Two days had passed since Hermione and Pyronesia had brought Light to Hogwarts, who was settling in nicely according to Luna's patronus. It was two days that Hermione spent reconsidering everything she thought she knew about the white wolf in the woods.
Honestly, she felt silly that her paranoia got the best of her. It was comical that she believed a fugitive was hiding out in the Forbidden Forest. Pyronesia's explanation about the mythical shapeshifter somehow made more sense than the conclusions Hermione had come to alone. It was funny when Hermione really considered it. In no other world, besides the wizarding one, could a centuries-old being protecting a magical forest make more sense than the simpler explanation she had come up with.
It helped settle her nerves a bit, allowing her to relax for the first time in weeks that felt like years. Hermione was happy to be wrong about something for the first time in her life: the wolf wasn't a criminal with malicious intentions. Rather a creature that, if Pyronesia were to be believed, was only trying to protect the forest.
It was natural that the Hero would be wary of a newcomer in the territory. Hermione had nothing to fear as she meant the magical woods no harm. With that logic, there was no reason for the wolf to take an interest in her.
Prophetic words echoed in her mind, a harmony to the symphony of sounds that were the Forbidden Forest. A storm rolling in caused a shift to a minor key. A single strike of lightning the dissonant note warning of the crescendo to come: rain that would last for many days.
At first, Hermione enjoyed the excuse to hide out behind the warded walls of her tent, a short reprieve from the worries of the woods. She had examined other concerns in the form of the letters Madame Marian had written to the Ministry.
The woman wrote of pets going missing in the dark of night. A faithful dog that never went astray, let out for a wee and gone without a trace. Kneazles out for a hunt, never to be seen again. The shopkeeper included a synopsis about each pet in her letters, sympathetic to the lost souls, pleading that the Ministry do something about the missing creatures.
Marian's letters spanned the last five years but, spoiler alert, the Ministry had never come. And Hermione could see why. Handwritten notes detailing second-hand, even third-hand, accounts of pet disappearances were not something to call the Aurors about.
Still, it seemed rather strange.
After her third pass through the letters, Hermione found herself feeling restless. She had sped through her other reading materials as well, though most seemed rather pointless now that Pyronesia had essentially given her the key to unlocking the mysteries of the wood. Too bad she didn't have the lock that the key went to.
When the rain finally broke after four days, Hermione took the opportunity to stretch her legs and breathe in the fresh air. She set off to canvas another coordinate on her map, G1. Hermione predicted she would have similar results in the southwestern portion of the woods as in the northwestern corner the week previous.
Thoughts of Fluffy came to mind and Hermione shuddered, hoping she wouldn't run into the dog again. She was beginning to doubt she would run into any creatures, noting the diminished populations she observed near the periphery of the wood. Deliberately walking the circumference of the forest allowed Hermione to avoid breaking her agreement with the centaurs (again), for she feared the consequences of disobeying the herd.
Dawn steadily gave way to day. Good thing, too, for Hermione found a Vampyr Mosp hive after they had gone to bed for the day. Her findings were enough information to scale and estimate their population. She'd take the low range of whatever number she came up with, to account for the state of decline that plagued the Forbidden Forest.
The lack of creatures was troubling. While the variety of beasts left something to be desired, the flora and fauna showed no signs of recession or decay. None that was immediately recognizable to an outsider who only had been in the territory for less than three weeks, anyway.
Perhaps that was why Pyronesia had told her about the Hero of the Wood. The man would be able to provide details and context that only someone spending every breath amongst these trees would know. While her assignment permitted, Hermione wanted to help the sickly forest as best she could; the hero, the white wolf, would know the best way to do so.
As the sun began to peak, the lioness found herself gravitating into thicker, denser foliage until she tripped over tree roots and bushes every step of the way. The trees were so tightly packed here Hermione was barely able to move, having to twist and pull her body between the timbers that blocked her path.
Before she knew it, Hermione felt like she was spinning in circles, with only trunks of ash and hawthorn keeping her upright. She tried to step in every direction but found herself getting more disoriented, less able to stand.
Panic rose in her chest when the anguished cries of a woman came echoing through the trees surrounding her.
"Pleasee, help hiiimmm, help meee!"
A wave of nausea hit her and she closed her eyes. When Hermione opened them again, she found herself lying on the forest floor.
Her eyes opened but remained unseeing. Hermione wondered if she had passed out. Clothes clung to her sweaty body. The feeling was akin to what she imagined it would be like to apparate mid-portkey. When vision and balance somewhat returned, Hermione crawled her way between the trees, hoping she would find a break in the wood with little effort.
The moment she freed herself from the confines of tree limbs, she was assaulted by the bright sun. Her stomach roiled in offense at the olfactory assault of water and heady petrichor. Eyes clenched tightly, Hermione gasped for breath on all fours, her body still reorienting.
Once her breath evened, Hermione tuned into the sound of rushing water nearby. She sat back on her heels, curiously surveying the area around her, noting that it looked too familiar to be the southwestern ridge she had just been hiking. A locator spell on her map revealed what Hermione already knew: somehow she had been brought to B4, where the water that fed the Black Lake combined from two sources.
Strange, how did she get back here?
Hermione knelt at the edge of the running water, cupping her hands to splash her face with a handful of the cool liquid. Perhaps the water was a magical source, the split acting as nature's dowsing rod, pointing her back here, where the water joined at the cliff with the giant oak tree. It was the same stream she'd caught the wolf at before, the same she'd followed the thestrals to; the water had even been there for Pyronesia's mythical tale.
The same tree under which the wolf lived, or at least hid, another fact that Hermione toiled with. Something inside her buzzed at the prospect of meeting the Hero, a proper meeting. He seemed to be the key to everything happening in the Dark Wood, the missing piece to the puzzle... the prophecy.
Legs shook as she stood, still dizzy from her tumble in the trees. Hermione turned her gaze to the southern-facing cliff where something curious caught her eye.
What was that? It looked like someone had dug into the exposed Earth. Hermione had noticed it before, a detail behind the head of the story-telling centaur, but couldn't make it out in the dark then or from a distance now.
She sloshed into the stream, not caring that the water was thigh-deep and moving swiftly. The cold liquid crept up the waist of her jeans as she crossed to stand at the base of the cliff. Hermione couldn't be bothered with a drying spell after she climbed onto the small ledge of rocks before the cliff face, too interested in investigating yet another Forbidden Forest oddity.
The cracks, upon closer inspection, created a rectangular outline in the Earth. Her mind began reciting rectangular runes in case this was another instance of something in the forest not being what it seemed. If she looked closely, the dirt appeared to vary in thickness unnaturally, as if it had been manipulated at a time.
When she placed her hand against the dirt surface, a hum of magic passed through her unexpectedly. Was it a sigil carved into the cliff? She pulled back her hand as if burned, shaking out the tendrils of electricity that buzzed under her skin. The witch examined her palm, relieved to see she hadn't been cursed.
When her gaze returned to the wall of earth, she noticed a small projection that had not been there before in the top half of the dirt slab. She pursed her lips and blew a stream of air at the protrusion, dusting it free of debris. Upon examination, she realized it was only a tree root, a small loop of which jutted out of the cliff side at her eye level.
Hermione examined the left-most aspect of the cut-out, noting another root along the right edge. This root was already cleaned of dirt, though Hermione could swear that she hadn't noticed it before in any of the times she had been at the waters split. It wasn't like her to be so distracted and unobservant.
She edged along the southern cliff face, looking for other markings or abnormalities, but found none. After almost slipping into the rapids behind her, Hermione inched back toward the corner of the cliff, only giving the other face a cursory glance for similar markings, but it was bare.
She had walked by the split in the stream countless times in the last week alone; how long had there been a shape dug into the cliff? Was it new?
Could it be a sign? A warning?
Or was she simply grasping at straws, searching for meaning when there was none to be found?
Hermione rolled over the possible implications in her mind as she withdrew her wand. A well-angled Ventus was enough to brush the loose dirt off the cliff surface, revealing what was hidden beneath the compact earth.
It was a door. Tangled tree roots formed one humongous Celtic knot held together by rocks embedded in packed dirt. The exposed roots acted as hinges, a doorknob, and a knocker. Her hand was drawn to the knocker magnetically, her hand grasped it and without thinking, Hermione smashed it into the door.
"Hello!" She called out, rapping the root knocker against the dirt thrice. "Anyone home?"
The wolf moved instinctively along the southwestern ridge of the forest. He was headed toward the perimeter of the swamp lands where he had snares set, hopeful to find his daily catch.
Raw flesh had once turned his stomach, but after years of necessity, or perhaps his immune system and digestive tract adapting to the wolf diet, the taste no longer bothered him. He ate mostly fruits, vegetables, nuts, and roots; the sorts of things the Forest provided. Vegetarian ingredients were more easily found and required less dirty work. For the last two years, the traps had been yielding less and less capture, giving less opportunity for the wolf to indulge his carnivorous instincts
Today, the traps were empty. The wolf stalked back home, where scraps of his food stash awaited him. Normally empty traps coincided with a long, hungry day. Draco never thought he would say it, but he was grateful for Granger… in the very least, he was grateful for everything he stole from her.
It was the first time in years he had a backup food source. To a man that had to hunt or gather each meal, having food he could go home to felt as luxurious as room service. His traps usually did most of the work for him, but there were rare occasions when he would find live animals ensnared. When that happened, Draco always tried to make it quick by snapping their necks before gnawing away at his reward: flesh and entrails.
There was a duality within him. One, the wolf that got thrilled by the chase, the hunt, the kill. The other, the man behind the beast, shouted obscenities at the horrific survival acts.
Killing even a small animal reminded Draco too much of dinner parties with Nagini and he loathed himself because of it. But what other choice did he have? These were desperate times. What was his alternative… to starve?
No, he was a Slytherin, but more importantly, the last Malfoy. He had no choice but to survive.
As the wolf came closer and closer to his den, he began to seek darker cover, keeping himself as hidden as possible in case of prying eyes. It was a good thing he took such a precaution because as he slipped under a netting of low-growing vines near his home, Draco's ears were met with the splashing of hiking boots through the water surrounding his home.
Draco crept under the ivy to watch the witch. It took him a moment to decipher what she was doing, but when he did realization hit him like a cold stream of water.
Granger could see his door on the face of the cliff. She was too close and too curious.
It was a risk that after she intruded in his home, the wards would recognize her and reveal aspects of his hiding place only meant for inhabitants. An alternative explanation was Granger's stunner had taken down his protections entirely.
The wolf shivered at the thought, suddenly paranoid of having been defenseless and exposed for the last two weeks. Without a wand, Draco wouldn't be able to confirm their integrity, but the feeling of their security had remained.
Or perhaps he had become complacent, too comfortable, in the woods.
Getting comfortable meant becoming vulnerable. Being vulnerable meant making mistakes. He could not afford to make any errors with Hermione Granger lurking…. though he clearly had already made a few, as the witch was in the process of examining the door to his home.
A dark thought crossed Draco's mind, tugging at the fractured pieces of his soul. If there was ever a time to eliminate his Granger problem, it could be now.
She was busy being a swotty know-it-all, once again putting her nose where it didn't belong.
Draco was stealthy; he could sneak up and hit her from behind. Maybe he would be lucky enough to steal her wand and finish her off with a quick Avada.
If not, drowning was always an option, too.
The ivy seemed to bristle at his thoughts, the netting tightening against his back. No, no. He knew not to bring more death or darkness to the land. The Dark Wood would not allow murder under her leaves. It was a crime punishable by death itself (ironically).
Draco very much wanted to continue living, even if it meant only being the wolf, so he shook away the darkness that grasped for him.
Of course, he had never been able to kill anyone when it mattered anyway. Once a coward, always a coward; his Achilles heel. The current predicament served as an everyday reminder of his greatest weakness.
Oh, what his father would say if he could see now how far the mighty Malfoy men had fallen! He knew deep in his heart that Lucius would have been ashamed to see Draco living amongst such filth as the creatures of the Forbidden Forest. His father would be especially embarrassed by Draco's cowardice. Ashamed by the fact that his son hadn't killed the mudblood the first night she set foot in the Clearing.
Draco could hear him clearly, despite the years it had been since he last heard his voice. The expectations and subsequent disappointment, of his father, were ingrained into his subconscious.
They had become his inner voice.
But then Draco thought fondly for a moment about his mother. She would think differently than her husband. Narcissa would be pleased with how peacefully he was living, happy to see he had left behind his violent ways.
Why, yes, Draco thought that his mother would have been proud, but he could not relate to the feeling. He had no similar thought in his own mind.
Draco knew that Narcissa had seen him through rose-colored lenses, unable to recognize him for what he truly was: coward, beast… scum.
The Blacks had a different set of standards than the Malfoys. Similar thoughts and belief systems when it came to blood purity and class elitism, but different defining characteristics which one aspired to. The Malfoys wanted wealth and power. While the Blacks desired longevity and security.
It was apparent to him now why his father had always sneered in disdain when acknowledging that Draco was just like his mother. For he was so self-preserving that it was cowardly. That cowardice was a weakness that could be exploited by others.
And it had been.
Voldemort exploited it when he set Draco up for failure, knowing that the young Slytherin didn't have the bollocks to murder the headmaster in cold blood. The Dark Lord was right.
Draco had failed as expected, which served as the perfect stepping stone for Voldemort to humiliate his family and make them look weak to the other Death Eaters.
The Malfoys were the martyrs: reminders of how far the mighty could fall.
And fall they did, with the last living Malfoy no more than a shadow in the Forbidden Forest. It was the end of the family line. At this rate, it was likely Draco wouldn't see the end of summer with Gryffindor's pride hunting him with lioness expertise.
He watched Granger curiously as she pushed on the door, holding his breath as he waited to see what would happen.
The door didn't budge.
Strange. Perhaps that meant the wards were still strong, despite Granger's encroachment on them previously. But if the wards were in full effect, she wouldn't have been able to see the door in the first place.
It was puzzling. Inconclusive.
She tried her wand against the door and got shot backward in response, landing arse first in the water before going under. Draco's instinct had him crawling forward, ready to rescue Granger from the creek, but his reason jumped in quickly and tamed his desire to intervene.
Why did he want to help her? The urge was powerful, like when he watched her get snuck up on by that three-headed dog. Yet he remained still, the only movement was the cycling of perturbing thoughts in his mind
She managed just fine on her own, stalking away from the waters split moments later, soaking wet and cursing the Dark Wood. An amused grin pulled at the jowls of the wolf. He had to bite down to avoid barking with laughter.
Granger wrestled to get wet hair out of her face as she pulled herself onto the muddy bank. Draco watched as she shouted expletives at the cliff, his amusement shifting to intrigue as he noted the curves of her figure accentuated by wet clothes. His interest didn't last long, for Granger dried herself with a wave of her wand.
What a shame.
She appeared to be going south, toward her camp, sufficiently defeated by his wards. Her absence did nothing to dull his anxieties about her presence near his home.
What if she doubled back and found him?
Maybe, a nagging thought hit him, it would be best to follow her, just to be sure she made it back to the Moon-Gazer Clearing. Yes, he would see that she made it safely to her camp, and then he could enjoy the woods with minimized risk of detection.
If nothing, it would give Draco some peace of mind, which at this point was worth its weight in gold.
Hermione had the Moon-Gazer Clearing in sight, a luminescent beacon in the eerily dark woods when she heard trotting hooves coming toward her. Instinctively she slipped behind a tree, crouching next to an overgrown fern that obscured her appearance. She held her breath as the creatures came closer, stopping right before the cluster of trees.
"Where is she?" The gruff voice of a palomino centaur asked its chestnut counterpart.
"Close," a lighter voice said, "I can smell her."
The pair padded away, heading toward her camp where they inspected her tent, opening the flaps with the tips of their arrows.
Hermione gripped her wand, taking a step backward, planning to run from the predators hunting her.
A stick crunched, Hermione whipped around, her wand meeting a jagged arrow tip pointed squarely at her throat. She recognized the wielder as the Centaur who had flanked Firenze when she made the census proposition in the centaurs' village. The look on his face was triumph laced with distaste. It was not something Hermione enjoyed being on the receiving end of.
He let out a harsh whistle, waving one hand overhead. The others galloped toward them. The one who caught Hermione began to speak.
"Are you the witch known as Hermione Granger?"
"Y-yes," she stammered, tongue suddenly heavy in her mouth.
"I need you to come with me."
"Come with you? Where are we going?"
"There's an assembly at the village center which requires your attendance. I've been instructed to bring you there."
Hermione furrowed her brow. Why would the centaurs be calling on her? Perhaps they had changed their mind about the census! She nodded eagerly, motioning for the centaur to lead the way.
He trotted forward. Hermione marched after him at her own pace, not wanting to appear too eager. She imagined each centaur lined up around the square, ready to be measured much like the thestrals had.
When she glanced behind her and saw that the other two centaurs flanked her with arrows drawn tightly against their bows, Hermione felt nothing but unease. She tried to pay it no mind. Perhaps it was standard protocol for the centaurs to remain armed when outside the bounds of their land, but it brought an itchy feeling under her skin.
As they got deeper and deeper within the centaur territory and were finally approaching their central city, Hermione could hear the soft roar of a crowd.
Hermione was completely awestruck at the sheer number of centaurs assembled. She noticed that other creatures had gathered there as well. She wished she still had possession of her draws-from-memory quill. Bitterly, she hoped that its new owner was making good use of it.
She had stopped moving, too engrossed in attempting to make out every detail of the gathered creatures. A sharp point hit her trapezius and she let out a small cry at the pain. She turned to her attacker with her wand drawn defensively. This garnered the crowd's attention and they quieted upon spotting her.
The soldier hit her wand hand with a closed fist, sending it flying from her grasp. It fell to the ground a distance away and was immediately scooped up by the other soldier that had been 'escorting' her.
Hermione cradled her hand with a whimper, flexing her fingers and wrist to test for broken bones. It would definitely bruise, but didn't feel broken. What stung worse was the slap of reality that accompanied the centaurs' blow.
She had not been called by the herd for any amicable purpose. No, the scene before her spoke of more wicked capabilities. Hermione's blood both boiled in anger and froze with the chilling realization that she had walked into a trap.
There was no time to react before another creature approached her from behind, binding her arms with vine rope. She was outsized and outnumbered, effectively out of options without her wand, but Hermione struggled as any proper Gryffindor would to little avail. Her screams were cut off by another vine rope placed around her head and between her teeth.
She gagged on the bound, giving up her struggle only so she wouldn't actually retch, and falling into a begrudging silence. Tears welled up in her eyes. Hermione couldn't believe what was happening.
Her captors spun her and an arrow tip prodded her forward. The crowd parted when she neared as if contact with the witch would burn them. When Hermione was at the front of the throng, the centaur in front of her halted, muttering something about how she would have to wait her turn and that she would be next.
Next for what, exactly?
Hermione gulped, eyeing her surroundings suspiciously. A large fire roared close by, casting the village square in an amber glow and dark shadows. A dash of white amongst the trees caught Hermione's attention and she narrowed her eyes to track the movement, but her line of sight was blocked by the Centaurian leader approaching the stage.
Firenze stood upon the dais. The crowd fell silent when he raised his hands. Beyond the square a group of centaurs approached, dragging a mass of white wrapped with a set of leather ropes. As shouts became clearer, Hermione recognized a familiar voice begging to be released.
No, she thought desperately, her heart dropping to her stomach with the sight.
Pyronesia's black braids were covered in sticks and loose leaves. A few of her gold stars had been ripped out, held on limply by pieces of hair pulled loose from their entanglements. The alabaster centaur stopped fighting against the restraints as they neared, her eyes searching the faces of the crowd wildly until they fell squarely on Hermione.
The guards heaved the beast onto the stage, where Pyronesia sat looking bored. The white centaur even rolled her eyes as Firenze began to speak, which gave Hermione a small smile. Despite being bound and gagged, Pyronesia was as full of sass as ever.
Firenze spoke without formal ado: "Pyronesia, daughter of Espira, and member of the council guard, you have been charged with crimes against your herd and crimes against Her Dark Wood. I will list the charges as follows.
"Three counts of high treason against the herd, for actions that resulted in direct consequence to the safety and longevity of our tribe. One count of failure to perform duties as assigned. Another count of insubordination for unlawful contact with a human witch, on the evening of the day for mothers. Pyronesia, for these crimes how do you plead?"
Pyronesia sighed, her eyes meeting Hermione's with a shining look that was both apologetic and resigned as if the centaur had Seen this coming all along. Her visible eye was welled with tears and Hermione could see the fabric of her eye patch was also wet.
The strap around her mouth was loosened just enough to allow the accused to speak. "Guilty," Pyronesia choked out.
There were several gasps from the crowd. One of the older centaurs, Pyronesia's mother Hermione presumed, let out a wail and began sobbing loudly. Several other mares patted the elders' arms in comfort.
"For these crimes," Firenze's voice cut above the noise to give his determination, "we sentence you to de-,"
A single howl cut through the square, stopping Firenze from his proclamation. The creatures seemed unsettled as rampant whispers broke out among the crowd. Firenze fought to regain their attention.
"Silence! The ruling party has made the call. For these crimes, we sentence you to exile," Firenze spoke directly to Pyronesia. "You will no longer be welcome to run with the herd of the Dark Wood. You must exit the bounds of our land immediately upon the conclusion of the sentencing of associated parties unless we determine that there are more charges to be brought against you. Nod if you understand, traitor."
Pyronesia squared her jaw and stared into the faces of the creatures watching before giving a curt nod.
Hardly democratic, but the herd leader allowed the sentenced to speak. "What do you have to say for yourself?"
It was then that she spoke directly to Hermione. "I'm so sorry, but it must be done."
Pyronesia gave Firenze a hard glare. "I conspired with the human known as Hermione Granger to directly thwart the plans of the herd of the Dark Wood. I brought the unicorn to Miss Granger so that she could save the foal from being sacrificed, despite the cost."
The crowd jeered for a moment before Hermione felt the sharp poke of an arrow again, ushering her forward.
She was thrust onto the rickety stage, the creatures surrounding it making their displeasure known with a chorus of boos and hisses. The verbal creatures launched expletives at her in many languages. Hermione wished at that moment that she were able to apparate or, better yet, that she had never come to the Forbidden Forest at all.
Firenze began reading a list of charges similar to Pyronesia's. Hermione stared out at the blazing fire defiantly. She wasn't sorry. She had saved a pregnant mare of an endangered species from having her foal murdered. It wasn't right for another creature to make that decision for Light, no matter their reasoning, and because of that, she would not apologize.
For her actions, she felt no shame.
"As for your crimes against Her Dark Wood, we shall allow her to exact punishment as she deems necessary."
The crowd was entirely still, holding a collective breath as they all waited for something to happen.
The wind blew, rustling the trees that encircled the village center. More silence, more stillness.
Gods, could they just get on with it already?! The anticipation would kill her before the centaurs had a chance.
Finally, a bird cawed overhead, which Firenze took as a sign. He shook his head in disagreement. "Very well, then. As is her wish.
"Hermione Granger, you are being charged with acts of high treason against the Centaur Herd of the Dark Wood. To prevent the spread of more darkness under Her leaves, your life has been spared, but you shall be sentenced to exile from our land with your conspirator. You will leave our place immediately and you will thank the gods that you get to leave with your life. Never return to our sovereign territory. You'll be lucky if the forest is around long enough for you to explore the outskirts. The council is adjourned."
The centaurs who had captured them were also in charge of the physical exiling. Both Hermione and Pyronesia had been placed upon a wooden sled, still gagged and bound. Unlike Pyronesia, Hermione hadn't been given a chance to defend herself after sentencing. In fact, she had barely time to process any of the events for the minute Firenze declared her status, the crowd had begun to throw fruits, vegetables, and even rocks at them.
Their treatment had been rough, practically barbaric, but she supposed it was better than the death that could have befallen them. At least in exile, there was no one throwing rotten produce.
Tears flowed from Hermione's eyes as she relived the moments while being dragged back to her camp. Stars twinkled mockingly through the patches of the canopy above.
They were flung onto the lush grass of the Moon-Gazer Clearing unapologetically. The guards of the Centaurian army threw Hermione's wand toward the edge of the clearing before they trotted away unceremoniously, whinnying as they went.
Rope dug into her wrists and ankles, inhibiting much of her movements. Hermione rolled to her knees and had to make several tries before she could hop to a standing position, each failed attempt causing a bruise to her arse — a perfect metaphor for how the summer in the Forbidden Forest was treating her thus far.
Once erect, she hopped with some difficulty, only making small distances with tremendous effort. After almost falling from attempting a leap, Hermione resorted to a series of small hops in quick succession. The bouncing sensation was not the best feeling, particularly in her chest area, and it also tousled her hair, putting it in her face. She huffed a breath forward, trying to move her hair as she continued hopping across the clearing.
Pyronesia grumbled from the ground, "Can you move any faster? These restraints are killing me."
They probably were. The centaurs had to use a more intricate series of knots on Pyronesia to account for all of her extremities. She looked constricted and uncomfortable, unmoving against her restraints in fear that doing so may work to dislocate her joints. Somehow the creature had slipped the rope gag.
"I'm- going- as- fast- as- I- can-," Hermione huffed, each word a staccato with the cadence of her movements, though they came out muffled through the rope gripped between her teeth.
Pyronesia further expressed her displeasure, but Hermione heard none of it as she had finally made it into her tent. She hopped carefully past the flap, almost losing her balance over the mess she had left behind.
Her boots trampled fallen parchment, causing her to stumble into the kitchenette, knocking into a shelf and spilling its contents. Glass shattered in one fell swoop, pieces of which stuck into the bottom of her boots as she trekked through it on her way to the cutlery drawer. There, after moments of awkward fumbling and more hopping to open the damned thing, she was finally able to procure a knife.
Blade in hand, Hermione hopped back through the debris on the floor of her tent, out through the flaps, and back across the Moon-Gazer Clearing where Pyronesia lay. The lioness was absolutely breathless by the time she reached the centaur, her chest heaving from her efforts.
Turning her back to the centaur, Hermione did several small hops, backing herself up so the knife she clutched behind her back could be grabbed by Pyronesia's teeth. She made several awkward wiggling moments trying to instruct Pyronesia to grab the knife with her mouth and cut Hermione loose.
"What? No! You release me first!" The centaur protested, pulling impatiently against the restraints.
Hermione sighed, shaking her head 'no' and pushing words out around the urge to gag. "I can't see… cut you. Please don't argue for once?"
"For once?!" The centaur demanded. "We wouldn't be in this mess if it weren't for you!"
Hermione did a shuffle with her feet to turn and face the beast, a look of rage screwing up her face. "Me?!"
The vine in her mouth had gotten damp, and loosened, making Hermione more understandable. "Are you seriously saying that this is my fault?!"
"You took Light from the wood!" The centaur was close to hysterics.
"Because you asked me to!" Hermione crowed. Was this conversation seriously happening right now?
"I didn't think it would lead to all this!" Pyronesia sobbed, which sobered Hermione significantly, sympathy replacing her anger. "All I wanted was to help… I didn't ask for this! One day you're an innocent foal, the next day you're a blind pariah, and now I'm a 'nothing'! Cast away from my herd…"
The centaur was gasping between sobs, causing tears to come to Hermione's eyes as misery radiated off the creature who had just lost her family, her home, and the entire life she had known thus far. Pyronesia rolled to her side, wailing her anguish to the heavens that illuminated the clearing. It took everything in Hermione to not turn away. She stood steadfast, allowing the mysterious creature the space to grieve with the comfort of a friend nearby.
"I knew this was going to happen. I thought I was ready," the centaur cried to the moon, "so why does it hurt so much?" Confirmation of what she had already suspected.
Hermione gently prodded her with the handle of the blade. Surprisingly, the creature made no further argument. Rather, she freed Hermione's hands from their restraints. Hermione, in turn, made quick work of the rest of her bounds before working to untangle Pyronesia.
When both were free, their limbs returned to their proper places, Hermione couldn't help but approach Pyronesia and engross her in a gentle hug. Pyronesia pulled Hermione in tightly and buried her head against her neck, her body still quaking with emotion, but far more subdued than moments previous. The witch smoothed the braids of the centaur, her wildflower scent reminded Hermione of the Longbottom-Lovegood greenhouse.
Hermione separated herself from Pyronesia's embrace, making solemn eye contact with her single, exposed eye.
"Do you trust me?" She asked.
Pyronesia nodded, sniffling and wiping tears from her cheeks.
"Could you trust another human?" Pyronesia gave her a guarded stare, which prompted Hermione to elaborate. "The one who saved Light?"
The centaur toyed with the question before bending, plucking a blade of grass and holding it in the moonlight. Hermione raised a curious eyebrow as she watched Pyronesia chew the weed before spitting it back out.
Hermione's nose wrinkled, gross.
The centaur stood, having made up her mind. She gave Hermione a look of forced bravery, like a soldier compartmentalizing their losses after a battle in preparation for another blow, "I'm ready."
Hermione's otter flew down the path before them, weaving through the tree branches before disappearing toward Hogwarts. The forest was sparsely illuminated by light from the full moon shining through patches of the canopy. Hermione stumbled every few steps as she followed behind Pyronesia, who navigated the woods expertly in the dark.
"Are you okay?" It was a stupid question, one she shouldn't have asked, but one that fell from her lips anyway.
"No," Pyronesia admitted quietly, with a defeated shrug, "but I have faith in the ways of the wood." The creature paused before adding, "I also believe in you."
The weight of that statement was too suffocating to carry in the current moment, so Hermione let it float past her, focusing solely on finding a suitable place for her friend to go.
Luna retrieved Pyronesia from the one-way ward near the barn. An iridescent glow shone through the windows of the structure, signifying Light was happy and healthy. Hermione hoped Pyronesia could find peace there as well.
Hermione had been offered to stay, but politely declined, citing discomfort with leaving her belongings unattended. Luna hadn't pressed and Neville trusted her judgment. She returned to the forest without much of a fight, the cool wave of the one-way ward washing over her once more.
She was back in the Forbidden Forest. With one burning desire at the forefront of her mind: it was time to find the Hero of the Wood.