Chapter 3: Centaurs
She blinked in alarm at the shrill blast of a horn and the sudden bright daylight, and stumbled backwards onto the curb just in time to avoid an oncoming bus. Looking around her in bewilderment, Laurel realized that she was standing in the middle of muggle London dressed in full wizarding regalia. She glanced about her, swallowing bitter disappointment as she spotted people wearing the same fashions that they had been wearing before she had stepped through the Veil. So she wasn't a time traveler, then. At least, if she was one, she hadn't traveled many years. She cursed quietly, ducking into an alley to cast a glamour over herself. It would be just her luck if she had gone back in time to when Voldemort and Dumbledore were still a problem. But if that was the case, she would be able to handle it at least. She had survived them both once before, and now that she was older and had knowledge of the future, could certainly outmaneuver them if she had to.
She warily stepped back onto the street to orient herself. The only thing worse than time traveling would be ending up right where she had started. The Veil killed those that entered it—she had been able to sense Death all over it. But since she was now his master according to the legend of the Hallows, perhaps it had rejected her, simply spitting her out in nearby London.
The young witch needed to know for sure, and so she gathered her courage and apparated to Charing Cross Road. She walked determinedly towards the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron…or where it was supposed to be. Instead of the decrepit old shop that a muggle would see, or the wizarding pub she had expected, there was a…Pizza Hut. Laurel blinked. It was a disconcerting feeling to miss what she had always expected to find. Thinking that perhaps it was an illusion, she entered the establishment, keeping her eyes peeled for other witches or wizards. In a haze of confusion, she entered the ladies' room and cast a spell to reveal nearby magical signatures. She found nothing. Ordinarily, no matter where she was, she would have picked up some ambient magic, but there was nothing there, even at the lowest register, which was the signature for a few mildly magical potions ingredients. Her own magic's gentle interference caused a faint humming, which sounded too loud in the echoing silence. Where was the magic? Because results like this meant that no Diagon Alley existed beyond the far wall. And if no Diagon, perhaps no Ministry….and what then?
Two hours later, Laurel sank exhaustedly onto a bench. She had tried to find Grimmauld Place, the Apparition point in Diagon Alley, Knockturn Alley, and Godric's Hollow, and come up empty-handed. They didn't exist. There wasn't even a trace of magic in those places. After a bottle of water and some crisps that tasted a little like defeat, she decided to get back to her search.
The only place she had any luck at all was Hogwarts. Although it appeared there had once been a castle on the grounds (albeit a much smaller one than the Hogwarts she had known), it looked as if it had been in ruins for centuries. The crumbling gray walls had long ago surrendered to the Forbidden Forest, which seemed much vaster and wilder now that it had no need to adhere to man-made confines. She could sense the presence of magical creatures in the woods, and decided to enter.
Twilight had fallen, and she felt more than unnerved by the lack of magic and places that she used to know. Deciding that she would talk to a centaur if she could, she made her way inside the borders of the forest, waiting in the middle of the first clearing she found. It would only insult the centaurs if she tried to find them. She would have to be patient, and if they intended to speak to her, they would approach.
The temperature had begun to drop rapidly, and Laurel cast a warming charm over herself. Even though the moon was only in its crescent, it shone sharp and silvery over the grass and trailing vines. The night was singularly clear, and Laurel sought out Orion and her old friend, Sirius, in Canis Major.
She startled when a deep, rumbling voice spoke from an unnervingly close distance, "You were not born under these stars, child…and yet, your destiny is written in them."
Turning slowly in place, Laurel tilted her head to the side and regarded the oldest centaur she had ever seen. He looked more ancient even than Dumbledore, and his hair and beard tumbled snow-white down his badly scarred torso. Holly and winter flowers had been woven into his beard, and he stood bare-chested, as though he could not even feel the cold. He rose higher than her by a meter, and contemplated her with the most serene blue eyes she had ever seen.
Laurel had never met his like in her former world, but was pleased that he had sought her out. This elder seemed much kinder than Bane or Magorian, whom she had been expecting. She cleared her throat and explained, "I traveled through something called the Veil of Death, and now I'm in a world that looks nearly the same, but with some key differences. I can't seem to find any witches or wizards, and the magical places I knew have all vanished…except for here. I'm relieved that the Forbidden Forest still exists."
He raised an eyebrow in curiosity and rejoined mildly, "Forbidden? And yet you are here, seeking my counsel."
She felt wrong-footed, as she always had in her limited dealing with centaurs and nodded cautiously. "What do the stars say, sir…about me, I mean?" she ventured.
The old centaur stood solemnly, not looking at her, but at the sky. When she turned to regard him, she had to lift her eyes to see above his dun-colored flank because of his closeness. "It is pleasing to feel your magic," he said finally. "The last of your kind passed on when my great-great-grandfather was but a foal. And the last time a sorceress walked these woods was many ages before that."
"I am not a sorceress, sir, merely a witch," she objected.
His eyes glinted, for a moment looking dazzlingly similar to the stars he adored. "You are more even than that, deathless one. It was foretold that you would come from another world. Now you search for magic, but soon you will learn to seek what you lack, not what you already have," he intoned solemnly.
She smiled impishly, her face all bright eyes and sharp angles. "I have never heard a centaur speak so candidly before," she said ruefully.
Laughter danced in his old eyes when he turned and said, "Among my people, one's words are only as plain as the honor of the listener."
Laurel pondered his words for a moment before asking shyly, "What do I call you, friend?"
"Linus," he replied, and his lips tilted up in a secret smile. "And you are Laurel, the pursued, ever coveted for your power to grant victory."
"I have crossed worlds to escape that existence," she said slowly. "I had hoped I wouldn't have to run anymore."
"Little bird, you are temptation itself. But those that chase you will not always seek to destroy you. A mind that creates is not a mind that plunders. Learn to tell the difference, for only then can you stop running," he told her cryptically.
She gave him an odd look, fidgeting a little. "Is it true that I cannot die?" she blurted, changing the subject in obvious trepidation.
His eyes danced when he replied, "Death has already touched you twice, and you wear his own cloak. Perhaps it is more accurate to say that you will not die."
"There's the cryptic wit I've been missing," she muttered sarcastically, before clapping her hands over her mouth in dismay.
The centaur only laughed, and it was a deep, soothing sound that made her think of rich, loamy earth. Laurel's cheeks colored, but she quickly sobered, terrified by the idea of an unending march of lonely years. No one else had a lifespan like hers. And so she asked plaintively, "Linus, is this a curse? Must I spend my eternity alone?"
"That depends entirely upon you," he replied with a quirk of his lips. He bowed at her, before pawing the frost-covered ground and charging off vigorously. Over his shoulder, the centaur called merrily, "Until next we meet!"
"Sir, wait!" Laurel cried, dashing after him. "What happened to this world's magic? Why are there no more witches and wizards anywhere?"
He turned towards her at the edge of the clearing, and a shadow passed over his hearty, ancient face. "They gave up what you came here to keep, and they lost what you have been sent here to find."
Linus lifted a hand towards her for the space of a heartbeat, and then vanished among the maze of trees. Laurel stared after him for a moment, laughing low and ironically at his ambiguous message, before apparating back to London, where she would find a place to sleep for the night.
Even though the centaur had been a tricky wordsmith, she had learned far more than she had expected to. He had said that these were different stars, so that meant a different dimension. She had been leaning towards that theory already, but it was nice to have it validated by someone else.
He had also told her that she was immortal, and that information was of considerable interest to her. She didn't know exactly what it meant though. If she was blown apart, would she come back together, or would all of the individual cells still be alive, but not part of a unit anymore? Or did it mean accelerated healing? Did something like Elixir of Life flow in her veins now? Or did she possess total invulnerability? Somehow she doubted the last. Even though she had not been injured since she'd mastered the Hallows, she had had a headache just that morning.
Laurel had been pondering what it meant to be Master of Death, and whether the title came with more perks than eternal life and invisibility. She knew that her magic felt much stronger. She used to feel her magical core in her torso, and could feel it flow down her fingers and through her wand. Now it seemed that every part of her was saturated with magic, even the ends of her hair.
She wondered whether she could summon Death, although the sheer horror of the idea managed to douse her curiosity. She knew that she could summon the dead, but she had no desire to do that ever again. Although she did want to know whether she could snatch someone back at the moment of death, and whether she had any unique healing powers now. It seemed likely, but she couldn't think of how to tap into them.
That night, Laurel sat in her hotel room eating Chinese takeout, and wondering where she should go from there. She decided that there were worse things she could do than explore the new world she had found herself in. After all, she figured, if it didn't have magic, maybe it held something else equally fascinating. It didn't take long for her to discover she had been right. It held Tony Stark.
