Packs and tent stowed and ready for transport, the pair loaded up and began their trek toward the clearing where Malfoy had spotted the herd earlier that morning. As they made their way along a narrow, beaten trail, Hermione went over the logistics.
"Centaurs are reserved and slow to trust. Most established colonies are deeply hierarchical and require strong diplomacy skills for them to even entertain a parley. The colony here is said to be quite young, having taken on a nomadic lifestyle and leaving their born herd as adolescents. Based on my research into that colony and when the younglings left, they should now be near enough to maturity that we can reasonably expect they're beginning to establish a more permanent home."
Malfoy, walking a few steps ahead of Hermione, looked over his shoulder with a brusque "got it," just as she'd been wondering whether he was even listening. She rolled her eyes.
"So," she continued, "it's important for us to approach with appropriate deference. We are strangers, untrusted strangers, coming onto their land and requesting the honor of learning from them. We have no right to expect such a boon to be granted, even if we share the honorable reasoning behind our request.
"And that's another thing—while we are here for a Ministry project, I don't want us to act like Ministry representatives. That's not to say that we should lie about who we are, of course. I mean yes, centaurs are typically quite wary of magic and wizards in general and the Ministry most of all, and yes, I'm a Ministry employee and you're a long-time consultant with them, so really we're both employed by a government that they absolutely despi—"
"Granger." Malfoy had stopped dead in his tracks, a hand raised in the air, halting Hermione's feet and voice almost instantly.
"What is it?" she whispered, glancing around and listening for anything out of the ordinary.
Malfoy spun around, looking her straight in the eyes with a bored expression. "You're rambling."
Then he turned back to the path and started off again. Hermione gaped for just a moment and then let out a huff, glaring at the back of his stupid blonde head. He's not worth it, she reminded herself, instead focusing her mind on alphabetically listing all the non-lethal curses, spells, and charms (in that order) that she'd like to hit him with.
It was around five minutes before anyone broke the silence, and to Hermione's surprise, it was Malfoy who did it. "Centaurs are some of the most gifted linguists known to our kind," he said, somehow loudly enough to be heard without turning around but still respectful of the natural soundscape surrounding them. "Their ability to communicate with local wizarding populations is a great convenience, of course, but it means that there has been little research done on their own cultural languages. Scamander obviously has some notes on the topic, but when it comes down to it, most of what we know about centaurs' methods of communication has been through observed interaction with humans."
"Right," said Hermione, unsure how to react to this sudden knowledge dump but unable to quell the quiver of excitement she felt at the possibility of learning something new. "Hm."
"I heard a bit while I was scouting this morning," he continued as though she hadn't said anything. "They weren't verbose by any means, but what I did hear wasn't English. There was Greek and Norse influence, plus whatever I could pick up from grunts and whickering and general body language. But the point is, we're trying to learn about their language, right? So we can work toward building or reestablishing language connections with their distant relatives, whom they have every reason to want to support in their avoidance of wizards? So how are we supposed to get them to trust us—enough to meet with us, help us, and speak what very well might be a sacred language in front of us—in the next two days before we're off to our next location?"
All good questions, Hermione thought gloomily. She was equally skeptical about their likelihood of success, and simultaneously frustrated that Malfoy had managed to package the full bullshit of their entire situation into such a delicate, professional delivery.
"I honestly don't know," she finally said once she could trust her voice to be even. "I suppose we'll just rely on our natural charm and trustworthiness to shine through."
Ahead of her, Malfoy snorted and shook his head.
They had been walking another ten minutes or so when Malfoy raised his hand again. Hermione glowered at his back for using the same motion as before but said nothing; she knew this time they were actually close to the clearing they had marked during yesterday's exploration. Their first mistake, she immediately realized, was thinking they would be able to approach unnoticed.
"Who are you, and how did you come to find us?" The clear voice rang out from the trees, deep and melodious in a way that made the hairs on the back of Hermione's neck stand up, while simultaneously filling her with the comforting feeling she associated with a hug from her mum after a hard day.
"You're up, Granger," Malfoy muttered. His hand was now lowered and he stood otherwise unmoving. Hermione took a deep breath and nodded, stepping forward to stand at his side.
"Hello, and well met," she began calmly, eyes closed as she brought her hands out in front of her, elbows straight and palms facing upward. She knocked softly but intentionally into Malfoy's side as she did so and felt him imitate her position. She could only hope he had his eyes closed, or at least lowered, as well. "We are travelers on a mission to restore a dwindling relationship on behalf of wizard-kind. We had heard tell of your emerging colony and had hoped to learn from you as keepers of tradition, sages of communication with beings and the greater universe, and birthers of a newfound manner of societal existence. We understand that our ask is great and our presence uninvited, and in your wisdom we beg your consideration."
There was silence for several moments, during which Hermione focused on keeping her breathing steady and her body still and calm. As far as she could tell, Malfoy was doing the same.
"Raise your eyes, young ones," the voice said, still dark and warm yet now with a hint of lilting curiosity. Hermione slowly opened her eyes, doing her best to maintain deference in her gaze, and was startled to find several centaurs scattered in the woods in front of them. (She just barely held back from glancing over her shoulder to confirm her suspicion that she and Malfoy were, in fact, surrounded.) One of the centaurs, tall with auburn hair past her shoulders and red roan skin, stepped toward them. Several of her herd raised their bows slightly, a clear warning, but not a threat.
"It is not we whom you seek to know," she stated calmly, her head tilted and her low voice reaching into Hermione's chest. "Tell me, why are you here?"
Malfoy cleared his throat softly, and when he spoke, his voice was highlighted by an accent unfamiliar to Hermione. "We wish to rebuild connection with your distant brethren, the merfolk of Hogwarts' Black Lake. They no longer trust wizard-kind, for which we do not fault them in the slightest, and we only wish to earn the rekindling of what we once had between our societies."
If Hermione was startled by his seemingly-natural shift in speech patterns, it was nothing compared to how she felt hearing the pureblood prince of Slytherin speaking with such deference to a population she was sure she'd heard him call "filthy half-breeds" not ten years prior. She kept her eyes on the leader as Malfoy spoke, blinking regularly but not too often, determined not to show any discomfort with the situation.
"You do not believe him," the leader said suddenly, turning hardened eyes to meet Hermione's. She took a step forward again, and Hermione forced herself not to take three steps back. Around them, the sound of bows being drawn just a little tighter filled the wood.
"He speaks the truth," Hermione replied, grateful that her voice remained even. "We two have joined together for that purpose, nothing more and nothing less."
The leader's eyes grew brighter as she tilted her head. "Yet you do not believe him," she said again, quietly but with a finality that had Hermione's heart dropping to her stomach. Because she didn't believe Malfoy, not really. Her brain refused to throw away an adolescence-worth of anecdotal evidence that the man currently spouting formalities was simply, to put it politely, shitting through a smile.
Hermione kept her face impassive, but it didn't matter: the leader seemed to have learned all she needed from Hermione's eyes alone. With a tight-lipped nod, the centaur stepped back from the pair and squared her shoulders. Malfoy, who had been visibly tensing as he watched the interaction, twitched forward ever so slightly at the sudden movement. The leader snorted and shook her head lightly.
"We will not welcome you this day," she announced, eying Malfoy with a somewhat-amused quirk to her lips. "For how can we trust you with what we hold close, when you come to us with no trust of your own to show?"
Hermione bowed her head, feeling for all the world that she had failed her mission already simply because she couldn't hide her negative opinion of the man accompanying her. The leader stepped forward again and drew her focus with a severe gaze.
"Trust is honest. It needs no mask."
Hermione closed her eyes, willing her voice to maintain. "We thank you for the honor of your time and discourse," she said, spreading her hands with her palms facing upward. Ever so slightly in front of her, she heard Malfoy sigh and do the same.
When she heard no response for thirty seconds (her internal clock was near-Swiss), Hermione opened her eyes, turning in a slow circle. The herd was gone.
/\ /\ /\ /\ /\ /\
The walk to the evening's campsite was quiet but charged. Hermione never accepted failure well, and even though her expectations had been rather low going into today's mission, she still felt the sting of a job poorly executed.
They made quick work of setting up the tent, which would have surprised Hermione if she'd been less caught up in her own (justified, thank you very much) moping, since Malfoy had only seen her do it once before but seemed to have picked it up rather smoothly. Once it was standing, he disappeared under the flap and Hermione sat heavily on a stump, fisting her hair and glaring at the remnants of a fire pit like it was to blame for the way things had gone with the herd.
Malfoy emerged from the tent a few minutes later and from the corner of her eye, Hermione saw him look between her and where a fire should be.
"Merlin, Granger," he said in his typical detached way, and she stiffened at the mocking undertone. "I never pegged you for lazy."
She shot him a glare and stood up, wanting nothing more than to give him a swift kick to the shins. Instead, she settled for a classic, "Bite me, Malfoy," instilling it with all the venom and fury she felt in his presence. Well, I lasted almost two full days, she thought as she swept past him and into the tent with her gear. Harry and Ron wouldn't have made it two hours.
But instead of the warmth that usually accompanied thinking about her boys, Hermione felt a shudder of discomfort. While the company was crap and the tent was small and uncomfortable, she didn't think she'd ever be able to camp with Harry and Ron for the rest of her life. The way they had been forced to live for those many months still haunted her—she carried several days' worth of shrunken food with her at all times, as well as a baseline anxiety that she determined was her very own Constant Vigilance. She had no desire to recreate any part of that experience with them ever again.
Hermione unrolled her sleeping bag and positioned it similarly to the night before, angrily arranging her bags into a barrier and wishing she could erect an entire wall around Malfoy instead. Part of her, the part throwing a bit of a tantrum, just wanted to crawl into her sleeping bag and close her eyes on this whole day, but she knew they needed to make a report about their lack of progress to her department head. And, she sighed to herself, they would have to at least try to establish some sort of positive rapport if they were to have a chance with the centaur herd when they tried again tomorrow.
So, groaning, Hermione turned her back on the temptation and made her way out of the tent. Malfoy was sitting on the stump she had abandoned, a fire crackling steadily as he stared into the flames.
"We need to report back," she said bluntly, shaking Malfoy from his trance. He nodded, and she sat down heavily on a nearby log. "Anything in mind?"
"He's your boss, Granger," Malfoy shrugged. "Surely you don't need my help telling him what a shitshow this has been so far."
Hermione began silently listing the textbook steps to mount and fly a broomstick, trying to reduce the sound of her own heartbeat as it thundered in her ears. When she got to the end of her list, she raised her eyes to look at him.
"Fine," she said shortly. "How's this? 'Absolutely mucked it up. Knew this was a shite plan. Can't wait to try again tomorrow and for the next two weeks with the complete arse of a linguist you somehow deemed capable.'"
Malfoy shrugged, clearly not impressed (or in any way offended, much to Hermione's annoyance). "Doesn't sound very professional, Granger. Maybe a little more detail and a little less of that patented Gryffindor honesty. 'Able to establish contact with the herd but have yet to gain their trust. Will regroup and strategize tonight before trying again tomorrow.'"
Hermione grunted noncommittally, but found she didn't have the energy to nitpick his response—not when she was saving all her strength for the daunting task of intentionally getting to know the prat. Good enough for government work, as her dad used to say. Deftly, she pulled out her wand and relayed the message onto her Protean-charmed water bottle, which would appear on her department head's desk as a memo to be read when he arrived at his office the next day.
She leaned back as the words disappeared from her bottle and watched Malfoy pick up his own, rolling her eyes at his smirk when he saw his exact words being passed along. "Come on then," she said, unable to keep the uncertainty from her voice (and honestly unwilling to put in much effort to try). "Let's get this over with."
Malfoy glanced her way, eyebrows raised. "Do you expect us to play Truth or Dare, Granger?" he asked drily. "How are we even supposed to build up enough fellowship in one night to trick a herd of centaurs into sharing their culture with us? In case you hadn't noticed, you and I aren't the best of mates."
"For goodness' sake, Malfoy!" Hermione hissed as she looked around the clearing, as though the fire hadn't made her blind to anything outside a ten-foot radius. "We're not tricking anyone! We're just… we're proving ourselves trustworthy! And if we can't at least try to prove that to each other, then we're in for a hell of a disappointing two weeks."
He gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes. "Alright, alright, O Righteous One," he muttered. "Go on, then, ask me something."
Hermione shifted nervously on the log, extremely aware of just how pointless she thought this all was and how little she cared to know anything at all about her childhood bully. She sighed—she was getting quite adept at it—and put her head back in her hands.
"Fine. Okay... Truth or dare?"
