The Centaur's Shrine

Chapter 14 - Preparations

Forbidden Forest,

The Scholar and his two companions materialized next to an abandoned house, at the foot of a small hill. This was as close to the old castle as they could Apparate with confidence. The wards were a far cry from what they once were, but the degradation of time had also made them unpredictable. They couldn't see anything from their present location, but he knew that their goal was just on the other side of the hill.

Electra and the old witch looked around with curiosity. Few humans had been there in the last thousand years. Access to the Castle was forbidden by a decree drafted by the most powerful wizards of the time, and ratified by the Wizard's Council. The treaty itself was secret, but the Scholar had been studying references to it carefully for days. It had taken all his ingenuity to find a loophole in it.

"In exchange for the Hogwarts and Hogsmeade grounds, this land was ceded exclusively to the Centaurs and their dependents," he said, in his precise lecturing voice. "That last provision was certainly meant to refer to the Unicorns, and to several other species linked to them. It was deliberately left vague so that they didn't have to disclose their secrets in such a document. Today, we will use this to our advantage."

"How so?" asked Sylvia Dragonis. "I hope you do not expect us to establish relations with these animals."

"Aye, we will present ourselves as their dependents, but they will not know of it." He chuckled at his own joke.

She looked at him in distaste. It would not surprise me if the pedantic blabbermouth had chosen the solution which will most annoy me.

Her experience with teachers and schools had never been a happy one. In her youth, her family had been rich enough to afford private tutoring. Pliant servants were paid to convey what knowledge she wished to learn, and they did not presume to educate her in other ways. Unfortunately, her father had thought himself a businessman. After one too many risky financial ventures, a time had come when the tutors had become too expensive. Because of this, she had spent the last three years of her schooling at Hogwarts, ignominiously mixed with the common students. Thanks Merlin I was sorted into Slytherin. Despite that, she had hated the place from her first to her last day.

"All right. What should we do?" asked Electra impatiently. She had no qualms about anything which would help further her plan. She would have washed the floor of a Centaur's dwelling to get her chance at defeating Dumbledore.

"We cannot pass for Unicorns," replied the Scholar, "but the Centaurs must consume several types of plants to satisfy their specific metabolism. One of these is the Errant Ivy. As you may know this vegetal is mobile. It looks somewhat likes Atriplex Canescens, which is often seen tumbling along, pushed by the wind in arid regions. One particular difference is the presence of long trailing vines ..."

"Professor!" interrupted Electra. "We don't have time for a botany lesson."

"Well, perhaps," he admitted with a shrug. "Although in my opinion, one never knows too much."

He produced three vials of potions from the bag he had been carrying.

"This will transform us into Errant Ivy, and the breeze will push us into the castle ground. We should retain sufficient control for minimal directions." A simple and brilliant idea, if I do say so myself.

"What's to keep any roving Centaur to pluck us for dinner?" asked Electra.

"They only eat the young shoots," he replied deadpan. Both women threw him a scathing look, which he ignored.

"We only require the transformation to get through the wards," he continued. "Once inside we will be able to return to human form. If need be, we can change back at will for several hours."

"Are you sure this trick will work?" asked the older witch with as much scorn as she could muster.

The Scholar looked back at her. There was no love lost, and little respect, between them. They had both been working for the Brotherhood for decades, but it was really best when they could do so separately. Today, that was not possible.

"Shall I explain these things in detail, Sylvia?" The menace was implicit. She would get a full lecture, and the humiliation of having her nose rubbed in her inevitable ignorance. She did not reply and turned away from him.

"We will walk up to where the slope and the dominant wind will carry us into the ruins," he said, climbing up the hill with Electra on his heels.

The older witch waited a moment to calm her seething anger before following them. They walked for several minutes. Once on the summit, they saw the broken walls and uneven shape of the remains of one of the most legendary citadel in human history. They forgot their petty quarrel as they looked upon what had been the Brotherhood's objective for so many centuries.

"Behold Camelot," said the Scholar.

Electra surveyed the grounds before them. This was arguably the most important magical location in Britain. It had been the center of Merlin and Arthur's power during the days of the Ambrosius, when the sorcerer and the king had ruled the country. After Merlin had passed away, or at least disappeared in mysterious circumstances, a long time of trouble and darkness had descended upon the magical world. Much knowledge had been lost, and even sealed off, since it appeared that the Great Wizard himself had deliberately inhibited the use of the Power Circle, presumably to prevent others from abusing it.

In the ensuing centuries of chaos, fractions and conflicts had thrown wizards and Centaurs against each other. The land around them, once known as the fair Forest of Arden, had become the Forbidden Forest. A place of danger and mysterious activities. A handful of wizards, loyal to the memory of Merlin, had kept the castle isolated. During that time, the Centaurs had been using the second Circle, in the actual emplacement of Hogwarts, which few humans knew about.

The Brotherhood had been almost completely destroyed by Merlin itself. The great mage had slayed all seven of the Council's members, and it had taken decades to rebuild the organization, and even more to rediscover the secret of the Circles. Even now, the knowledge was mainly theorical. The only thing that they were sure of was that they commanded a tremendous magical power, and that there were two of them in England. One here, and another one at Hogwarts.

The scholar observed the ruins with fascination. He had spent a significant part of his life researching them; collecting and analyzing every scrap of knowledge he could lay his hands on. He knew more than anyone else, and he had never been so close to this goal.

The two witches looked on with as much fervor, but their primary motivations were all different. Electra saw the mean to accomplish her revenge, the Scholar hoped for priceless knowledge and Sylvia hoped for the restoration of her lost heritage. The Brotherhood used all these ambitions to further its own agenda: attain a position of prestige and influence which would never wane.

The Scholar took a draught of the potion he had prepared, and immediately doubled up in a cry of pain as a seizure took him. He fell on the ground, moaning as he slowly transformed into a ball of packed weed. When it was over, a gust of wind blew him down the hill toward the ruins. Electra and Sylvia exchanged a resigned look and drank the content of their vials as well. Soon, three normal looking tumbleweeds were rolling over the grass across the plain, rebounding on stones and otherwise making their way toward the remains of a battlement wall. There was a brief flash of golden light as they passed the barrier, but the wind was strong enough to push them into the main courtyard of the castle.

Electra changed back to her human form and stumbled away, retching. The world was still rotating dizzily around her. That particular transformation had been one of the worst. First, the actual change was very unpleasant, as were most between plants and animals. After that, being blown away in the wind was extremely disorientating, even as a vegetable. Finally, passing through the wards had been excruciatingly painful, as her innermost self was challenged by the protection magic. She saw from the faces of her companions that they were as distressed as she was.

This had better be worth the trouble.

The stakes were very high. The Founders had initially wanted to build their school on the remains of Camelot, but Merlin's spells were still too strong, and they actually inhibited human magic. After learning of the other Circle, they had proposed a contract to the Centaurs. Freedom to go and do as they wanted in the Forest, and the exclusive use of this place, in exchange for a significant area around the second, unblocked, Circle. After a great deal of haggling, and to put an end to a wasteful war, it had finally been accepted. Merlin's actions did not limit the Centaurs from using Camelot for their own ends, and the result had been in everyone's interest.

The exchange was sealed with complex magic, protected against abuse by both party, and dependent on several conditions. In particular, the Centaurs would regain access to Hogwarts if their Circle lost its power. This had been a major concession which had resulted in a number of clauses whereby the Human wizards could recover their previous property. Paramount among them had been the extinction of the Centaurs.

"Damn you, Alan!" spat Sylvia, wiping her mouth after losing the content of her stomach. "Couldn't you find an easier way in?"

Professor Alan Boocrat was in no better shape. He was still trying to recover from the ordeal. His age hadn't helped. Every one of his articulations was on fire, and his heart was beating like a caged demon. He breathed deeply before answering.

"I could not ... and time was ... of the essence," he said finally. "We barely made it ... through the wards as it was." Fumbling in his bag, he took out a gourd and drank from it. "If we succeed, then future access should be easier."

He tried to stand up gingerly. His head was still ringing like a gong, but it would be all right. He passed the gourd to Electra who took a draught, before passing it to Dragonis.

Already the wards had been greatly damaged by the simple fact of them being inside the grounds. Protection magic was highly symbolic, and so the success of a charm reinforced it, and its failure weakened it. What they were planning to do would decrease the defenses even more. They took some more time to recuperate, and then the Scholar turned toward Sylvia expectantly.

"How does it feel to return to your ancestral home?"

She stared back defiantly, and a roll of thunder was heard in the distance. Sylvia Dragonis was a long removed descendant of the Pendragon line shared by Arthur, the same king who had built this place. Her presence would play a central part in the first of a series of desecration rituals.

They moved to one of the few remaining enclosed space, a large room with the remains of an enormous ring shaped table, now broken and covered in wines and moss. Only stone remained of what had been here. Armors and swords had lined the walls once, but they had long since rusted away. Several statues were still standing, in various state of disrepair. One of these was in remarkable good shape and showed a sinister looking gargoyle.

Using their hands, because magic was still restricted for the time being, they cleared an area in the center of the room. The floor had been fine white marble in Arthur's days, but it was now a coarse and dirty surface. When they were done, the Scholar produced a bottle, some writing brushes and two cups. He poured a dark liquid into the cups and gave one to Electra. Sylvia stood upright in the center of the cleared space. She closed her eyes and spoke at length in a monotone voice. It was a recounting of her family's history, mixed with reference to their service to the Brotherhood. Using the brushes and the dark liquid, Electra and the Scholar began to draw runes on the floor around her, each turning clockwise in opposition to one another, and murmuring their own incantations, privately praying that the Claiming rite would be effective.

It was. A soft green light permeated the room, illuminating the old witch's face which had now taken on a regal expression. A sure sign that the place recognized a rightful owner. The Brotherhood had long known of this particular flaw in the Camelot wards. For this reason, they had always sought to retain the loyalty of as many Pendragon descendants as possible, and if truth needed to be told, there was no other rationale for putting up with the like of Sylvia Dragonis.

When the ceremony was finished, they knew that they had succeeded. It would not be sufficient in itself for laying claim to the entire area, which would entail voiding the Centaur contract, but it was a necessary and important first step. At the very least they could now move around the castle, and pass through the wards freely.

They looked at each other with pride. Their accomplishment temporarily overriding any personal animosity they might hold against each other.

"This is only the beginning," warned Alan. "And it will not last unless we consolidate."

He was right. Every time the Centaurs used the Circle, it would reverse their action, and the wards would be strengthened. He didn't know what these creatures actually did; only that it wasn't important to the Brotherhood.

They would not be able to access the Circle yet. Part of its protection was the equivalent of a Fidelus charm, and so it would be invisible to them. They could wander among the ruins for years, they would never find it. Electra had a plan to solve that. A complex and precise machination which would tax her talents to their limits, as well as using most of the resources of the Brotherhood. It would not be easy, but their motivation was total.

"We know all this," answered Sylvia with indifference. She moved along the wall and stopped in front of the gargoyle-like statue. "Why do you have to be so reasonable in this moment of glory?"

She admired the status. It was probably one of the oldest golem sentinels still operational. She smiled and took out her wand.

"Activatum!"

The statue's color changed suddenly from the off white of weathered stone to the hard grey of fresh granite. Its eyes opened and darted menacingly around the room.

"A proper house needs a watch dog," she said primly.

The Scholar looked at her with anger. The inconsequence of the old hag grated him more every day. Thankfully, she only had a minor role to play.

"That was not childish and unnecessary," he said disdainfully. For a moment, he fantasized about putting a permanent mute charm on her. Unfortunately, she was the only one who could speak certain incantations.

"We have done enough," snapped Electra who had no patience for their bickering. "Can we leave directly?"

Alan was still staring at Sylvia. The stupid game with the Sentinel was of no consequence. He almost regretted it, since it would have offered an opportunity to put her in her place. He sighed. The stupid cow doesn't even know that precise instructions must be given right after activation. He made an effort to get her out of his mind.

"I would not try Apparating from here," he finally replied. "But we should be able to walk out without further trouble."

They left the room to return to the house on the river side. Once alone the golem sentinel began to move, turning this way and that, as if getting re acquainted with his environment. After a moment, it jumped to the floor and scurried jerkily out of the room.

- - -

Ministry of Magic, late afternoon,

Cornelius Fudge stepped out of his office in the Ministry of Magic.

"Oh Marge, if you please?" he said, passing in front of his secretary.

"Minister?"

"Would you be so kind as to notify young Weasley, that I will need the update on the trading report for tomorrow morning, for my meeting with that new Commissioner Galdi-what's-is_name."

"Ernesto Galdomari sir. Very well, I'll tell him."

She didn't remark on the fact that it would certainly take Percy most of the evening to do a proper job of it, while the Minister had evidently finished his day, and it wasn't even five o'clock. In Marge Pennywrinkle's universe, hierarchy was everything and no one, not even her, would dare question her superior's coming and goings. Junior underlings however, were something else. Hard work was the least which was expected of them.

Fudge nodded curtly and bid her a good evening. He walked back toward the atrium and wondered if he would go home directly or not. It was still a bit early, and the prospect of a prolonged evening with Mrs. Fudge didn't really thrill him. He loved the woman of course, and she was a great cook, but then again... I'll just have a quiet drink at the Warlock's Club. Just a little one.

- - -

Percy received the news silently. Like others before him he had learned to keep the tightest control on his expression when dealing with the Minister's fiercely loyal private secretary. Even an innocent smile would be construed as an impropriety. Inwardly however, he was seething.

I can't stand it! He's always doing something like that.

The cumulative events of the last weeks had completely eroded what little respect he still had for the Minister. Maybe it was in reaction to his previous adoration, but he now positively loathed the man. Every day of work was an ordeal, and the days were long. He didn't even have enough free time to make up for it with Penelope. She had accepted the long hours in the beginning, when he was still able to convince her that it was a needed sacrifice to insure a brilliant future. It wasn't possible anymore when he came home despondent. She had started telling him that if the job wasn't even fulfilling, then why did he still bother with it? He would be better of working for some private company.

Percy sighed and stood up to retrieve the heavy folder with the report to review. He came back to his desk and started reading, but his thoughts came back to his girlfriend. The last time, they'd had a bitter argument about it. Now, Penelope was away with her parents for the holidays, and he was alone. Well not exactly. At least he had made up with his family, and that was something.

Why don't I give dad a call?

He pondered the question for a moment, but he had too much work for that. He turned the next page and started to read. It was a list of foreign magical products authorized for import, with the corresponding taxes. There had been countless negotiations and modifications. He would have to consult the annexes for the details and ... Percy suddenly closed the folder. He couldn't stand it.

It's not such a bad idea after all.

Leaving his office, he took the elevator to the appropriate floor. As he was walking along the corridor, he heard Arthur discussing with someone. The door to his cubicle was open. He peered in, and was shocked as always at the smallness of if.

This is an outrage. He's a department head, and even my office is bigger than this.

"Hi Dad, am I interrupting something?" His father and his visitor turned toward him. It was Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"Hello, Percy, not at all. Please come in." Arthur made an ineffective effort to make some room. "Well, if you can."

"Hi, Percy," said the Auror, offering his hand. "Forgive me for saying so, but you look as if your pet dog had died. Any trouble?"

Percy grimaced and explained the last minute assignment. Both men commiserated with him.

"The man never changes, doesn't he?" said Kingsley. "But frankly I'm surprised at you. I'd have thought that you'd be used to it by now."

The young man forced a smile and silently shook his head. Arthur looked at him with a concerned expression.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked. Percy shrugged. He shot a quick glance at Kingsley, plainly reticent to open up in front of the big man.

"Don't mind me," he said. "I've heard it all before, and from too many to keep track of." He chuckled. "No matter, I'll leave you too together." He gave them a friendly wave and left.

Arthur considered his son with attention. He stood up.

"Come on, Percy. I'll buy you a drink and we'll have a talk."

"I don't have time! I've still got to-" Arthur shook his head.

"We'll come back later and we'll do it together. I don't have anything urgent right now, and I really think that you need a change of surroundings."

They left the office to Apparate next to the little pub which was a favorite spot for the low ranking Ministry officials. Despite his high status, Arthur often went there because he preferred the friendly atmosphere to that of the classier resorts. The drinks were also a lot cheaper.

They found a quiet place to sit down and, after the waiter had brought them two large ales, Percy recounted in a rush everything that he'd kept inside him.

"It's not just the work load, or even Fudge's lack of respect," he finished. "It's that I used to think it was all for a proper cause. That it would make a difference somewhere. Now, I'm beginning to think that I'll never get anywhere in this job." He looked up at his father. "The only ones who ever do anything are the politicians or those who are outside the system, like you and the Order."

His father nodded slowly and took a sip of beer before answering.

"You and I, son, we're what are called worker bees. The queen and the leaders decide, but the bees are just there for working."

Percy looked at him and tried to read some hidden meaning in his face.

"How do you stand it?" he asked. "Why do you keep it up?" Come on Dad. Give me a reason for staying. Merlin knows I need one.

Arthur gestured vaguely with his hand.

"I like the work, and they leave me alone." He chuckled. "I really get a kick looking at those crazy Muggle contraptions." He turned more serious. "And there was another reason for remaining inside." He gave a knowing smile.

Sure, understood Percy. He could keep an eye on things for the Order.

"Does that reason still stand?" He was curious. Dumbledore is in a position to influence a lot of things in the Ministry, but what he is actually doing is not obvious.

Arthur balanced his head in indecision.

"I don't know for sure." He shrugged. "Possibly."

Percy pondered this. Outguessing Dumbledore or the Order, was a difficult undertaking. He gave up rapidly, since he didn't see how these motives applied to him.

"What do you think I should do?" he asked softly.

The older man pursed his lips and looked at him for what seemed like a long time.

"Do you still want to play the political game?" The younger man hesitated then nodded once. Arthur winced inwardly. How to I tell him that he's not suited for it?

"You're not going to succeed at it by yourself," he finally said, as gently as he could manage.

Percy flared up and showed his old stubborn expression, and then it softened as he accepted the truth behind these words, however much they grated him. He knew that he wasn't good at charming people, but he still thought that if he explained things clearly enough, others would accept his point of view and follow him.

"You mean I need to find someone to help me?" Why not? I could find a kind of public relation specialist. Someone who will find the right words.

Arthur almost groaned. The boy still didn't get it.

"No, I mean that you need to find someone you can help." he said very softly.

Percy frowned. It took him a moment to understand, and when he did, he froze. The realization was sobering. Dad is saying that I will never be more than an assistant to another, at best a kind of éminence grise. It was pretty much devastating for someone with his ambition.

"Worker bees," he murmured. Arthur nodded slowly.

"They can be very useful," he said, "and even admired." He took another sip of beer and found something more to say. "Remember that you get to choose."

"I get to choose," repeated Percy. He took a deep breath and let it out. "I get to choose whom I serve. Is that it?"

"Yep." Arthur finished his glass. "It's not as bad as you may think." He looked at his son and held his gaze.

The same thought was in their minds. Arthur had chosen to serve Dumbledore. They both knew that he could have done a lot worse. Percy realized his beer was still untouched and took a long swallow. It did him good, and some color appeared on his face. He looked away for a moment. On one side of the pub's wall there were a lot of pictures of famous people, most of whom had probably never visited this place. The owner had reserved a central space with enlarged photos of the six students who had saved the world. He smiled at Ginny and Ron. His eyes fell on another figure.

"Draco Malfoy?" he murmured.

Arthur shrugged. He'd already thought about it.

"I don't know. You should think about it carefully though, and take your time." Percy smiled wryly.

Who else is there? Harry has Hermione for his own needs. Do they need another brain?

"Or maybe all of them? After all, they're all going to stay together."

"Yeah," said Arthur. "If they do anything, it will all be together." The Six Founders. That label is their most important asset.

Percy looked back at his father.

"You're right. I need to think about it. But right now I have a report to finish."

"I'll help you."

- - -

Warlock's Club, London,

Fudge Apparated inside the club lobby. A House Elf immediately appeared to take his coat, while another one ushered him into the main lounge.

The Warlock's Club had been founded in 1878 by a wizard madly in love with all things nautical. This was of course reflected in the interior decoration. Model ships and navigation instruments were everywhere, as were paintings of seascapes and square rigged vessels. The House Elves didn't wear the usual towels, but were wrapped up in signal flags. The third, and last, floor was magically enchanted to resemble the deck of a clipper under full sail. It was even possible to eat there but few did. The level of detail was such that seasickness was a strong likelihood.

They were a number of important persons in the lounge. He spotted several members of the Wizengamot, including Lord Shrummer, and some wizards from the Ministry. Ludo Bagman and that young chap who handled relations with the High Court.

"Ah, Minister!" he called out. "Please come on over and join us."

Fudge sighed inwardly. He would have dearly liked a quiet time away from the stress of politics. The infighting was fierce these days, and a lot of people, previously cowed by the menace of You-knew-who, were now vying for power. He looked carefully at the rest of the company the portly wizard was entertaining. The undercurrents in the Wizengamot were complex. He couldn't help imagining that Dumbledore was maneuvering against him, even if there wasn't any outspoken sign of it. Other members, less important but numerous, weren't so discrete and every meeting was a battleground.

Shrummer had taken his defense on several occasions, and blocked a number of votes against him. For this reason, it wouldn't do to refuse him any of his time.

"Good evening, my lord, gentlemages." He smiled genially at the group, projecting as much confidence as he could.

"How about a grog Minister?" proposed Bagman.

"Thank you. Just what I need actually." He took the steaming glass and blew on the surface of the liquid.

"So, how are things going at your end? Have you got the Howler problem under control?" Shrummer asked maliciously.

"Please! I still can't see a red piece of paper without cringing," replied Fudge. He shrugged. "Actually, the worst of it is over. I think that now everybody understands that we did a good job."

The others nodded in automatic hypocrisy. In fact, the more cynical admired the man for the skill with which he had gotten himself off that particular hook. No one noticed the small hand signal from Shrummer to Trevor, but the young man took his cue smoothly.

"Then again we may be in for a new wave of unrest, if the Goblins continue to make trouble," he said.

The Goblins are making trouble? wondered Fudge. He wasn't aware of anything brewing in that particular area. Bagman looked worried, like always when Goblins were mentioned.

"That's certainly true," confirmed Shrummer, nodding his head and looking concerned. "Defeating You-know-you was certainly a blessing, but the downside is that those blasted magical minorities now feel free to ask for all kinds of advantages."

"Is it that bad?" asked one of the other wizards.

"Bad and getting worse," replied Trevor with a sigh. "You know, I'm quite friendly with Cuthbert, but the man is at the end of his tether." Cuthbert Mockridge was the Head of the Goblin liaison office.

"He's getting to old to handle that kind of crisis," confirmed Shrummer. He turned toward Fudge. "In truth Minister, Cuthbert is almost ready for retirement. I think we need to put a new man in his place."

There it is, thought Fudge. Favor calling time. He's going to ask me to promote one of his friends.

"Do you have anybody in mind?" he replied, playing the game as he was expected to.

"In fact I do," said the big man. "Arthur Weasley would do splendidly." A collective gasp of surprise rose from the other wizards. Fudge's grog went down the wrong way, and he exploded in coughing. He was stupefied.

"I didn't know he was one of your protégés," said the Minister, after recovering. He was even forgetting the unwritten etiquette which implied that, of course, all nominations were made according to objective competence, and not in exchange for political favor.

Shrummer smiled inwardly at the man's lapse, and pressed his advantage.

"He's done a very good job at Misuse of Muggle Artifacts, and I know for a fact that his son works for Gringotts, and that he is very well thought of over there." He looked at the others with the expression of a man who had just expressed a spontaneous idea, but who was growing more confident with it as he reflected on it. "Yes I think it would be a perfect response to the Goblin problem. A new man with a favorable reputation. Don't you think so, Ludo?"

"Er, Certainly my Lord," stammered the man. Trevor approved as well, and quite soon Fudge found himself trapped to agree with the group

I'm not very keen on this, but Shrummer's obviously going to insist. Oh well, why not?

"All right," he said. "I'll talk to him in the morning."

"An excellent decision, Minister. I can guarantee you the support of the assembly."

- - -

Forbidden Forest,

"Master, I have ... a question," said Flitz when the lesson was finished.

"What is it?"

Flitz looked around to make sure that no one would hear them, and then he turned an expectant face toward the old teacher.

"No other will speak of ... my father."

Lyman had been waiting for this. He gestured for the young Centaur to follow him and they trotted away to a quiet spot outside the camp. They kneeled down on the ground, and he spoke softly for a moment, explaining how Firenze had answered the plea of the wizard School's Headmaster.

The youth was uneasy. He knew what wizards were, rogue yet powerful creatures who had hunted the Centaurs from their ancient world into quasi reservations like the Forest. The Herd Mentor himself had often warned him, and his foal friends, to keep away from them.

Why would my father follow one of them?

Nothing he understood could explain it. He voiced the question and the Herd Mentor explained that the rivalry between the two species was not at as simple, or as one sided, as most Centaurs thought.

"But you said-"

"I told you to stay away from them because they are dangerous, particularly to an inexperienced youth like yourself. I did not tell you that they are enemies. Your father went away with Albus Dumbledore who is not like most of them, and who has always been a friend of us."

"Then why are the others angry?"

"Because Dumbledore lives among other wizards who are not our friends, and because they believe that your father will betray our secrets to the humans."

"He is not doing that!" He was indignant, even to forgetting his recently learned grammar, but a voice in his mind told him that he actually didn't know his father very well. He had still been a half sentient foal when he'd last seen him. He remembered games of running through the woods. A bearded face talking about wonderful mysteries, showing him where to find delicate fruits hidden under bushes, and above all, a warm reassuring and friendly presence.

Lyman stayed silent. He had wondered himself if Firenze's decision had been wise. That one had always shown a maverick attraction for adventure, and an unusual tolerance for humans.

"He would not?" repeated Flitz in a low, anxious voice.

Lyman finally shook his head.

"No, I do not think he would, and you should know that the wizard Dumbledore has helped us several times in the past. Your father had a good reason to follow him." Or perhaps a good excuse.

"You knew him?"

"Of course. I taught him, as I taught you and many others." And he was my friend.

Flitz's hand moved absently across the ground, brushing away leaves to clear some soil. His eyes stayed low and didn't meet those of the other Centaur.

"I miss him."

Once again Lyman said nothing. Flitz used his finger to trace vague patterns in the dirt.

"Could I be allowed to ... see him?" he asked very softly, fearful of a brash response.

Lyman sighed deeply. Not for the first time, he tried to think of a solution to Firenze's problem. On the one hand, if he was to stay banished, the short term favor his son was asking would only aggravate the misery both of them must feel. On the other hand, the youth's current favored status could well be an occasion to influence the Herd to accept the errant Centaur back into its fold. The question was one of timing.

"I cannot give you that permission." The disappointment on the young Centaur's face was painful to watch. "Yet," he added, and the trainee's eyes lit up. "But I will do what I can to make this possible."

A hopeful expression illuminated Flitz's face. Lyman knew that he was committed.

"I wait then. Thank you master."

Preparations Ch14 - 11