are allowed to present themselves and either join her herd... or the her to his."
"She is not some sort of object to be shown off and paraded like a..."
"It is not done on purpose, brother!" Firenze interrupted. "She is mature and unbonded. Her body will sent out the chemical signals the moment… oh Chiron." The centaur ended with a curse.
"What?" Severus snapped. "What could possible be worse than being forced to—"
Firenze pinned his ears back. "Two other herds are meeting with ours this moon to discuss boundaries, exchange members to strengthen the bloodlines, introduce new herd members, meet up with old relatives, reinforce alliances, and…" He trailed off.
"And," Severus prodded. "And what?"
"Establish pair bonds," Firenze said, one ear moving to the side as the other flattened against his head.
"Surely, Hermione will have free will in the matter?" Minerva butted in, protesting.
Firenze stomped his hooves. "Of course she will have a choice!" he snorted. She would not be forced! The point is she will have many choices. She… She's a centaur of a completely new bloodline. She's wise, talented, and knows some of our customs better than some centaur do. Any herd this side of ocean would be ecstatic to have her. Psh. If we had ways to cross the ocean without being seen by humans, the unmated males on the other side would be making their way here just in hopes to catch her eye."
Poppy threw up her hands. "What is the fuss about, Firenze?" she asked. "You know I do not know as much about your people's ways. You are the only one that has allowed me close enough to examine you for longer than a few minutes at a time."
Firenze ran his hand through his hair and then down his fur. His nostrils flared as he shifted his weight from hoof to hoof.
"This is… uncomfortable for me," Firenze confessed. He stared upward and then closed his eyes. "I know the two of you are close, Severus. You would much closer if you stopped prancing around each other like foals and snapping turtles." Firenze huffed slowly. "What I'm saying is, brother, if you don't admit what you really want soon, she may have a hundred or more reasons trying to convince her that she doesn't have to doesn't have to wait for you to get your head out from under your tail. All of them will be seeking her out, and they will most likely be stalking the boundaries of Hogwarts just to get a look at her."
Severus managed to turn a dark shade of pink instead of his normal pallor. "I have no intention of courting Ms Granger!" he snapped. "We are colleagues, perhaps friends, but nothing more."
"Brother, please," Firenze said. placing his hand on Severus' shoulder.
The black centaur relaxed a little, perhaps instinctively, and then seemed to realised what he'd done. He stiffened, ripped his shoulder out from under Firenze's touch and ploughed out of the main hospital wing doors. His hoofbeats rang down the hallway slightly unevenly as Severus easy with his new body was apparently lacking.
A low groan came from under the bent bed debris. Neville moaned and pushed himself up into a sitting position, holding his head. "What happened?" he muttered, holding his head where something had given him a sizeable goose egg.
Firenze looked somber. "I think it's time you showed me how many of those flowers you've cultivated, Neville."
"W..ha?" Neville squeaked.
"Do you think this could happen to others? Minerva wondered out loud.
Firenze shook his head with a shrug. "I do not know, Minerva. Before this, I would never thought it possible. Such things are the stuff of legends… myths. They are things one tells foals when they are scared of the storm and need to sleep. Epic stories of transformation and the hands of the gods."
Minerva sighed softly. "We should gather all the facts in the greenhouse. Mr Longbottom, please meet us at the greenhouse after Poppy finishes checking your head."
"Yes, Headmistress," Neville said with a wince, rubbing his head.
Minerva exchanged glances with Poppy and let out a long sigh. She really didn't want to know if things could get worse.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Hermione counted herself fortunate that she didn't run into any of the students as she practically galloped out of Hogwarts and out into the open air. Thankfully, the few students she did see from a distance seemed to think she was just Firenze. There was only one centaur in Hogwarts, for all they knew, and it was rare and far between to see another centaur make an appearance on the grounds.
Hermione's legs were somewhat clumsy, but they were starting to at least move in a more coordinated manner. She tripped a few times, managing to catch herself on walls and nearby fixtures, but ever so slowly, it was becoming easier.
Shock was a word that didn't quite cover her mental status.
Hundreds of conflicting signals were coursing through her mind and body that only began with how to work with extra legs and ended somewhere with "how the hell am I going to explain this to my parents?"
Merlin, Circe, and Hecate… what was she going to tell her parents? How was she even going to get to her parents house? She could, technically, disillusion herself, provided her magic still worked the way it normally did, but, what then? Show up on her parent's doorstep, let herself in, and wait for them to come home and pass out the moment they found out their daughter had been fused to the body of a horse?
She'd put her parents through many stressful situations, Oblivating them being only one offence of many, and she really didn't want to think about how badly it would go when they found out some mishap had turned their nice human daughter into a mythological species. It would almost be better if she showed up as a sea otter. At least then she could disarm them with her adorableness factor and butter them up before exposing herself as a centaur.
Then again, knowing her luck of the past few days, she'd probably end up being taken to the aquarium as a rescue animal with her parents thinking some lunatic had dumped an endangered animal on their doorstep.
Sighing to herself and having it come out as a horse whicker, Hermione decided to test her spellcasting. Might as well get that out of the way first. She decided to start with her Animagus form first, hoping that the transformation into a centaur did not screw up her Animagus form as well. She cleared her mind, focused, and with a soft pop found herself as an otter.
Hermione wiggled her whiskers, feeling far more happy and comfortable as an otter than a centaur. She was, at the very least, used to being in an otter form. She concentrated, silently crafting another spell.
FWOOP!
The nearby rock turned into goblet.
POP!
A leaf turned into a slingback chair.
Well, at least her spells seemed to be working.
Hermione froze as she heard a snap of a twig. Her ears perked as she scanned the edge of the forest. Darkly tanned skin, the low brow, a thick cascade of dark brown mane, and a stunning white blaze told her who was there: Magorian.
"Will you allow me to pick you up, Hermione?" the centaur asked softly.
Hermione squeaked and approached, allowing the centaur's hands to scoop her up and carry her in his arms.
Touch amongst the centaurs, Hermione knew, was as essential as breathing. It was only when humans made assumptions that one could ride a centaur like a horse that caused the almost violent distaste in the Dark Forest Herd. The Dark Forest Herd all knew of Hermione's otter alter-ego, and many of the young colts and fillies enjoyed carrying her around like a prize. Magorian and Bane had questioned whether she felt it disrespected her, but she had made it clear that there was no harm in it.
Part of her enjoyed the antics of the young centaur. They were, in many ways, like the children she had never had herself. They followed her around, begged for attention and treats, and listening to her stories of magic as any human child would be. It was not so uncommon to have herself passed around in her otter form, from one colt or filly to another as the elder centaur told their tales. Since she could not run as fast as they could, they would bundle her up and carry her as they ran, often playing a version of keep away that ended with a pile of exhausted foals and one tuckered out otter Animagus sleeping on top.
Her work advocating with the centaur and goblins had opened many doors within both sets of secretive people, and they seemed willing to allow her into their lives due to the hard work she had put in on their behalf. In direct contrast to the House-Elves, who truly did not want to be "freed," both the centaurs and goblins wanted autonomy and to be treated as equals in the Wizarding world. Hermione's work hadn't gotten everything ironed out, but both the Goblins and the centaur seemed to believe that things were far better now than they had been in hundreds of years. Goblins and centaur could now "legally" carry wands, if they were either enrolled in a school of magic or of age of the species they represented. It was still up in the air what the actual age would be considered adult for either, but for now, the magic that allowed Hogwarts to know when someone was on the list self-adjusted without needing to be tweaked, which made some of the people who had lived in Hogwarts for years wonder if that was the outcome Hogwarts wanted all along.
Magorian stroked the fur across Hermione's back and clucked his tongue against his teeth. "You wish to speak with me, Hermione?" he asked, seeming to be far more in tune with Hermione's thoughts than she was of own.
Hermione squeaked timidly, taking a moment to burrow her nose under Magorian's chin.
The leader of the Dark Forest Herd chuckled softly, his voice a rumble. "There was a time not so long ago, Hermione, when I thought all humans insulted our ways. I was so adamant about preserving our ways and keeping them pure, that did not listen when Firenze tried to tell us all that we cannot remain stagnant and unchanging. The stars burn and fade. The planets move. It was unwise of me to think that the centaur people could remain as we have always been and not adapt to the world that changes around us."
Magorian rubbed her head gently. "Firenze has much wisdom in that he sees further than most. He read the stars clearer so much faster than any of us. Yet, when he tried to warn us of the threat of digging our hooves into the ground while good people died around us, we all turned our back on him. Scared to embrace change. Terrified that if we admitted we were wrong that our society would fall upon itself. It is my hope that I am a far better centaur than I once was and that the blessings and lessons of Chiron have finally made its way into my thick skull."
Hermione chittered at him, rubbing her nose against his chin.
"I sense you are nervous," the centaur leader said kindly. "What troubles you?"
Hermione placed her webbed paws against Magorian's chin, looking into his face for some sort of tell only she knew to look for. After a minute or two of staring into his face, Hermione wriggled free of his arms and flopped onto the ground with a squeak. She shook herself off and made a soft huffing noise. She looked up at Magorian again.
Magorian tilted his head, but waited patiently.
Hermione bounced through the tall grass, making the tops of the grass wave back and forth wildly as her otter body disappeared into it. The grass stilled and for a moment, Magorian seemed to stand alone and abandoned.
Then, as a soft breeze caused Magorian to flare his nostrils and perk his ears forward in confusion, Hermione rose out of the grass— first by her head, followed by her torso, and then rising up fully onto her four equine legs.
"Great Chiron," Magorian uttered, his body going completely and utterly still. His eyes flicked to the delicate vine patterns on her wrists and arms and the moonflower that emblazoned the inner skin of her wrists.
He reached out his hand to her, inviting her to touch him and confirm what he was seeing was real.
Hermione took a hesitant step forward, her hand ever so lightly pressed into his waiting palms.
"The blood of Chiron has blessed you with a body to match your heart," Magorian whispered with wonder. "Never in my wildest visions did I believe I would see such a miracle in my time."
Hermione fidgeted under his inspection, but his touch was comforting, far more so than it ever had been before. He rubbed the base of her mane in a soothing gesture.
"Do you feel the pull of the herd, Hermione? Can you hear the nickers of the herd calling to you?" Magorian asked, his eyes intent on hers.
Hermione nodded slowly. "I think so, I— I hear so many things." Her ears swiveled in response.
Magorian seemed to appraise her, his hands soothed her with small touches as he looked over her legs, tail, back, and mane. "Amazing," he crooned. "Perfect in every way. You even smell of the herd. I smell Firenze upon you and… Hermione, is Severus—?" His nostrils flared and his eyebrows lifted. He snorted in surprise.
Hermione shied instinctively, unsure of Magorian's response to finding out two centaurs had been made in the course of a day.
Magorian, however, looked happy. He clasped her hands in his and stared into her face with jubilance. "You have no idea what this will mean to our herd, Hermione. To have a foal is one of our greatest celebrations. To have a new herd member join ours from a neighboring tribe is a grand occasion, but to gain one of the blessed of Chiron. It is the most fortuitous blessing to our people. It is the stuff of legend."
"You're not… angry?" Hermione asked, her ears flattened to the side.
Magorian gave her a look of disbelief. "Hermione," he said, taking her hands and flipping them over to expose her wrists. "Chiron's blood has marked you kin." He traced the flower markings on her skin and they tingled, making Hermione blinked in surprise. "None will question Chiron's Mark, Hermione," he replied with a gentle stroke of his fingers over hers.
Magorian gave her a mischievous grin. "Do you wish me to prove it?"
Hermione looked nervous.
"Come," he said, gesturing with his chin. "Walk with me."
Whether by newly found instinct or by trust built on many years, Hermione followed beside the elder centaur, falling into an easy walk.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-
When Firenze had tried to convince Severus to make the trip to meet and greet with "his people," discomfort and awkwardness was only the tip of the proverbial iceberg. He was used to social awkwardness. He was used to discomfort, but suddenly being a new species had never even been on the radar.
Truth be told, being an Animagus had made him quite used to be another species, but there was always the fact he returned to the shape he had been born in that allowed a sort of clinical detachment. He didn't really indulge in his Animagus form often thanks to how utterly ludicrous it was to be a bloody panther roaming around Hogwarts… or anywhere for that matter. Short of being in the jungles of Vietnam or some tropical location, black panthers were not exactly standard U.K. fauna. They also tended to scare the dickens out of typical people. Large black predatory cats weren't exactly Minerva in her tabby cat form.
Hermione had always taken his panther form in stride. She and Minerva had been the only ones that knew short of the Animagus Registry, and that, thankfully, was far more protected after the war. Rita Skeeter couldn't just waltz to the Registry and start blackmailing people over their forms. It was ironic, considering Rita herself was an illegal Animagus.
Hermione had found out by accident the same day he had found out she was an otter Animagus. Minerva had known, of course, considering she had taught them both, and had found their accidental meeting on the shore of the Black Lake amusing. Minerva wore cat suave like the Malfoy's wore arrogance and entitlement. They made a bizarre trio of Animagi. One oily black panther padded silently on the shore next to a bouncing, squeaky otter only to be joined by one smug looking silver tabby cat. It had become a daily morning ritual, their walks along the shore had mended something between Severus and Minerva and had forged a friendship that would have been impossible between the three during the war.
Minerva had taken Severus under wing in secret back when he was a younger student after the incident with Remus. Her reasoning was, if he could master the Animagus transformation, he would be be able to be safe from such situations in the future. That had been the start of the real respect he had for Minerva, and she had been fond of him until the point where Dumbledore framed him for his murder.
It had taken years after the conclusion of the war for Minerva to come to terms with the true face of Albus Dumbledore and the fact the old Headmaster hadn't trusted her enough to tell her the truth, and that was something she had to do before she could heal in other places. Severus, on the other hand, had a mountain of baggage to deal with after the war— the kind of baggage that could only take time to resolve… time, non-judgemental friendship, and a boatload of tolerance. Minerva and Severus had settled into a more at ease friendship within their roles as colleagues. He and Hermione, however, had formed something he never thought he'd find: faith.
Hers was a face he saw every day, and unlike so many others, she held a warmth he looked forward to seeing. She did not judge him. She had listened to him as his apprentice with the apt attention, and the years working at the Ministry and as a survivor or the war had molded the once naive and swotty know-it-all into a strong witch that was more than capable of keeping both her students and him on his toes. He found that he couldn't imagine life at Hogwarts without her in it, yet at the same time, he denied that it was anything more than friendship.
But this new situation was something unlike anything Severus had been thrown into before. He'd been hexed into running around with a pair of asses ears thanks to James Potter. He'd had his shoes glued to the floor, his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth, his teenage self almost mauled by a werewolf, his neck savaged by a homicidal overgrown python, and his spine bowed from countless Cruciatus, but he'd never been completely transfigured into another species to this magnitude. He had never felt such a drive to protect another so strongly that he wanted to drive away anyone who even looked at Hermione in anything other than a smile.
No one, not even Lily had inspired such an overwhelming compulsion to storm to her side and press his body against her in some primal need to insure both her safety and reassure himself that she was safe.
Severus slapped himself on the forehead, letting his palm slide down his face. His tail swished wildly.
She's just a friend, he admonished himself. You have no right at all to force your overbearing protection over a friend or a colleague just because some new centaur instincts tell you to.
She could be more than just a friend, the little voice in his head prodded him from within.
No!
Severus reared up on his rear legs and kicked his forelegs out, knocking over a table in his now cramped quarters. He gave an equine groan and proceeded to trash his chambers as only four hooves paired with human arms could do.
As a litter of books lay scattered around the floor of his chambers, Severus collapsed on the floor, his four equine legs collapsing under him. He slumped against his bed. The bed creaked from his increased mass and weight, and Severus became, increasingly aware that his old sleeping arrangements were going to have to change as well.
Firenze's suggestion that he fess up to his feelings towards Hermione had hit a nerve. He had been used to their rapport. He had been comfortable with their typical banter, but every time the staff had brought up the possibility that the pair of them might be in a relationship beyond that of colleagues or friends, he had most violently dismissed it. He had always been very careful to push her away, deny any possibility of interest, and ensure the witch never doubted that it was all they could ever be. He let people think it was because he was still getting over Lily. He let them think it was because he was too broken or damaged to see any light at the end of a tunnel.
A part of him had admonished himself in the mindset that if he let himself let go of that part of himself that held Lily as the inspiration for his Patronus that he would be betraying her all over again. Another part of him knew that the Lily that had been his friend before their most painful parting of ways had moved on. That same witch would have expected him to do so as well. It was he that couldn't let go because it was far too easy to think he would never deserve better.
Death Eater.
Betrayer.
Foul tempered git.
Son of a drunken wife-beater.
He stared at his forearm where the Dark Mark had always marred his skin— proof of his vile past. He had sworn to himself every time his mind had entertained the thought of asking Granger out for coffee or a trip to some foreign library that as long as that reminder of past remained, he would remain alone.
It had always been proof that he could never escape the choices he had made as a bitter, desperate boy.
His eyes stared blankly at his skin. Vines curled around his arms, tapering into the delicate petals of a flower. The pigment moved under the surface of his skin with tinges of green and silvery-blue.
Severus hissed in sudden pain as a sharp burning sensation as familiar as the stab of guilt he felt when he heard the word "Mudblood" jolted up his arm.
The Dark Mark.
The faded but black ink that taunted his every waking moment darkened and burned.
Severus grit his teeth, his hand clenching his branded arm in pain.
The Dark Lord was dead. The Mark shouldn't burn!
But, burn it did. It grew hotter, and Severus cried out. He clasped his hand over his arm, feeling the grotesque writhing under his skin. He could feel the hard contours of a skull and the dense movement of the serpent. His gripping hand was wet, and Severus stared down at his hand, expecting blood.
Impossibly dark liquid, darker than any ink he'd ever seen, oozed out from between his fingers. His arm convulsed under his hand, and he clasped it harder, crying out as it spasmed against his control. It was worse than when the Dark Lord became annoyed at his minion's promptness. It was like acid crawling up his arm one centimeter at a time.
He panted, seethed, and moaned, feeling as though he was being ripped apart. He fully expected to see his arm laid bare with his skin pulled away from his muscles and his muscles pulled away from the bone. Vile black liquid oozed out from his arm, smelling of rot, and he was instantly reminded of all the reasons he believed himself undeserving of forgiveness.
Good people didn't have this kind of evil living in their arm, merging with their lifeforce.
Severus whimpered, unable to fight the waves of pain. It was worse than when it was burned into his skin for the first time. Voldemort had been oh so seductive with the Marks when he had first "blessed" his chosen. He had made his people feel as though they mattered. He had made them believe they were special. He had made the Mark pleasureable. It was only later when all the Death Eaters realised that their Lord far more preferred to channel pain, but by the time many of them realised their mistake, it had been far, far, too late.
Severus leaned against the mattress of his bed, wheezing in the pain. His arm hung limply, and his covering hand, covered in foul-smelling, black goo, made him want to hurl. He stared, half-delirious, at his arm.
He expected to see the dark serpent writhing out of its skull.
Death Eater.
The badge of his unforgivable shame.
It was the brand of his sins, his failures, and his need to be better than his adversaries.
There on his arm was a silvery-blue moon flower, open so wide that its inked pollen glittered on its swollen anthers. The black mark of shame was gone, trails of black where the Mark had been forced out of his pores trailed down his skin and dripped to the floor in a steaming puddle of black nastiness.
He stared, his mouth working but no sound coming out.
The moon flower bobbed and swayed on his arm as tendrils curled around his arm like serpent. Shiny, lifelike leaves adorned a ring around his lower arm, wrapping around his elbow and upwards to his shoulder.
Severus let out a choking sob, the accumulation of shame and self-loathing spilling forth in response to disappearance of the Mark that had been with him for decades.
He had not forgiven himself since the day he had spitefully hurt his childhood friend. He had not dared to believe that any amount of atonement would make things right for the atrocities he had committed during the wars regardless of what "side" he had been on, but forgiveness had come to him anyway.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-
A/N: Personally, I think it's going to take Severus time to admit any sort relationship his possible besides what he strove so hard to maintain at arms length. Despite what HE thinks, he is still broken inside, but, perhaps, now he can move on and crawl out of the box he's trapped himself in. Perhaps now, he can heal. Maybe he cane even do it before another centaur sweeps Hermione off her feet... er... hooves.
I'm still debating on whether Hermione should have a scene trying to contact her parents. It could be comical or... horrible.
If any of you have a bug buzzing in your ear on a scene you'd like to see regarding our newly centaur friends, let me know. I can't promise, but you never know! I am available on here, of course, but you can also contact me on my tumblr vis username corvusdraconis.
Enjoy your Labour Day Weekend, U.S. Folks!