Disclaimer: Characters and settings not mine; they still belong to JK Rowling (who must be a good person because she lets others play with her toys). I promise to play nicely with them in the meantime and put them back in the box when I'm finished.

A/N: This was meant to have been one chapter but ended up being two. I blame Elmsworthy, who showed up out of nowhere. Or possibly Millicent, who invited him. Who is this guy, anyway? And what does he think he's doing wandering into my story?

ooOOoo

Chapter 63: Qapla', Comrades

Draco knew it was a bad idea as soon as he realised there was no way he'd be able to shake off the Weasel. No way would the Know-It-All go into some dingy old forest packed with spiders and Merlin-knew-what without one or the other of her boyfriends. And as Potter was busy trying to stash the Sickle somewhere unincriminating, it had to be Weaselby. One benefit other than the obvious, owl-related one, Draco reminded himself, was that Weaselby would ask less questions than Potter, Potter having decided it was his role in life to stick his nose into each and every thing that went on in the castle. At least Weaselby (Draco would have to remember to call him Weasley for the sake of diplomacy) was smart enough to know he wasn't the moral majority (no, that was the insufferable know-it-all, but at least she seemed to know where the line was regarding Draco's patience). It wasn't that Draco planned on keeping all of this secret from Potter and Luna for ever, but he felt more comfortable giving out information in his own time. By now Potter would have been demanding to know where exactly they were sending this note, and what was in it.

Thank you, Luna, for keeping do-gooders out of my hair.

Draco would have had no recourse but to scrap the plan if Potter had tagged along. Or wait until another messenger became available, which, given the options so far, would be just this side of never.

But when, after the meeting and after he'd been back to his dorm to get some peppermints and the letter, he met up with Granger and Weaselby in the entrance hall and they walked down the steps out of the castle, it was a good beginning to find that Weasley's lips (there, Draco thought proudly – he was calling him Weasley already! He gave himself a mental pat on the back), though set tightly with annoyance at being in Malfoy's presence (right back at you, thought Draco), were at least not flapping with assorted idiotic questions. That was a very good start.

Maybe, however, it was the prospect of going into the Forest that was bugging him.

It was bugging the hell out of Draco. And he wished that damned Kneazle of Granger's, tucked in her arms, would stop giving him such a scornfully smug look.

Weasley, Granger and Granger's motley mog to his left, the immediate future which could involve Acromantulas before him, Draco was not in the mood to be bothered by Millicent coming up on his right.

"Comrade Draco! I'm glad I caught you before you left." Her hands were dirtied. She looked like she'd just been doing Herbology, but there were no classes today. Her dark hair was a little messier, too.

Draco sighed inwardly. "What is it, Comrade?" He ignored Weaselby's eye-roll. Weasley's eye-roll.

Millicent wasn't frowning – not quite. But she looked askance at the two Gryffindors. "Are you all right?"

"Huh?" Then Draco realised how strange it must look: himself in the company of Weasley and Granger without some sort of buffer in the form of a fellow Slytherin or a teacher. Or plain old blood, which was the usual order of the day. "Oh. Right. Yeah, fine." He shrugged, trying to suggest that sacrifices had to be made.

Millicent levelled a stare at him, her way of suggesting that sacrifices had to be made, yes, but normally these sacrifices involved flint knives and full moons. Not Gryffindors (well, not unless they were the ones lying on the table, of course). "I think I overheard something about you going into the Forest, Comrade?"

"Yeah. Project. We're checking the barrier for thin areas. Granger's taking Weasley along as backup seeing as Potter's unavailable and Weasley doesn't trust me with his girlfriend."

Granger was rolling her eyes, now. Weasley's ears were imitating twin sunsets.

"Okay. Well, speaking of backup, given the recent upheavals I think it would be safer for you to take someone as backup."

"Milli'…"

She tilted her head. "Drake. Apart from Azkaban escapees and deranged Muggle animals" (Draco was glad he hadn't told her he was taking Simon along as protection) "I've just broken up a fight between two Ravenclaw turd-years and a Slytherin second-year."

"Who started it?"

"Probably Comrade Steve. But he didn't deserve to be planted. Luckily his trouble beacon went off and Comrade Vincent and I got there in time before he flowered."

"What's happened to the 'Claws?"

"Comrade Vincent is talking to them."

Draco's blinked at the mental image of Vince Crabbe swaying anyone by force of verbal argument.

Millicent must have picked up on that, because she shrugged, slightly embarrassed. "In fact, he's currently taking them to one of the oppressors and explaining how they should have taken their grievances to the Slytherin prefects instead of…"

"Would that have done anything?" Weasley asked, one red eyebrow cocked in disbelief.

Millicent gave him one of her level, I'm-only-pretending-to-be-this-dense stares. "Yes." She turned back to Draco. "Comrade Pansy is liasing with one of the elitist oppressors over the matter."

"Er… which elitist oppressor?"

"Well, one of the less elitist… Professor Flitwick. After elections I thought we could have a committee to nominate Honorary Comrades. He could be one."

"He's not really an oppressor, no," Draco agreed. "He's even been giving out less homework."

"But the point is that it's not really safe for any comrade to be out alone. Especially with those subversive running-dogs of the despotic totalitarian anti-Slytherin regime all over the place."

After a pause, Draco hazarded a translation. "Gryffindors?"

"Yes."

Hermione bristled. Her excuse for a cat growled. "That's an elitist put-down in itself! We're all in Hogwarts together – we should be working as a team, not pulling ourselves apart. Even the Sorting Hat has told us that. By labelling Gryffindors so harshly, all you do is perpetuate a negative stereotype. Not just of Gryffindors, but of Slytherins as well, showing Slytherins up to be a pack of intolerant bigots. Don't think I've forgotten you chuckling away every time Malfoy here called me a Mudblood, Bulstrode… that doesn't give you any bloody moral high ground, certainly not when it comes to targeting minorities!"

Millicent's face blanked as she ruminated on this. "You could have a point. Comrade Draco, you're in charge of inter-House diplomacy – or at least until we've had the elections and we've sorted out proper roles – what do you think about forming a committee for Hogwarts unity?"

I'd rather stick my wand into my left eyeball. "Smashing idea. Let's see how the elections go."

"Fair enough. And in the meantime, as you're one of the leading candidates for Comrade President…"

"What?"

"You are, according to Comrade Theodore, who's been doing random polling. Sorry. I know you'd rather not be bogged down with all that presidential stuff…"

No, Draco hadn't wanted to be bogged down with all that presidential stuff, but now, at the thought of the title 'Comrade President' – hell, he could even cope with being called 'Comrade' provided 'President' was tacked up right after it – his imagination glittered. And he wanted.

"… stuff, but because you're a leading candidate, it's more likely your safety will be compromised."

"I don't think these two are about to bump me off… not immediately, anyway," Draco amended, after seeing Weasley's eye twitch.

"Perhaps not. But as there are two major factions within Slytherin – you-know-what I mean," she added archly, surprising Draco who hadn't known Bulstrode could be slightly curved, let alone arch, "and your allegiances are, well, really murky, either side could try knocking you out."

"So what am I supposed to do? Get a bodyguard?"

"Comrades Vincent and Greg had asked me if I could talk to y –"

"No."

She sighed. "I thought not, no. So I'm reactivating your trouble beacon…" she took out her wand and tapped him between the eyes, making him blink as a spark of green shot into his forehead "…and as you're going into the Forest, I've asked Comrade Tyrol to accompany you."

"Huh?" said Draco and Weasley in unison.

"Just a minute…" began Granger.

"And here he is now. Comrade. Just in time."

"Sorry I took so long, Comrade. I had to get some supplies. Comrade." Tyrol Elmsworthy, a lanky seventh-year with spiky brown hair, a long, morose face and air-cooled front teeth, nodded to Draco. "Granger. And… er… Weasley, wasn't it?" he said in his hoarse voice.

"Elmsworthy," Granger said, obviously trying not to say something that would spark a row, although she didn't seem as unfriendly as Draco might have expected.

Weasley had less reserve. "Excuse me, but this isn't some sort of Gryffindor/Slytherin junket. No offence, Elmsworthy, but what the hell are you doing coming into the Forest with us? It's dangerous enough without extra Slytherins. No offence."

Elmsworthy's sneer could have been learned from Snape. He shrugged a little, readjusting what appeared to be a bandoleer under his cloak. Draco glimpsed the tops of little glass bottles. Oh yes, Elmsworthy had a reputation as being quite the innovator. Some Slytherins claimed he was a genius. Others countered with solid statistical evidence showing he'd been the source of more explosions than Longbottom. Draco, while admiring the fact that Elmsworthy was probably the genuine article insofar as genius was concerned, had never been particularly friendly towards him. Elmsworthy was a Halfblood. And not in the least bit ashamed of it. People who took exception to his lack of shame and tried to convince him of Pureblood supremacy (mistakenly thinking the face of a sorrowful clown reflected the harmlessness of a clown) tended to wake up a different shape than the one in which they'd gone to bed.

Even sad-faced clowns retain some sense of humour.

After one morning when he'd woken up to find his hands had turned into feet and vice versa, Draco left well enough alone. Sometimes the face of a sorrowful clown masks the calculating and vindictive mind of a Slytherin Potions genius. Draco had got off comparatively lightly, he'd been told by a dismissive Snape, who took a dim view of being woken up by students early on Sunday mornings, even when that student was Draco.

Things in Slytherin might have gone hard for Elmsworthy from the beginning except for three things: his cunning with potions and their applications; the fact that Snape fully approved of any justifiable revenge that didn't end up giving him extra paperwork; and Elmsworthy senior was the ambassador to South East Asia. Elmsworthy had immense political clout, was on first-name terms with most of the other children from diplomat families, Trudi for example, and had managed to source Snape some truly spectacular (if legally dodgy) ingredients for Snape's own experiments, thus bribing for himself a cubby-hole in Snape's limited affections.

But it didn't mean Draco wanted him trailing along.

On the other hand, it looked like Comrade Tyrol didn't think much of Weasley. That was a plus. "I know it's dangerous. I've seen you trying to use a wand, Weasley. No offence. That's why Comrade Millicent asked me to make sure Comrade Draco comes out of the Forest alive."

"It's not like we're going to cut his throat and leave him for the scavengers," Granger pointed out primly as Weasley coloured around his freckles.

"Maybe not, but it's safer if you've got someone else along," Elmsworthy said more patiently. "Look, I'm bored and this is the perfect opportunity for me to practise some of the more interesting compounds I've been working on."

"How did you go with the modified fingerprint potion you were working on?" asked Granger, disconcerting Weasley as well as Draco, going by Weasley's sudden frown. "Did the okra work?"

Elmsworthy's ugly face brightened. "Yes. The okra seeds proved to do the trick. I'll show you later if you like."

"That'd be super," enthused Granger. Weasley glowered.

Draco sighed. It didn't look like he'd be able to shake Elmsworthy off now that it turned out he was bestest buddies ever with Granger. On the other hand, Elmsworthy, like most of those from diplomatic families, was as apolitical as it got. His family had made a long lineage career from quietly continuing on the work despite the whims of whichever maniac took up the reins of the wizarding world. Diplomats weren't only immune in other countries: no minister of magic or temporary despot had ever been insane enough to meddle with the smiling arm of international bureaucracy. If the Dark Lord took over, Elmsworthy's family would serve him as diligently as they'd ever served Fudge, although it was doubtful Elmsworthy's Muggle mother would ever meet any Death Eaters, let alone the Dark Lord himself. The traditional neutrality of the diplomats made Elmsworthy perhaps the best person to have along as help, should help be needed.

Unfortunately Draco's long memory for hurts to his pride wouldn't let him forget the humiliation of having to go to a sneering Professor Snape to have his feet and hands re-exchanged.

"Well, shall we go?" he managed smoothly.

Elmsworthy and Weasley shrugged. "Yes, let's," said Granger.

Draco nodded a farewell to Bulstrode, as did Granger. Millicent nodded back to Draco and ignored Granger and the Weasel. Draco rather suspected Millicent's abilities for settling disputes didn't extend to being cordial to Gryffs. Everyone had their limit.

"This way," he said, turning left.

"I thought we were going into the Forest?" said Elmsworthy.

"We need to get my other bodyguard," Draco replied.

ooOOoo

"You sure about this, Malfoy?" Elmsworthy said, studying the tall black horse from narrowed eyes. Simon, who had come at Draco's call (luckily – Draco didn't want the presence of Black sprung on Elmsworthy, who hadn't been at the meeting), had sniffed at the new person, snorted explosively at the bandoleer, and was now eyeing the lanky Slytherin just as intently. What with Elmsworthy's long face and protruding teeth set in an expression of intense mistrust and Simon curling his upper lip slightly to show his own yellowing incisors, there was a definite mirror-like surrealism to the scene.

"Oh, don't worry about him, he's just an old softy," Draco said grimly, determined not to laugh, as he pulled at the leadrope, trying to convince Simon that the gate was a good direction to start walking in. Unfortunately Simon was more concerned with the stranger in the paddock. "It's the potions smell. He's like that when I come up from Potions – and when Luna goes to see him after Care of Magical Creatures. He's even worse then – horses are very sensitive to smell. He goes completely bonkers when Lupin's around – I think he can smell that he's a werewolf."

"Do you think it's because Neville spends so much time helping Professor Sprout with her more exotic plants that Simon doesn't like him?" Granger asked. She, like Weasley, was keeping her distance from the horse. Her cat was sulking in her arms. Granger had tried introducing it to Simon. Simon had taken one sniff and snorted loudly, Granger emitting a squeal of disgust as the horse showered her and the cat with a light spray of snot. The cat had hissed and tried to do a runner; but Granger caught it by the tail only just in time. She'd taken the event in stride with a sort of grim fortitude, wiping her face and the cat as best as she could with a sleeve, wincing at the scratches on her neck. Even if it was funny, Draco found himself grudgingly respecting the way she didn't complain.

"No, he just doesn't like Longbottom," replied Draco. "Come along, Simon…"

"Well, I don't like Longbottom either," Elmsworthy said. "He's the first person in Hogwarts to come close to my meltdown rate."

Granger grinned. "Can't stand competition, can we?"

"Can't stand having to scrounge around for new cauldrons," Elmsworthy replied, his long face particularly morose. "Does that thing eat living flesh?"

"No," Draco snapped. He patted Simon's shoulder. Draco had taken the blanket off and Simon gleamed in the sunlight. "He's not a thing – he's an excellent creature."

Elmsworthy stretched out a hand and, when it wasn't snapped off at the wrist, patted the long nose. "Hmm," he said, examining his fingertips for the minute traces of dirt left from Simon's coat. "Just the slightest bit oily, what? Like one of those Hippogriffs."

"Well, they are half horse," Draco pointed out, beginning to get cross at this continued belittling of Simon.

"Oh, are they really? I say, how lucky for me that you've pointed that out. I mean, I only did them for my OWLs and got an O, so I guess I'm no expert."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "If you're trying to fill the sarcastic potions maniac space just because Snape's gone, you're not managing very well."

Elmsworthy's nostrils flared. "I'm not. Neither am I some daft little Pureblood who can't figure out his own identity without his daddy giving him all the parameters."

Draco might have said something really nasty then, guaranteeing tomorrow morning's form would be much worse than the hands-feet episode, but Simon took charge of the situation by biting Elmsworthy.

"Ouch! The brute…" Elmsworthy reached into a pocket.

"Both of you knock it off," Granger said in her usual bossy fashion (and if she thought she could order Draco around like she did with Potter and Weasley, there was a nasty shock somewhere in the near future for her), putting her hand on the Slytherin's arm before he could draw a wand. "Simon has a point. We're going into something potentially dangerous. I don't care if Bulstrode says you're here for Malfoy's benefit, Elmsworthy, because right now you're not acting like you are."

Elmsworthy, to his credit, nodded. He rubbed his shoulder. "Sorry, Malfoy. Comrade. Whatever."

"It's Simon you should have apologised to," Draco grumped. "Oh, I'd better warn you – don't get out your wand with him around. Not when he's angry with you."

"Sorry?"

"He doesn't like wands much. He caught a few hexes in that last battle. Luna thinks he might have been owned by a wizard."

Elmsworthy frowned and, after the tiniest pause, took his empty hand out of his pocket. "He's a real horse, though?"

"Well, he's not an Animagus. Long story… Yeah, he's a horse and nonmagical, but I've got some charmed shoes on him – don't muck around with those."

"Those are the shoes that let you ride him through the barrier? Why don't you just ride through again? You could pop down to Hogsmeade and grab us a few bottles of butterbeer."

Draco didn't smile. "I don't want to use the same trick too many times." And there's no way I want to go through that torture again ever in my life. "Oh, by the way, there's an anti-theft charm in his chest. Definitely don't touch that, by the way, it makes him homicidal."

"Don't worry, I won't. Huh. Well, a Muggle animal wouldn't have been used by Death Eaters."

"No, true."

"Sorry, horse. Comrade Simon. No hard feelings?" Elmsworthy smiled wryly, his hazel eyes creasing at the corners, the smile pulling at oddly shiny patches of old burns on his face. Simon allowed him to pat between his eyes, so evidently the horse considered one bite enough to settle an argument.

"Shall we go?" Weasley asked. His patience seemed to be wearing thin. Probably a red-head thing.

"Yes," said Draco. "Come along, Simon. There. Good horse." He cast an eye up toward the dark entrance to the stable on the hill. Nothing moved there, to his relief. He wouldn't have put it past Black to do something stupid, like following them with a broken leg. Proud of his family tree though he was, Draco had to admit there were some complete dingbats hanging from its branches disgracing any intellectual contributions the family had made toward the wider community.

Simon swished his tail as they went through the gate, and swished it even harder when they walked through the trees on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. The horse slowed, dragging at the leadrope unhappily.

"Come on, Simon," Draco coaxed. "It's daylight. We're not going to go too far. I hope."

"I calculated the thinnest space should be within four kilometres of the anchor tree," Granger said.

"What's that in miles again?" asked Draco, who'd never bothered going metric.

"About two miles."

Draco felt the blood drain from his face at the thought of travelling two miles into the Forest.

"Not more than three." She didn't appear to hear Draco's groan.

"Really? How'd you figure that?" Elmsworthy asked. Draco would have asked, too, just to make sure she had a valid reason, but he wouldn't have sounded half as interested in Hermione's opinion. Draco sneaked a look at Weasley, whose mouth was set in a thin line.

Ah. Weasley didn't like competition. Not that Draco thought Comrade Tyrol was romantically interested in Granger… or anything outside of a laboratory setting, for that matter. But this could be a tasty bit of entertainment.

The sun came out from behind clouds. Or maybe it was just the prospect of seeing Weasley with his knickers in a twist that brightened the day.

Simon cast the darkest cloud. The horse prowled along moodily behind Draco, ears swivelling and dark eyes searching out the shadows. Draco patted Simon on the neck and was ignored. Simon was working.

"It wasn't too hard – the hardest bit was finding out the right equations to use. I thought Biggham's Synthetic Parameters would be right, but they kept making three equal five…"

"Yes, you only get that when BSPs've been applied to standing wave-forms," Elmsworthy said happily, or as happily as he ever got. The effect made him look like a slightly less desolate undertaker. "It's a sure-fire sign that it's a standing wave. And BSPs are no good for those."

"No, talk about quarking up the wrong quanti-tree!" Hermione said, chortling. Elmsworthy grinned briefly – Draco guessed it was some sort of in-joke for the Arithmancy geek set.

Draco checked Simon again. No change there; the horse was still alert and in a bad mood. Hopefully that meant dire things for any monsters.

Granger was still talking, the know-it-all in her element, showing off. Seriously, if she could take out her brain and shove it under people's noses she would, she was that taken with own intellect. Well, at least it didn't seem to be harming anyone, even if it was getting up his nose. He had to admit, though, it was somewhat reassuring to have someone along who was capable of connecting more than two neurones. It was easy to get into the habit of thinking one was intellectually superior to everyone when your peers were Crabbe and Goyle. Reluctant to admit it though he was, Draco knew it was good to be challenged by the Mudbl- no, that wasn't diplomatic – good to be challenged by the Muggle-born chit.

"…So when I used the Huxley sub-variable to compensate for the fact it's oak-based…"

"– You based it around the Zaire Constant, of course –"

"– Oh, of course. And then I found that the wave-form has secondary waves stacking up in reson-space over the primary."

"You're kidding!"

"No! I was absolutely stunned. These are ever so long, of course, and difficult to calculate temporally, but I had a stroke of luck –"

"– Malfoy was able to tell you the time discrepancy between either side of the barrier?"

"Yes! Exactly! And when I plugged that into the formula –"

"– Taking into account reson-pi squared?"

"Exactly! Only I used the inverse…"

"I was just going to say…" Elmsworthy grinned.

"And bingo. There it was. Thin points, the closest being within a three point nine eight kilometre radius of the tree. Metric units, of course…"

"Ah, bless those Frenchies… can you believe what old Descart used to get up to in Cologne?"

"Meditations in front of a stove – hah! If you can call that a stove…" Granger shook her head with a sniff of naughty disapproval.

Some bodyguard. What was the point of a bodyguard who spent all his time in orbit around Planet Granger? Weasley's scowl was about to leave a scar in his forehead to rival Potter's. Even that misbegotten furball's squashed face looked irritated.

"But what about the other trees?" Granger's new biggest fan was saying. "Three total, you were saying? Wouldn't the other two send back their own secondary waves to disrupt those of the others?"

Granger nodded. "Yes, quite fascinating. But – have you read anything on Turing?"

"Absolutely. One of the most underrated mathemages of all time."

"My thoughts exactly."

"Snape put me onto him, and I've found him invaluable for potions. Have you read his Thinking Model of Efficacy?"

"Five times. You get more out of it on each read."

"You do, don't you?"

Face contorted, Weasley mouthed You do, don't you? You prat at the indifferent trees.

Granger and Elmsworthy didn't appear to notice. Elmsworthy continued: "And he's got a new book coming out this year… if I can ever get hold of a copy. His daughter found some of his notes. She worked on them with some of his old apprentices and colleagues."

"Really? How exciting!"

"I'm just dying to read it. Now there's a good reason to get this rotten old barrier down."

"I'll say," Granger laughed. "Library ho!"

"Library ho!"

Draco found himself exchanging mutual looks of disgust with Weasley. They immediately looked away again – a Weasley and a Malfoy having something in common was bad enough without some sort of male-bonding going on.

ooOOoo

The found the tree – the three stones Potter had charmed to act as a beacon were still there undisturbed, sending out little magical blips Weasley (Potter had told him the frequency) picked up with a tuning charm. The tree was still invisible, but the small clearing was a hint that something should be there, and the stone Weasley threw bounced off something solid.

"Don't touch it," Draco warned. "I didn't enjoy it much the one time I did."

"I can believe that," said Elmsworthy, nodding sagely. "I've heard the static build-up can be lethal."

"Really? It's the tree you have to watch out for?" Hermione said sarcastically as she rubbed her arm. Simon had bitten her for getting too close.

"He's just trying to protect you," Draco said, tight-lipped. "Good boy, Simon."

"Huh."

Draco, who'd swotted up on Mendeleev gloves more than the others, used a magical echo charm similar to the one which had been embedded in his old gloves to calculate the distance to the barrier from the tree. He put a neat little Arithmantic triangulation formula into the secondary layer of the spell, allowing him to gauge distance not only from the tree but from the edge of the Forest. Granger even taught him a charm to convert the results into metric. The closest point was just under four kilometres from the edge of the Forest, according to the little silvery letters that floated in the air until a small breeze dispelled them, and almost spot on three kilometres from the tree. That was a relief – he hadn't fancied trudging two and a half mi- four kilometres directly into the heart of the forest. The closer to the edge the better.

"Oh, I was hoping the barrier might be a little bit closer here," said Granger, frowning slightly. "I didn't think You-Know-Who would have come this close to Hogwarts to set up an anchor tree unless he needed the barrier to be closer to the castle." She stared unhappily into the forest.

"Oh well," said Weasley, stretching out his arms until his shoulders popped. "Never mind. I vote we head slightly left. I mean, if the thin point is three point eight k's from here and the barrier itself is only three, that means there's a decent gap between them. And I'd rather take the point off to the left than the one on our right."

"I second that," said Draco.

"What's wrong with the one over to the right?" asked Elmsworthy, stretching onto his toes and peering through the trees even though his chances of seeing the barrier were near to impossible.

"Acromantulas," said Weasley darkly. "Three kilometres that way would put us on the edge of their territory."

Draco nodded, wondering how Weasley knew where the Acromantulas lived. He realised with some surprise that he was standing on the healed leg, using his other foot to scratch the scar.

Elmsworthy paled. "Acromantulas? I hear their venom is useful… can't say as how I'd like to try harvesting it, however."

"Well, anytime you want to take a dekko that way, let me know," said Weasley. "And I'll be sure to be somewhere else, possibly alerting Filch to dig your grave." He shuddered, hunching his angular shoulders. "Spiders… Gah."

"Left it is," said Draco. "Come on, Simon."

With a heavy sigh, Simon followed, glowering at the dappled shadows.

ooOOoo

Despite everyone's pessimism, it was quite a pleasant walk. The talk subsided – the mention of Acromantulas had been a grim enough reminder that they weren't out on a picnic. Weasley took point, wand at the ready (Simon allowed this without any equine comment beyond a particularly cynical twitch of his left ear), Granger and Elmsworthy following. Then came Draco. A tense Simon brought up the rear. Weasley chose a deer trail, which angled along the gentle slope of a hill just nicely. This part of the Forest wasn't quite so densely wooded, and the increased visibility (plus occasional glades with a few late foxgloves and biting daffodils drowsing under the weak sunlight) reassured them. They saw nothing more threatening than the biting daffodils, although when one tried to take a chunk out of Draco's boot even Weasley didn't laugh: in the Forbidden Forest, even flowers needed to be taken seriously.

The daffodil whimpered and shrank back as a hoof landed next to it. Simon didn't stand on it, but the evil gleam in his eye suggested he was just waiting for a chance to do some serious damage. The daffodil cowered as best as it was able against the spreading roots of an oak. Above it, a small brown stick-creature shook a fist, warning it away from its tree.

"'When I return from trampling flowers, the hooves of my horse are fragrant',"* said Elmsworthy as he eyed the Bowtruckle with faint interest. "Or something like that."

"Is that a quote?" asked Draco, still cross with himself for letting his guard down. Not that his boot was marked by the buttercup, but it was the principle of the thing.

"A misquote, perhaps. From Chinese Muggle literature. Can't remember where I read it. Very elegant as threats go. Bit like your Simon there."

"Were you in China?" Granger asked.

"No. Mostly South East Asia. Malay. Kampuchea areas – sorry, Cambodia, I think we're meant to call it these days. Occasional forays into Ceylon at the farthest."

Draco pricked up his ears. "Er, is that where the Klingons come from?"

"Say what?"

"Klingons. Someone mentioned them and I've been trying to find out where they come from."

Elmsworthy's face went still. "Possibly," he said carefully, after a long moment. "I mean, there's a lot of International Federation of Warlocks influence there after all the atrocities that went on in Cambodia, and Klingons are notoriously anti-Federation."

Granger snorted. "Sorry. Grass seed went up my nose," she said. "Qapla'!"

"Qapla', Granger," Elmsworthy intoned solemnly.

"Is that Klingon for 'bless you'?" Weasley said sourly. Draco couldn't be the only one who felt like the two uber-swots were not-so-subtly taking the piss. Or perhaps he should say 'extracting the urine' instead as he was in the presence of two self-professed intellectual giants.

Simon's tail swished again, recalling Draco to more physical perils than those his pride might be facing.

Simon's head went up and he yanked back on the leadrope. He snorted, startling Granger's cat, which tried to leap out of her arms again. Weasley leaped backwards as the bushes ahead rustled and a centaur stepped out onto the path. The centaur was armed with a bow and arrow – well, Draco could probably hit it fast enough with a curse if he had to – but no arrow was nocked. He looked like the centaur Draco had come across that night he'd been out looking for Snape. It had been hard to tell in the darkness, but he'd guessed that one had been a dun with brown hair and beard. This one was definitely a dun, with a dark dorsal stripe down its back and faint ribbing around its knees and hocks.

"Hello, sir," Draco said. His father reckoned centaurs to be subhuman. Perhaps they were. Now, however, was not the time to debate the issue. "It's a fine day. I hope I find you well."

The centaur raised an eyebrow. "As well as can be with the herd divided."

"I'm sorry to hear the herd is still divided. If it's any comfort, we're trying to find a way to bring the barrier down." Draco hoped the others would keep their mouths shut for a moment longer. Sometimes he found talking to potentially dangerous people or entities like a game of chess – it was best played with just the two opponents. Behind his new weapon of choice, politeness, Draco marshalled his thoughts and strategy, sure the centaur was doing exactly the same thing.

He smiled inwardly.

"I see. You strive hard for the benefit of centaurs, hmm?"

"No. Sorry. Purely selfish motives. We want to see our parents."

"Oh, but we mean to reunite you with the others in your herd, sir," said Granger, her eyes brimming over with earnestness. "It's important for all those of Hogwarts and the Forest, not just humans…"

"Do not presume to patronise me," the centaur said sternly. He held her gaze a moment longer until she blushed and dropped her eyes. He turned to Draco.

The centaur smiled; a rare event for a centaur.

"Honesty, young colt. Honesty! I don't recall your father ever giving me such a straight answer."

Oh, shit. The centaur'd had dealings with Lucius. Draco scratched his forehead. "He's never given me such a straight answer either if that's any consolation."

The centaur shifted a back foot and stroked his beard. "Yet you seek him out."

"Someone has to keep him out of trouble." If Weasley said anything now Draco would kill him slowly. There were plenty of secret places down in the dungeons…

The centaur didn't comment on this. Perhaps it was too obvious. Perhaps there was nothing not cruel for him to say. He stepped forward slowly, each hoof of his solid equine body easily twice the size of one of Simon's yet hitting the ground almost soundlessly. Weasley, Granger (clutching her cat) and Elmsworthy (rubbish bodyguard that he was) moved aside. If their wands were considered a threat, the centaur gave no sign of this. The centaur stopped before Draco, just at the point where Simon started tossing his head and pawing at the ground anxiously, and rubbed at his beard again as he stared at the horse.

"He found you that night."

"Er… yes?" Draco tried to stroke Simon's nose. Simon's eyes bulged with suspicion as he turned his head left and right to get a good picture of the centaur with both eyes. The horse snorted one of his long, low, rolling, what-the-bloody-fuck-is-this? snorts as he stared right back at the centaur.

The centaur nodded. "That is as it should be. Responsibility for one such as he is important. In your wizard view, perhaps, ownership is key."

Who exactly was he saying was responsible for whom? Draco for the horse, or the horse for Draco? This was getting out of Draco's depth as far as cryptic chess-game conversations went. "Ah… do you know his owner?"

"He is the owner. He is the owned. That rope you hold goes in two directions."

"Oh. I see." Yes, he did see. He saw that the centaur was a crazy centaur.

The centaur reached out one massive hand. To Draco's surprise, Simon gave one sharp snort and then allowed the centaur to stroke his nose. The centaur cupped his hand under Simon's chin, peering deep into the dark eyes. "He owns you. He owns them" – he tilted his head back towards the other students – "and in ownership lies responsibility. That is how he found you."

Yes – raving loony. Damn it. For a moment there Draco had been hoping for some centaur help. This centaur's idea of help probably involved certain interesting herbs.

Something seemed to glint momentarily in the centaur's dark, deep-set eyes. Impossible to tell if it was amusement or anger; curiosity or madness. The centaur turned and set off up a side trail, ducking his heavy head under a low oak branch. He paused halfway up the slope and turned, looking back down at them. "Keep left. The spiders are getting hungry and their webs spread further. There is only so much I with my arrows can do to prevent them. They hunt during the day now as well as night. I passed three scouts further back. Two will never see another moonrise. Keep your eyes and ears alert for their family. And, Wizarding colt, keep that rope between you and this horse. He is responsible, aye, but he is only a horse. If he gets confused he will leave you. He is not a dog to come when you whistle. He is a horse – they come when you rejoice or when you despair. Or not at all. That is the way of horses."

"Er… thanks. I'll keep that in mind." And then dump it in a Pensieve and lock it away in a cabinet before he could be infected with Mad Centaur Disease.

"There is no such thing as luck, but I wish you success. May Saturn align itself to your natal planets to allow you favourable fate."

"And you, sir," Draco called back as the centaur cantered up the rest of the slope and disappeared into the trees.

"He's a raving nutter," Weasley muttered.

Draco shrugged. "I'm not going to argue with him about the spiders. Nice to have a bit of a heads-up on them." He shivered. "Didn't think they'd be out in daylight hours. That was the whole point of going now."

"Should we turn back?" Granger asked. "We could ask some of the teachers to come out with us. Hagrid would."

Draco didn't sneer at hollow Gryffindor bravado as he might have done only a few months ago. Instead, he said, "I don't know. What does everyone think?"

Weasley and Granger looked at each other. "Well, we've come this far," said Weasley.

Elmsworthy said, "How about a show of hands? Everyone who wants to turn back, raise your hand."

No hands were lifted.

"Those who wish to continue?"

Four hands rose slowly.

"So be it," sighed Draco.

ooOOoo

*Elmsworthy quotes from "The Story of the Stone" by Barry Hughart.

ooOOoo