The Centaur's Shrine

... "You understand what I had to do now, don't you?" said Fudge.

Percy shook his head, confused.

"And it worked. Thanks Merlin. Everyone played their parts and it worked. We defeated You-know-who."

It was too much. Percy stopped sputtering and stood up....

Prologue

Hogwarts, flashback,

The hooded figure was watching as night fell on the silent castle. The heavy cloth which was covering her did not hide the fact that she was woman. A last ray of sunlight lit her face, which would have been attractive if her features weren't set in such hard lines. Certainly, she didn't look happy. Her jaws were clenched, and her jet black eyes stared rigidly at the display before her.

Wisps of white fog were still lingering on the battlements, already being turned to grey and dark red by the dying sun. They looked like bleeding ghosts, and that was a fitting image for what was left of her great plan. The woman had been waiting for a hopeful sign after the great surge of magic had been felt by everyone for miles around. The enormous Death Mark floating above the building had disappeared at the same time, and nothing living had come out since.

Maybe they're all dead in there.

That would be too good to be true, but it was possible. There was only one way to make sure. She started to move toward the main gate when a flash of light caught her eyes. She looked up and saw that it came from a window, high up on one of the great towers. She had never visited the school, but she knew enough of its layout to identify the room as one of the student dormitories, Gryffindor to be precise.

She stopped moving and concentrated, and suddenly her body was falling upon itself, twisting as it changed size and shape. One second later, a black and white magpie jumped into the air from where she had been. It flew in the direction of the castle, and toward the lighted window. After a quick flight, it was perched on the sill just outside the room, and looking inside.

The witch, because of course she was one, then saw teachers moving tiredly to float unconscious bodies of students to their beds. She frowned as she tried to understand what this could mean, and then she recognized one of the adult figures and a flash of fury overtook her.

He's alive! That sorry excuse of a wizard didn't even manage to kill him.

She flew away, before she could utter the piercing cry of disappointment which would surely give her away. In flight, she gave herself up to the rage, and for a minute she was nothing more than a wild bird, darting madly over the Forest. When she could think clearly again, she dived toward the path which led to the village. She landed and resumed her human form.

She has recovered control of herself, and now her rage was reduced to a cold anger. Her face was fully visible now, and she was truly beautiful. Her hair was cut rather short and copper in color, framing a soft pale skin. She looked to be about thirty, but of course, years pass more slowly on the body of a witch. She started thinking about what she had just witnessed. A least she had the answer to her question. Voldemort had failed, and she had failed along with him. That was bad, but she was not one to dwell on past mistakes. There was still something to do, but she would have to act quickly. She walked quickly away to a spot from where she could Disapparate.

- - -

Elsewhere,

The five dark silhouettes materialized silently on the ground. One of them was the same witch, but this time she was accompanied by four masculine figures. Immediately upon arriving, they released the portkey that they had been holding, took out wands, and began to run along a rough trail.

The path followed a desolate shore. The deafening sound of crashing waves was around them. The place was just a broken piece of land adrift in the cold of the North Sea. A forgotten and lifeless island. Well, not quite lifeless. The vertical lines of a stone building were visible not too far away. A small fort, perhaps even something built by Muggles to hold a garrison against sea faring invaders, or maybe a prison. She wasn't familiar with the history of this place, but she was certain that no living Muggle remembered it anymore.

The fort showed no sign of activity, and the five figures approached unchallenged. There was a gate, closed with great wooden doors and reinforced with iron struts. The woman transformed once more and the magpie flew ahead of the four men. It went over the wall and disappeared inside.

The wizards arrived at the entrance. One of them tried the gates, but they were locked. They waited outside, ready for anything. Crackling sounds were heard, followed by the characteristic 'thump' of falling bodies. One of the man chuckled. Presently the gates opened into a small courtyard, and the four wizards rushed in. The woman was waiting for them.

Other figures were coming out of the main building, but the wizards were ready. Flashes of green and red light crisscrossed the night. The short battle didn't last long. The Dark Lord had taken with him all those of his followers who could fight properly. The invaders rushed inside and wreaked more mayhem on panicked servants.

"Don't kill the Rat!" warned the witch.

She knew a little about the miserable creature that Voldemort called Wormtail. He was a traitor, and a weak wizard, but for some strange reason, the Dark Lord trusted him with several of his secrets. Most of those would be academic now, but she could still use one of them.

She saw him at the end of corridor. He was trying to get away, which was a perfectly reasonable thing to do. He didn't make it. A stunner hit him, and he fell in a heap three meters from the door. Two wizards came forward with ropes to tie him up.

"Careful with the hand," she said.

She knew it was a gift from Voldemort, and as such it could be very dangerous. One of the wizards made a suggestive gesture with his wand and she nodded.

"Diffindo!"

"AAARRGH!"

Wormtail revived and stared stupidly at the stump of his arm. The silver hand lay on the ground, still attached to the bloody remains of his forearm. The wizard who had cut it off used a length of rope to make an improvised tourniquet. Peter Pettigrew groaned and didn't resist. His face was white and sweating.

"What ... Why?" He looked at the woman and suddenly recognized her. "You! You'll pay for that. My Lord will make you pay ..." He started to sob.

"Your lord is dead, little man," said the woman. "And now, it is I who commands. I need something which I believe is here."

She asked her question, and he shook his head. He was sure that she was lying. The Dark Lord would be merciless if he told her anything. Better to die than to face his wrath. The woman smiled cruelly, and on her beautiful face, the change was truly frightening. She extended her hand and touched his temple. His eyes grew wide. He screamed, but not for long.

A few minutes later, she came out of the building holding a large silver cup in her arms. The ornate symbols around the rim marked it as a pensieve. She wrapped it up in her cloak and waited while her companions finished sending wreaking curses and fireballs into what was left of Lord Voldemort's private hideaway. It had been protected by powerful charms once, but most of them depended on the owner being alive. In the morning, this place would be nothing but ruins.

- - -

Hogwarts,

Harry Potter was picking at his dessert at the Gryffindor table. Around him the joyful sounds of the end of term feast filled the hall. It was their last day at school, and the Christmas vacation would start tomorrow. The Hogwarts Express would be taking them back to London in the morning.

The day before, he and his friends had vanquished Voldemort. He still had trouble believing it had finally happened. Nobody remembered exactly how it had been done, except Dumbledore, who had erased their memories. That made it even more unreal. They were heroes and the wizard world was at peace.

He looked at the girl seated in from of him. Hermione was more beautiful than ever in the warm flickering lights of the candles and torches. She looked up, smiled at him and happiness filled his heart. He was free, of the prophecy, of his lifelong battle. He was in the most wonderful school ever, surrounded by his friends and close to his love.

He turned toward the head table where the teachers were chatting and toasting each other. He caught the eye of the Headmaster who nodded to him and raised his glass in silent salute. Harry smiled and responded in kind to the man who had made all this possible.

Not far from him Fred and George were noisily celebrating to the previous day's events. It felt great to be back in Hogwarts, especially when everyone was hero worshiping them for the role they had played. One little thing was bothering them though. Their eyes meet and the same thought was in their minds.

"Did you see anything? Even close?" asked Fred worriedly.

"No," replied George. "Nauseatingly nice kids all of them, much too well behaved."

"Disgusting."

"We can't let it stay that way."

"Let's look around once again. There's got to be someone."

The twins surveyed the other tables. They were searching for hardy souls to take up the immortal legacy of school pranksters. Legends such as they, or the famed Marauders, couldn't be expected to exist every years, but the tradition should at least be kept alive by a token presence.

Of course it would be best if a Gryffindor could be found to carry on that glorious mantle, but the current generation was very disappointing. Harry and Ginny would have made a good choice, but Hermione and Draco would hamper their efforts, and Harry probably wasn't all that interested anyway. Kid's too much of a hero now.

Fred's eye scanned the Hufflepuff table but there didn't seem to be any spark over there either. He almost looked over Slytherin, that House had the worse reputation humor-wise, and only by chance did he spot the small black haired boy enchanting Vincent Crabbe's goblet. He immediately recognized the famous drip-glass spell, and sure enough, the big Slytherin was suddenly yelling as cold pumpkin juice flowed over his dress robe, evoking raucous laughter from Goyle who was sitting next to him.

Fred nudged his brother, and they nodded in appreciation as the small boy quickly regained his seat, and coolly resumed a conversation with the fair haired girl next to him. Vincent looked around for the culprit. Unable to find any, he shrugged and grabbed another glass.

"A Slytherin?" whispered George. "You've got to be kidding."

"He has the touch I tell you, and a first year too. We'll be able to shape him." He pulled his brother closer. "And it will be even better with that House. A proper response to the mushy fraternity that's coming over the rest of them."

Georges raised his left eyebrow and grew a sinister smile.

"Yes, I agree. Very fitting."

He straightened up and formally offered his hand to Fred.

"Let's pledge to corrupt him."

Fred shook it, and gave a firm approving nod.

"To the best of our ability."

"What's his name?"

"Parker I think. Actually Ginny mentioned him. She also said that he has a sister in Gryffindor."

"That's me."

They turned around, and came face to face with a small girl sporting the same thick black hair as the Slytherin boy. She was looking at them suspiciously.

"Who are you?" asked Fred pleasantly.

"I'm Alicia, he's Richard, and the girl next to him is Silena Malfoy," she continued.

The twins exchanged surprised looks, and then mischievous grins appeared on both their faces.

"Malfoy as in ..."

"... Draco Malfoy?"

"Yes. She hasn't been here long but she's nice. We've been showing her around the school." She looked at them with a puzzled expression. "What were you talking about? What do you mean about corrupting him?"

Fred's face turned angelical.

"It's a technical term," he answered. "We can explain of course, but it'll be best if your brother is present."

"Why don't you ask him to meet us in the second floor's east corridor, right after the feast," added George.

"And Silena can come along if she wants."

Alicia's immediate reaction was suspicion. She had heard several stories about these two, most of them outrageous.

"I'm not sure..." she began.

George sat up, frowned and looked down on her.

"Is that a Gryffindor speaking?" he said with scorn. "Where's your sense of adventure?"

She didn't flinch.

"I'm not afraid!" she shot back angrily. Both boys looked back at her with doubtful expressions until she relented. "Okay we'll come, but it better not be a trap."

The twins simultaneously placed their right hands over their hearts.

"Nothing like that."

"Quite the opposite in fact."

They looked at her with gravity and, after a moment, moved away to join a group of noisy revelers. Alicia was left wondering. What's the opposite of a trap for those two?

- - -

Somewhere...

The tiny spider was scurrying quickly on the large stone table. It wasn't really tiny, in fact it was big enough so that any spider fearing person would jump away real fast if he ever saw it on his table, but this particular table was very big, at least six meters across, so the spider could be called tiny after all, and it was certainly nasty looking. It had long inverted V-shaped legs, and its skin was leathery black, adorned with bright yellow strikes.

After a few seconds of precautionary immobility, it resumed its progress along the smooth surface. It didn't have any specific objective, other than finding a good place for a new web. The flat surface wasn't very good for that, so the spider moved on, in search of a better spot. It stopped when it came upon one of several metallic stalks rising from the table.

The spider couldn't make out what it was, of course. It couldn't even see that there were seven such constructions. Silvery arcs developing into graceful twisting oval shapes, and regularly placed around the perimeter of the table. All that it could understand was that the stalks would make a nice framework for its purpose. It climbed along a stalk and started weaving. It had almost finished a third strand when a loud crackling sound was suddenly heard, and green fire exploded around each structure, destroying the unfinished web and incinerating the unfortunate insect.

The fires settled inside the ovals and provided enough lighting to bring the rest of the room into focus. It was big and mostly empty, which made it seem even bigger. It was now clear that the table was really more of a raised dais. Certainly there weren't any chairs. The flames quickly resolved into life sized human figures. Seven hooded wizards or witches were now plainly visible.

One of them spoke in a smooth easy voice. He was tall and he moved with the confident manner of one accustomed to being listened to. His dress was rather plain for a wizard, but there was no mistaking the quality of the cloth.

"The half-blood died. He failed one last time." His head moved toward the smaller figure of the copper-haired witch on his right. "As I expected." He paused as if expecting a response, but the addressed member didn't react.

"How did it happen?" asked another voice, a younger wizard, on the left. "Did Dumbledore finally destroy him?"

A third figure answered. That one was a very old man. His face was beardless and wrinkled, and he spoke with a rasping voice, but the words were very clear and precise.

"It is not clear. Our observer witnessed the assault on the school. It seemed to be going well, until they entered the castle. We could not follow, but after a while, a powerful community magic was sensed through the wards. The death event was unmistakable. Nothing else of significance has happened since."

"The Magenmagot has been informed of the destruction of the Dark Lord," added another wizard's voice, one with the deep sonority of a professional orator. His frame was large and imposing, and he was dressed in showy expensive robes. "All of Riddle's enchantments disappeared, and none of his Death Eaters remain. There is no doubt."

"I read the report," said a high pitched, elderly and feminine voice. "Probably some relic from the school Founders. It felt like them," she spat.

"The fool let himself enter into a trap," continued the old wizard. "He was obsessed with that boy and with the school. It proved his undoing."

"Well after all, he was only the half heir of Slytherin," added the woman, her voice dripping with scorn.

"What about the Prophecy?" asked a new woman's voice, middle aged this time. "And what do you make of that announcement concerning those students?"

The first speaker made a dismissing gesture.

"The announcement sounds like Ministry propaganda, and who knows what the Prophecy actually was? It does not matter. Riddle could have helped us, but his impatience was that of a child. Worse than that, it reeked of the muggle tainting in his blood."

"What should we do now?" asked the younger voice. He threw a quick glance at the lone figure who hadn't spoken yet.

"We will continue our long term plans," replied the first voice confidently. "Working indirectly as usual. That idiot of a minister can serve us again. It would not do to have him replaced by someone really powerful."

"Yes. He and several others were compromised by Riddle. It gives us a splendid opportunity," added the younger voice with audible enthusiasm.

"Exactly. His failure will be our gain after all."

The silent figure finally spoke up with a rich, seductive, feminine voice. It was little more than a murmur, but the words came out clearly, and the others listened attentively, almost with apprehension. It was the same witch who had been at Hogwarts on that fateful night.

"We need to understand what happened," she said. "Such magic has not been used in living memory. Surely we can't ignore that."

"Do you really think ..." started the middle aged woman.

"I know I made a mistake with Riddle!" she interrupted. "But we have actually lost nothing. Yet." Her figure turned to encompass the others. "For all his faults, he was a useful mask for our existence, but he is no more. If we move now, we risk being exposed."

A sobering silence followed her words.

"What do you suggest then?" asked the first voice. His tone was noticeably subdued from his last intervention.

"We watch, we listen, we try to understand," she replied firmly. "We can discuss action afterwards."

A long pause followed.

"All right," concluded the first voice. "We will heed your counsel."

The seven figures suddenly dissolved into bright flames which then diminished gradually, until the empty room was returned to darkness.

- - -

Forbidden Forest.

Flitz woke up slowly, gradually aware of the small night sounds of the forest. It was still night but dawn would be coming soon. Remembering his lessons, he continued to breath regularly, eyes closed and unmoving until he was sure that nothing was amiss. The surrounding noise and smells were normal, and he could sense his friends near by, still sleeping. Another scent was discernable however, more pungent and distinctly different from that of the young foals lying next to him. He recognized it as Lyman's, the Herd-Mentor.

The young Centaur waited a little more to make sure that there was nothing else. Not that he expected any particular danger, after all he was in the center of the camp, and his instincts told him he could trust the adults in such circumstances.

He stood up on his four thin legs, snorted to shake the leaves clinging to his coat, and trotted toward the Herd-Mentor. He knew that the coming sun period would be a little special. He had been told what would happen, but of course he hadn't understood it. He was just five years old after all. At that age, and until the Day of First Stone, Centaurs were more animals than sentient beings. Their minds needed the Ritual to open and awaken the latent intelligence.

Lyman let the youngster come to him and mew a welcome. He had observed him wake up, and he had noted his caution with approval. Was he anyone but the scion of a renegade, there would have been no questions that the lad was more than worthy of being initiated. In the present case however, he would be held to a higher standard.

"Blessings to you Flitz. Today will be an important one for you," intoned Lyman.

Flitz's face broke into a happy childish smile. He liked the sound of speech. It was like a strange music for him. He could also feel the anticipation coming from his mentor. Bright as he was, his mentality was that of a smart dog or a dolphin. He would have jumped around joyfully, but he knew he should stand obediently whenever an adult was near.

The older Centaur looked up at the stars, and he checked once more that the time was indeed right for his charge. Flitz followed his gaze but there was nothing up there for him to hold his interest. Little points of light, that was all. He looked around again and spotted the shape of another adult standing some distance away. It was looking at them. He mewed again, as he had been taught when saluting another of his kind.

Lyman lowered his head, and recognized the other Centaur.

"Blessings to you Bane," he called out formally.

"Blessings to you Lyman," grunted Bane. "So, it is really his time? Is he ready?"

"Don't you trust me?"

"You I trust. His blood now, that's something else."

"You would deny him his chance?"

There was a hint of warning in the old Centaur's voice. Bane shook his mane in an angry gesture. He could see that the young Centaur was frightened of him, and probably wondered what he had done wrong.

Nothing! There's nothing wrong with him, except that his father had the gall to abandon the Herd! And offer his services to those hated humans.

Flitz was the son of Firenze, whom Albus Dumbledore had persuaded to teach in his school, replacing the lame excuse for a seer who had been revoked. Bane knew that the old wizard had done many things for the Centaurs, and that he deserved their respect, but nothing could compensate for the betrayal of their secrets.

He had wanted the traitor killed, but the Herd had been divided. It still was. Most were outraged, but they didn't want to provoke the wizards, and they wouldn't accept that the foal be punished for his father's crime.

And to be truthful, neither could he condemn anyone to such a terrible fate.

"No," said Bane softly. He turned toward the young Centaur. "May the spirits of the Forest be with you, Flitz. Go, and come back as one of us."

Prologue 8