Master in the Trees

The afternoon was bracingly cold. The wan winter sunlight slanted through the trees, and the dead leaves on the forest floor sparkled with frost. Though the sun was already low in the sky, the Forbidden Forest was less dark and intimidating when its flora stood naked against the chilling breeze. It was also safer, since the Acromantulas buried themselves deep below the frozen topsoil to sleep during the frigid months. Hermione wiggled her fingers inside the mittens she'd knitted, refreshed by the cold air that filled her lungs.

As she walked the now-familiar path to the centaur's part of the forest, she began to hum Christmas songs in time with her steps. She was nearly through The Twelve Days of Christmas when she noticed a few drops of dark liquid on the forest floor. She frowned and bent to examine it. It was blood, so fresh that it had not yet frozen. She rose and looked about the clearing, noticing more drops of blood a few feet away. She followed the trail and found a large hart lying on the ground with an arrow through its neck. It was still warm to her touch, but its brown eyes stared blankly ahead, devoid of life.

The arrow had been fletched with pheasant feathers, probably the work of the centaurs. She frowned. Where were the hunters?

She heard a quiet rustle, as of hooves over leaves.

"Hello?" she called.

She was somewhat startled to see a pair of blank white eyes peering at her from behind a holly bush.

She gasped, not fully grasping at first what she was seeing.

The creature stepped into the clearing; nostrils flared, its long, impossibly thin legs stepping deliberately toward the fallen deer. It wasn't until it adjusted its membranous wings that Hermione realised she was seeing a Thestral for the first time.

The Thestral was everything Harry had described: weird, delicate, terrible, and beautiful all at once. It noticed her scrutiny and approached her, head cocked quizzically to the side. Hermione held out a shaking hand for him to sniff. She forced herself to remain still, even as she saw the Thestral's fangs flash as it licked the deer's blood from her fingertips. In spite of the blank gaze and sharp teeth, she couldn't help but run her hand along the warm neck beneath its silky mane. He whickered softly, then turned his head in the direction from which it had come.

Three other Thestrals appeared, including one juvenile. Hermione's Thestral made some soft noises and pawed the ground with one hoof. The others approached, sniffing Hermione, but they quickly lost interest and began to inspect the dead deer.

"Don't let me keep you from your supper," she said, remembering how easy it had been to give instructions to Hagrid's Thestrals.

The Thestral cocked one ear, as if considering, then quivered his withers in what she assumed was a shrug. She stroked his shining coat once more, and he turned to join the others, snorting softly to them. The juvenile Thestral seized the arrow in its teeth and yanked it from the deer's throat. It offered Hermione the arrow with as much delicacy as its growing fangs allowed.

She took it and thanked the Thestral, who whuffed in response. To her surprise, the largest Thestral seized the deer's hind leg in her mouth, spread her wings, and flew up into the trees, taking the deer with her. The others took off after her, the youngest squawking in protest as struggled to catch up.

Squinting against the sun, she could barely make out their shapes among the thick branches high overhead, but it seemed as if they had been joined by at least one other.

Hermione examined the arrow in her hand. The iron arrowhead had been cast and shaved down with great precision, and she was even more certain that it was a centaur arrow.

She shoved the arrow under her arm and replaced her mittens, determined to ask Magorian about what she had seen.

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She returned to her usual path and soon heard the familiar sound of arrows being nocked against bowstrings.

"Hello, Magorian!" she called gaily.

"What do you want, human?"

"To know you, to understand you to the best of my ability, and to represent your interests to my government." The response had become tradition, as had Magorian's reply.

"We have no use for your government, and we seek no audience with humans, whose intelligence we consider to be inferior."

"If you claim your intelligence is superior, then you must be willing to prove it," said Hermione with a smile.

"You didn't say she was insolent," said a melodious voice Hermione didn't know.

"I thought that went without saying, Burnish," rejoined Magorian, stepping out from behind a tree. Six other centaurs revealed themselves, many of whom she recognized as part of Magorian's regular patrol. Several nodded at Hermione in greeting.

The final centaur joined their circle and gazed at Hermione with cold blue eyes. Hermione bowed low immediately upon realising that the new centaur was female. Her heart began beating faster. She really was making headway if a centaur female had come to meet her.

"It's an honour to meet you," said Hermione. "I meant no insult to you or your kin. I simply wish to improve relations between our societies and, by your leave, see that your interests are known and respected by my people."

"Even if it in our interest that we be left in peace?" asked Burnish mirthlessly.

"With all due respect, that didn't work so well for either of our peoples last time."

"Bane and his followers were weak to consort with humans of any sort, regardless of whose side of your little conflict they were on," scoffed Burnish. "To hold all of us to his standard is an insult."

"There are many other centaurs that deeply resent his execution, in spite of his 'weakness,'" replied Hermione calmly. "I am very sorry that circumstances should interfere with the way that both of our communities would rather live, but we can no longer afford to be ignorant of one another's ways. Please, tell me what you would have us do for your people."

Burnish shook her head. "Why should I care to enlighten your pitiful race?"

"Because our people, in ignorance, have released Acromantulas, a Cerebrus, dragons, Blast-Ended Skrewts, giants and a sentient automobile into your forest, just to name a few. You cannot afford our ignorance. How long until the skrewts cause a fire? How long until the spiders encroach upon your territory? They have no compunction about killing the young of other species."

Burnish's eyes flashed. "Do you think us incapable of protecting our foals?"

"I'm certain you can now. Against whatever else may be dumped into the forest, who can say?"

"I have heard enough," said Burnish shortly. "I have no use for her at present." She tossed her golden mane and galloped off into the forest. Magorian and the others followed her, leaving Hermione alone in the forest.

Hermione's heart sank as she watched them leave. None of the others would even look at her. She blinked back tears and shoved her mittened hands into her pockets. Somehow, she had completely bollixed up, and she had no idea how to fix it.

Her only recourse was one that she promised herself she would never use. However, desperate times called for desperate measures, and she needed expert advice.

As she turned to leave, she did not notice the eyes watching her from the treetops.

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Firenze's establishment was the premiere nightclub for mingling between centaurs, humans, goblins, and other cosmopolitan individuals. It was located on the outskirts of a tiny town in Lincolnshire miles from any large population and as a result had the best visibility of any magical observatory in the British Isles. On weekends, there was live music interspersed with lectures by the finest astronomers and diviners of the age. The guest list was short, but Hermione's name was permanently on it.

She wore her new blue dress robe and ordered a martini from the ginger-headed centaur behind the bar whilst waiting for her host to arrive. She admired the domed ceiling on which was magically projected whatever was being viewed by the establishment's telescope. On this evening Jupiter loomed overhead, with its moons appearing as large as the Earth's own satellite in the nighttime sky. Onstage, a goblin was lecturing on Europa, one of the few words she could understand that was not in Gobbledegook.

Hermione sipped her drink quietly for a few moments. Sadly, her relaxation was short-lived.

"Excuse me, are you Hermione Granger?" Her interlocutor was a young male centaur with close-cropped brown hair.

"Yes, I am."

"I thought so- you're the one who started the Ministry department, right?"

"Well, actually, the Centaur Liaison Office has existed for several hundred years. I'm simply the current head."

The centaur looked slightly taken aback, but shrugged off his discomfiture. "No matter. Say, why don't I buy you a drink and we'll liase?"

Hermione just managed to keep from rolling her eyes at the tired line. "I'm sorry. I'm waiting for someone."

"Oh, I see," said the centaur, coldly. "Well, it's good to know exactly how far your goodwill toward my race goes."

"She didn't reject you because you're a centaur, Nessus," came an amused voice from behind them. "She rejected you because you're not showing her any respect." Firenze had arrived. "Good evening, Hermione, I'm sorry to have kept you waiting." He kissed her cheeks in the continental style.

"Good evening, Firenze. Thank you so much for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice."

"Not at all. You look lovely this evening."

Hermione felt her cheeks turn pink. "Thanks. You do too."

Having given up hope of returning to his herd, Firenze had embraced his human half, travelled the continent, and begun wearing clothes and mastering human customs. Tonight, he wore a sapphire velvet jacket with a tailored shirt and cravat that complimented his eyes. A sword in a silver scabbard at his waist emphasised the impression of power and urbanity that he radiated. More than one female eye gazed enviously in her direction.

He gestured for her to sit, then signalled the bartender to bring them drinks.

"I do apologise for Nessus- he's a frightful bore, but he still holds sway with the centaurs in Swindon. Now, my dear. What seems to be the problem?"

"I'm not sure what I did wrong, but I fear I may have irreparably damaged my relationship with the Forbidden Forest herd."

Firenze gave a small smile. "Well done."

Hermione shook her head. "I was so close to a real breakthrough. Magorian brought a female named Burnish to see me."

"Burnish came to see you?"

"Magorian's patrol surrounded me, we traded pleasantries, and then Burnish arrived and started asking questions."

Firenze took a sip from the glass the bartender set before him. "Go on."

"She gave me the same kinds of objections Magorian did, cut me off abruptly, told the others she had no use for me, and left. The others followed her."

"Good," said Firenze approvingly.

"That's good? What would a bad reaction have been?"

"First of all, you must understand that Burnish is a very high-ranking female. Speaking with her at all should be considered a major triumph. A bad reaction would have been refusing to speak with you directly or asking the archers to shoot you. As it is, I suspect you quite impressed her."

"Then why did she leave?"

"I suspect that you threw her off balance. Cutting off the conversation was her way of maintaining control."

"Then how do I approach her again without putting her on the defensive?"

Firenze took a thoughtful sip from his glass. "Go to the forest tomorrow and bring her a gift. She probably won't come herself, but give it to one of the sentries. Tell them to thank her for her time yesterday and that you look forward to speaking with her again. Consistent signs of respect are key when dealing with Burnish. She is very proud, but she is also a creature of logic. I think you will do well with her."

"Would food be an appropriate gift?"

Firenze nodded. "Ideally, something hot. My herd may refuse clothing, but their human parts feel the cold as keenly as you do. Domesticated meat would also be appreciated- they tire of game, particularly during the winter."

"That reminds me," said Hermione, pulling the miniaturised arrow from her evening bag and returning it to its usual size with a tap of her wand. "This killed a deer in the forest, but there were no centaurs anywhere in the immediate vicinity. I've never known centaurs to waste life like this before."

Firenze idly fingered the feathers in the shaft. "Did the deer go to waste?"

"Well, no. A few Thestrals found it and spirited it off for supper."

"Then it served its intended purpose."

"It was left for them?"

"Yes. Unfortunately, Hagrid used this strategy to 'train' them to do work. Our intent is purer. We simply want them to thrive."

"I didn't think that the Forbidden Forest centaurs were interested in any community but their own."

Firenze smiled. "You may be right. However, centaurs and winged horses spring from the same source. Some centaur mythologies hold that winged horses are closer to the gods than centaurs. Why else would the gods have corrupted centaurs with human features and given winged horses the means to travel between the earth and the heavens?"

"Then why do centaurs feed the Thestrals and not, say, unicorns?"

"Because Thestrals are the most gentle of all horsekind. Centaurs would sooner harm a foal than a Thestral."

"Gentle? With those fangs?"

Firenze gave her a patient smile. "Tell me, Hermione. Why can Thestrals only be seen by those who have seen one of their own die?"

Hermione pictured the Thestral's grotesque visage. "So that they'll be associated with death and left alone?"

"That is the common human belief. As carrion eaters, Thestrals are held with suspicion as harbingers of death or ill fortune. However, centaurs see them not as bad omens, but rather as guardians and comforters of the aggrieved."

Hermione digested this, remembering the creature's silky coat and warm breath.

"What many do not understand," continued Firenze, "is that the reason Thestrals eat carrion is because they do not hunt. They will not cause harm unless grievously threatened. Centaurs and Thestrals have maintained a symbiotic relationship as long as our history records."

Hermione gazed appraisingly at her host. "You were the one who told Hagrid how to train the Thestrals, weren't you?"

"Yes," admitted Firenze. "It was through my folly that my herd's Thestrals have become accustomed to human presence."

"Do you regret it?" asked Hermione, drink loosening her reserve.

"I haven't decided," said Firenze. "I abhor Hagrid's making them beasts of burden, but so many humans have needed comfort in recent years that I cannot say he was wrong to bring Thestrals to Hogwarts."

Hermione met Firenze's eyes. "I know that Harry was more grateful for the Thestrals than he knew how to say."

Firenze acknowledged her thanks with a graceful nod. "I am glad, for all of our sakes."

"You've been a great help, Firenze. I am so very sorry to have bothered you this evening."

"My dear Hermione, I would have been far more bothered had you not sought my assistance periodically. I respect that you wish to form your own conclusions based on your experiences, but analyses are strengthened when you consult multiple resources, not weakened. Now, if I have sufficiently answered your questions, I would be honoured if you would join me at my table. A Muggle physicist is about to give us a lecture on dark matter and its continued influence on planetary motion."

Hermione smiled, feeling as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders, and pulled a notepad and quill from her handbag. "Well, I do have some cooking to do, but the night is young. I think I can spare an hour or two."