What Connected Us All

I am Farren, Hear me Roar

She clears her throat, shoots him a quick glance, licks her lips, and begins to read.

"Dear friend,
Druella found this alcove of large trees the other day and I must admit, it's quite a good find. Although it is technically part of the Forbidden Forest, the alcove is peaceful and not at all dangerous like the rest of the forest. When I asked Ella how she found it, she said she'd been fooling around with a Ravenclaw prefect and fallen into it. But I knew she was lying and called her out on it.

Ella just grinned slowly when I did. 'Alright, I wasn't snogging a prefect. I just thought I saw something and got curious. I was hopping it might be a centaur or unicorn or--'

I scoffed. 'Don't be thick. None of those creatures would ever come this close to the grounds. And anyway, a centaur would've torn you limb from limb had he caught you encroaching on their territory.'

But Ella wasn't even fully listening anymore. She had that dreamy, absent look about her face. 'You reckon? You don't think the centaurs would be charmed by me?'

Coming from anyone else's mouth, I might have taken this as a joke. But it was Druella and she is actually delusional enough to believe it.

'Have you ever noticed that there aren't any female centaurs?' she inquired abruptly.
'You don't know that. Perhaps only the males hunt and protect the herd. We've only been in the forest a few times. And professor Kettleburn never took us very far in.'

'Let's go to the library,' Ella said. And when I raised a surprised eyebrow she laughed. 'To research about the centaurs. I'm interested.'

To my displeasure, Ella was right in her assumption. Only male centaurs exist. To procreate they find a human girl every half a century or so and the herd leader plants his seed within her.

'Pity,' Ella said, peering down at the book disappointedly. 'They don't have pictures.'

'That's sick, Ella, even for you. I doubt any girl would agree to copulate with a centaur, so now we're looking at cross-species rape--'

'Ah, ah, ah,' and she wagged a finger at me. 'Wrong again, my darling. It says here the human sacrifice must always be willing.'

'Sacrifice? That sounds as though she dies.'

Ella shrugged. 'The girl always dies. Let's see you give birth to a liter of half-human, half-horse children and live.'

Bile rose in my throat at the image. 'I can't believe you're getting enjoyment out of this.'

'Are you kidding? It's thrilling. I decided half an hour ago that we'd find a centaur and have a chat with him.'

I, of course, quickly shot this down. But Ella refused to see reason. All along--even as we snuck out of the Slytherin common room, my disillusionment charm disguising us both--I thought Ella was all talk and just wanted to look impressive. I thought for sure she would back down last minute and have a laugh at having dragged us out of bed for nothing. But for what seemed to be the millionth time that day, I was proven wrong.

Cheiron is a young centaur. From what I gather, he is a bit of an outcast in the herd. I am quite certain that, were Cheiron any different (that is to say older and fully accepted by his fellows), we would never have been able to have so civilized a conversation as we did.

I find it a breath of fresh air that, for once, someone is as intrigued by me as they are by Druella. Usually she gets all the attention, but Cheiron listened to us both with equal rapture and curiosity.

'I will probably be made herd leader, despite my oddities,' he stated, not even a hint of arrogance in his voice. 'My father is a much liked leader and I, his eldest and favorite offspring. Though he does not quite understand my interest in humans, he does not shun me for it as the others do.'

'But why?' Ella moaned, sounding hurt and disappointed. 'Why do the centaurs despise us? Your kind needs us to exist!'

Cheiron bowed his head. 'My belief exactly. But my kind and yours know a long history of violence and have always been at odds. Partially due to your arrogance, partially due to ours.' And then the centaur gave a small, sad smile. 'Our minds work differently. Both humans and centaurs have interpreted this as nature's way of telling us to stay separated.'

'It's not,' I said, surprising even myself. 'That's not it at all. Diversity in thought--or actually diversity of any kind-- is nature's way of telling us to come together. Why else would opposites attract?'

Cheiron considered me. 'You are an intelligent one, Eileen Prince. I hope your mind may someday live on through your offsprings. I hope your thoughts may withstand time.'

I blushed, remembering the centaur's need for a human girl such as myself.

'She is, isn't she?' Ella said interrupting my train of thought. 'Her mind is beautiful.'

I rolled my eyes, but secretly relished their praises.

We spoke for hours. In fact, we even watched as the sun rose over the castle's towers. But Ella and I were eventually forced to leave Cheiron, knowing that classes would start in a few hours time.

I cannot tell you the wonder that this meeting has instilled in me. Ella is great, but with Cheiron and the alcove of oaks surrounding us, I feel as though I am capable of anything and everything. Capable of changing the life that has been set in front of me. And above all else, I feel no guilt for having hope. I should, but I don't.

And although she does not admit it, I think Ella feels the same way too. She still winces every time Rosier touches or gropes. But now she will look at me, relax, and then smile impishly, doubtlessly thinking of how we might escape to our small and minuscule paradise with Cheiron tonight. To our alcove.

Always,
The Prince."

The minute Farren is finished reading, she looks up for his reaction. Severus wears the most peculiar expression which she tries desperately to decipher.

He extends a hand. "May I see that?"

Farren hands it over wearily, her curiosity only fed by his interest in the book. "May I ask why you seem so... taken aback? What do you think of it?"

Immediately, Snape dries up and his features are pulled into neutrality. He turns it over once and chucks it onto the table dispassionately. "I think nothing of it. It is an old diary, Farren. An old school girl's diary. It can and will do nothing for you. I suggest you throw it away before it can plant any silly ideas into your head... Your centaur has sent you on a wild goose chase, I am afraid."

"You're lying," she says simply, flipping through pages of their potions textbook. "You know something about this book, but don't wish to tell me. I know it. But that's okay," Farren turns and smiles at him sweetly. "I'll fuck it out of you if I have to."

Snape gazes at her reproachfully. "How pleasant."

Farren laughs her shrill laugh. "Oh Severus, would you really be with me now if I spoke pleasantly to you? If I were amiable and compliant and... agreeable?"

He considers this for a moment. "No."

"I didn't think so."

Snape begins to turn back to their cauldron, clearly under the impression that Farren has dropped the subject of the diary.
"Will you find me the Hellabore in the--"

"I'd like to read you another entry," she interrupts. "Just for giggles. You know, since it's all rubbish anyway."

He gives her a sharp, annoyed look for being both interrupted and insisted upon. "You may waste your time in whichever way you please. I, however, will continue to do real work."

Farren nods. "I just want you to listen." Then she opens the leathery diary once again.

"Dear friend,
Ella and I were in the alcove near the forest again today with Cheiron. He strikes a very impressive figure for being so young. It's hard to even believe it when he speaks and acts so maturely. It makes me think the centaurs age differently than humans.

Ella managed to casually slip the subject of the human sacrifice in one of our conversations. Cheiron spoke of it in an even, almost bored tone.

'But--' Ella said when he was finished, looking unsatisfied. 'But what about love?'

He regarded her with puzzlement. 'How does love pertain to what we speak of?'

Ella sat up and I recognized the preparation for a speech. 'Nothing, and that's my point exactly. If there are no female centaurs, and the human girl dies, where do the centaurs find love?'

Amusement crossed his young features. 'You humans are too befuddled by the relationship between a man and a woman to understand. We centaurs do love. We love more purely than any human can. I love the forest, the earth, the animal I will hunt for dinner, my herd.'

'But--' Ella said again, and when I looked at her, I knew we were thinking the same thing. 'You can't know your love is purer than ours. You've never tried it.'

'And neither have you.'

'--And human love can be more than just the relationship between a man and a woman. What about the love between a mother and her child? Or of two sisters or--' she gave me a swift glance and I felt a sensation in my navel, '--friends? That love is very pure.'

The centaur stood and his size was startling, even to me. 'I suppose we must agree to disagree on the matter,' he said. 'I must leave now. My herd will begin to wonder why I have not returned. Goodbye for now, Druella Mulciber and Eileen Prince.'

And then he left and Ella and I changed the subject to our Trasfiguration homework.

Later that week, while Ella was at dinner, I accidentally knocked over her school bag and papers scattered everywhere on the floor. I gathered them back up and initially had no intention of reading any of them. But then one paper caught my eye and I couldn't stop myself.

It was a letter of sorts and it read:

My Prince,
Love is the only thing I've ever found that is capable of surviving it all. We could leave these soul binding vessels, these bodies, and still the fact of love would stand. And that is what I give you. I give you this everlasting force, this immortal love. I give it to you in the hope that someday you'll realize I was worth it. That someday you may see my flaws and still find me beautiful. And so you may return my affections with one of those very small, rare smiles.
Love,
Your Princess

I know that letter was meant for me. I am not foolish enough to believe that Ella would have actually given it to me, because she is not the type to openly show such emotional capacity. But it was written for me. And I wish I could tell Ella that her flaws have long since been revealed to me. Hell, the first time I ever met Druella Mulciber seven years ago, I found her excessively chatty and annoying. The truth is that that hasn't changed. And I wouldn't change those flaws for anything.

Ella and I... we are both different and the same. And I am sure that, when I am withered and dying and loosing every remaining morsel of my sanity, I will have Ella's voice clear as a bell in my head, telling me a story about how she snogged a seventh year boy when she was a second. She's not a person anymore; she's a routine in my life. Like brushing your teeth or sleeping. You can't not sleep... and I can't imagine not having Ella. Does that make any sense?

I don't find her engagement to Rosier romantic anymore. I don't think I ever did really. I imagine him touching her with his meaty paws and I feel sick to my stomach. This is presenting itself as more of a problem than I'd ever dreamed. My mind keeps working of its own accord, always going back to the same thing: how to save Ella.

Always,
The Prince"

Farren closes the diary slowly. For some reason, she is suddenly frightened to look for Snape's reaction this time. What if he is crying? What can she do to help him? It's an absurd, even laughable idea. Severus Snape, she is sure, is wholly incapable of tears. Not if puppies were being brutally tortured before his eyes, not if his mother was killed in front of him, and certainly not if he heard the story of an old schoolgirl that fell in love with her best friend... And yet, for all its ridiculousness, Farren can't shake the feeling that Severus is suppressing the strong urge to cry.

And it is for this reason that she waits several moments before finally raising her head and glancing at him. He is peering down at the textbook while simultaneously chopping a daisy root. This should have relieved Farren, but it does the opposite. Because Farren knows him too well to be fooled. Because for all the reading he is supposedly doing, Snape's eyes do not move across the page. And for all the fine chopping Farren knows he is capable of, the daisy roots are unusually sloppy and uneven.

Whatever sort of connection Severus has to the diary, it is not insubstantial or trite. And although Farren wants with all her heart to know what it is, she realizes that asking him will get her no where. So she will simply continue reading to him and have faith that one day Snape will trust her enough.

Appetizers float on silver platters, the house-elves which carry them invisible. They are odd little creatures, and Farren finds them quite endearing. She loves their wide eyes, small figures and shrill voices. In fact, they remind Farren of herself in an exaggerated, freakish sort of way.

"Pigs in a blanket?" one offers, raising the platter to her level.

She blanches, but tries to smile politely at the elf. "No thanks."

"I'll have hers, then," Sirius says, taking five. "What?" he asks indignantly, mouth full.

"You do realize those are abominations that should be banned for being the most revolting form of food?"

"Blasphemy! Sausages wrapped in ham? That's positively brilliant."

Farren screws her face in distaste. "Whatever you say, Mr. Black, but I won't be the one to hold your hair back when you're vomiting in the loo later tonight"

At that moment, Slughorn greets them both with his usual larger-than-life buoyancy. "Farren, Sirius! So glad you two could make my little party. You have been evading me for far too long, miss Graham."

Farren laughs uncomfortably. "Well, I don't think evasion is necessarily the right word."

"Yes it's more like rigorous love-ma--OW!" Sirius stops with a sharp intake of breath due to a swift quick from Farren.

"Why don't I go get us all some butterbeer, dear," she says pointedly as he rubs his shin.

"Excellent, excellent. I'll wait here with Mr. Black. You know, I have been meaning to speak with you privately about your resent essay in my class. I found it to be a bit... lacking of the brilliance I know you possess. Can't let those marks slip if you wish to work in the ministry, my boy!"

Sirius gives her a pleading look that is so very reminiscent of his animagus form. But, despite her weakness for dogs, Farren only grins maliciously and beings to weave through the sea of students, teachers, guests, and house-elves.

When she arrives at the table which groans under a myriad of drinks and food, she realizes that there is very little she is willing to intake. Reaching past the sautéed pheasant, Farren grabs three butterbeers.

Something grazes her ankles briefly and she feels a sudden shiver at the sensation. Sure it must be Mrs. Norris come to crash the party, Farren peers downward. Nothing is there. Nothing but the ends of immaculate black dress robes.

"Hello Severus."

He turns to her as though unaware that he had just passed her. "Why, miss Graham."

As awful as it is, Farren must fight off a fit of the giggles. Do the others sense that he has known her body--all of her body? Do they know that he currently undresses her with his eyes?

"Forgive me, but my memory fails me at the moment," she says and he must mask a derisive laugh with a coughing fit, "but did we have a meeting scheduled for this week?"

"Yes. Tuesday," he says passively, regaining his composure.

"Oh, yes. How silly of me to forget." Farren pauses and searches the party guests for a moment. "And where is your date?"

Severus gestures into the crowd and Farren spots an unfamiliar and quite pretty looking Slytherin girl.

"Ah," she nods, hoping he does not notice the contempt in her tone. "I don't believe I have seen her previously."

"She's a fifth year. I think. Might be sixth."

"Rather good-looking, isn't she?"

Snape regards her with an unimpressed gaze. "Yes. Pity she's a twit who would give her left arm to fuck Malfoy."

Farren chokes on the sip of butterbeer she had just taken and puts the other two back down so she doesn't drop them.

"Alright?" Snape inquires once she recovers.

Farren flashes her wide smile. "Never better."

Not surprisingly, Severus does not return her smile. "And where is--" he attempts to say Sirius's name, but his jaw clenches involuntarily. He clears his throat. "--he?"

The smile turns bitter as she is reminded of her infidelity. "Speaking with Professor Slughorn. Actually, I should probably go back. He will worry that I've been away so long."

Farren begins to walk back into the throng of people, but is distracted by a sudden motion from Snape. She turns back and locks eyes with him. Something odd is stirring in their black-blue depths. They are simultaneously vacant and piercing. Farren is puzzling over this fact when she hears a voice in her head. It manifests itself as a sort of half-suggestion, half-command.

Go to the bathroom.

Her thoughts had never been so clear and distinct. And the voice, which is definitely not her own, sounds strangely familiar--

The realizations hits Farren and she regards Severus with a raised eyebrow. Of course it's him. It's always him.

I don't think so, is her response.

He exhales in annoyance. Don't be difficult.

I will not do that with him so nearby.

Snape looks only momentarily angry, but then he gives a sly smirk. Fearing the content in that smirk, Farren braces herself for whatever form of persuasion he has planned.

But then all at once, a variety of images flash in her mind and all the resistance in the world couldn't help her block them. They are all of her and Snape in very compromising positions.

"Stop," Farren murmurs, feeling a little light-headed.

He adopts as innocent a look as possible for him. "Stop what?"

More images bombard her, now becoming more rapid and frantic. She begins to perspire slightly on her upper lip.

Alright, alright! Farren refuses to look at him, but is certain that triumph is in his gaze. Follow me after five minutes.

She fights her way into a corridor, praying no one (especially Sirius) sees her. The nerve of him! To attack her mind with sex, just so he can get what he wants. Where does she find these men?

Farren finds a shabby broom cupboard right next to the lavatories. It isn't ideal for the sort of thing Snape has in mind, but that only makes the cupboard all the more perfect. She closes the door behind her and waits. Exactly four minutes later, the light and swift sound of his walk adorns the hallway.

Farren cracks the door just enough to see a sliver outside. Black robes enter her vision and she lunges, pulls him inside and closes the door once again.

"How dare you!" she storms, shoving Severus squarely in the chest. "I will not sneak around him like this again! HOW DARE YOU ASSAULT ME IN THE MIDDLE OF A PARTY!"

He snorts. "Assault? Oh please, don't tell me you didn't enjoy it."

"That... that is neither important nor relevant!" she stammers.

"Isn't it?" he asks, moving in closer to her. Farren backs away, mumbling half-hearted protests. "Because if you did enjoy the penetration of your mind..." She realizes, all too late, that Severus has backed her up against the door. "...Then perhaps you would enjoy some other form of penetration."

He leans forward, hovering centimeters before her lips. Farren raises her face in anticipation and feels a familiar pulling sensation in her stomach.

He smirks. "Well?"

As an answer, she pushes herself up and pecks him chastely on the lips before pulling away quickly. It is a very childish thing to do, to kiss the man who has been inside her so bashfully and prudishly. But she is quivering with excitement of feeling so many sensations surging through her body.

Severus chuckles at her. "You are like a thirteen-year-old who is both frightened and exhilarated by her own sexuality."

"No I'm not! ... Well I don't want to be." In truth, that is precisely how Farren feels whenever she is with Snape or Sirius. They tower over her, making her feel small and naïve. And she wants equally to run away and never leave.

"No," Severus says forcefully. Then he wraps his sinewy arms around her in a sort of cradle, lifting her off the ground. Farren yelps in surprise but is too startled to stop him or ask questions. "I like it." He takes a firm grip on her face, pressing their mouths so tightly together that it borders pain.

Snape stops after several moments to allow them both a chance to breath. In a rare gesture of tenderness, he pushes back the hair from her face and whispers into her ear, "Never change."

Farren is suddenly thrown back to the day she had left for Grimmauld Place with Sirius just before the holidays. She had kissed Snape on the cheek and whispered, "You are so brilliant." Those words still echo in Farren's mind like a broken record whenever she is with him. And so the words never change must be Severus's broken record. She wants to analyze the meaning behind these words more but finds it impossible to concentrate at the moment.

Snape unbuttons the top of her dress robes and touches the scorching skin with his cool lips. Something hard is being pressed rhythmically against her stomach and it doesn't take too much imagination to guess what it is.

"Severus," Farren manages to murmur. He doesn't hear. "Severus," she repeats, more loudly.

This time he answers, though all the while never ceasing the kisses on her chest. "What?"

"I'm sorry."

Snape does stop then. He goes statue-stiff, like prey that senses danger. "Why?"

Farren reaches for something on the door and finds it. She turns the knob and, in one fluid motion, wriggles out of his grasp and back into the corridor. "Because you'll have to wait ten minutes before following me this time." She looks down at the bulge in his trousers. "Or you might want to take a little more time to--er-- fix yourself up before returning to the party." As she is about to close the door, Farren stops and says, "Hear me, and hear me well Severus Snape, when I say never pull a stunt like that again."

She turns briskly on her heels. It is cruel a cruel thing to do, she knows. Some might even call it malicious. But it is his punishment for not listening to her. Farren will not, despite all of Snape's efforts, be the submissive one in the relationship. And, certainly, she will not allow him to jeopardize her relationship with Sirius even more than it already is.

Looking down at her severely rumpled dress robes, Farren stops, realizing that her disheveled appearance will probably be some cause for questions. She finds the lavatories and inspects herself in the small mirror above the marbled sink. She is immensely thankful when she catches a glimpse of her hair, which is even bigger than usual and has curls sticking out at odd angles. Her dress robes, as she had noted before, are rumpled and, worst of all, unbuttoned so it nearly exposes her chest.
Farren watches herself laugh in the mirror as she imagines going back to the party and into Sirius's arms in this state. She imagines him looking both confused and excited by the near-nakedness. He wouldn't dream that she'd been with another man, least of all Snape. Partially due of his foolishness, but mostly due to his arrogance. The smile slides off of Farren's face at the thought, all initial humor gone, leaving the cold vision of Sirius's expression if he ever did find out. She inspects the reflection more intently, leaning closer and thinking to herself, this is who I've become. I used to be the girl who thought she was unreachable and alone. And now here I am, full to burst with feelings for two men. Her former self would have relished the idea, but this self knows better. This self aches with guilt and uncertainty. Farren notes the round face which used to look fuller, and the heart-shaped lips which used to smile more but are now succulent with kisses, and the eyes which seem a darker, more complicated shade of blue. She isn't all that sure which one is better to live in or where she would rather be. But she knows, for a fact, that she cannot go back to blissful dreaming.

Farren extracts her wand with a small shake of her head, laughing at her own overly dramatized thoughts. She performs the necessary spells on her hair and robes. When satisfied, Farren gives a nod and exits the bathroom.

Sirius is no where to be seen when she returns. She exhales a breath she had unknowingly been holding.

James is Professor Slughorn's newest victim. He has cornered him at the concession table.

"--Brilliant mind, absolutely brilliant. But it will completely go to waste if you continue with this negligence of attending classes."

"I'm sorry, Professor. It's no offence meant to you. Your class isn't all that bad, actually. I just find it to always be at an inconveniently early hour. A growing boy needs his sleep and a mere four house won't do."

"But, my boy, what on earth are you doing staying up so late?"

Farren hears rather than sees James's grin. "Oh, nothing really. Just taking a stroll in the moonlight. But, in all seriousness Professor, I may bother to going if I had certain... compensations."

"Compensations? But I haven't the slightest idea what you mean."

"Perhaps if you could change my partner, I may feel the motivation necessary to attend classes."

"Change partners to whom, my boy? Because, let me tell you, I am not daft enough to pair you up with Mr. Black."

"No, no, not Sirius, Professor. Just anyone would do. Like, let's say for the sake of example, someone like Miss Lily Evans--"

Having heard enough, Farren budges into the conversation. "James! Oh, I've been looking everywhere for you. Hullo, Professor."

Slughorn beams and James sulks at being caught. "My dear, I thought you'd gone to get us drinks."

"Forgive me, I was unavoidably detained. As I am again now," she puts a forceful hand on James's shoulder. "Sorry, Professor! Gotta run!"

She drags the messy-haired boy away, stopping only when they were near the hallway door and out of Slughorn's sight. It is a quiet corner, secluded from the party. She is grateful for the privacy.

"Now James," she starts, speaking as though trying to explain simple math to a dull kindergartener. "I know you like Lily and I'm all for it too, but you're not going to get her by forcing the poor girl into--"

"I'm not forcing anyone to do anything! It was Lily's idea."

Farren laughs, certain James is lying. "Why in God's name would she do that?"

He shrugs. "She hates her partner. Says she doesn't do a shit's worth of the work. And we're not at all like we used to be, Ren. She actually sort of... likes me. I think."

Farren realizes her mouth has dropped open and quickly closes it. "But you can't be serious! This is the Lily Evans we're talking about. The one who declared to eat pixie droppings before she touched you with a twenty-meter-long stick."

"I know!" And James's eyes glaze over in wonder. But then he realizes what he's done and says worriedly, "But you can't tell anyone. Lily doesn't want anyone knowing."

Farren opens her mouth, unsure of what she will say. But she is saved by the appearance of Sirius, who looks surprisingly livid.

"Where the hell did you go? You left me there alone with the fat lard for half an hour!"

"I'm s-sorry," she stutters, taken aback by his anger. "I was trying to find Lily and--"

"I was getting worried, Ren."

James gives them both shifty glances. "You know, I think I'll go and find Lily too..."

Sirius pays no attention to him. His demanding gaze remains unwaveringly on Farren. "Do you know where the last dementor attack was? Hogsmeade. HOGSMEADE!"

Finally understanding the reason behind this uncharacteristic behavior, Farren laughs. "Sirius, calm down! You know we're safe at Hogwarts."

"Know? Nobody knows where we're safe, Ren. Hogwarts just hasn't been penetrated yet. And you, disappearing like that for forty-five minutes. And I know there's an erkling in the Forbidden Forest."

Farren, who was only just about to reassure Sirius of his silliness, gives him a sharp, quizzical look. "How did you hear about that?"

"Does that really matter right now?!"

And, as though on queue, Snape walks through the hallway door, looking particularly vengeful.

"Would you like to be a little bit louder, Black? I think a few people in Brazil couldn't hear you."

Sirius's anger changes. Like a dog diverted to the real danger, he braces his body slightly, grabs Farren possessively around the waist, and lowers his voice to a rumbling growl.

"Sirius," Farren warns.

"You stay out of this Snivelus," he spits, looking at the significantly taller boy with the utmost revulsion. "I didn't know Sluggy invited socially retarded prats like you to his parties."

His eyes flash dangerously. "And I didn't know he invited attempted murderers either."

Farren stops short of saying Sirius's name again. "What?"

Sirius's gaze flickers doubtfully at her and Snape's face twists into a malicious delight. "You mean, you haven't told her yet?"

To Farren's astonishment, panic floods Sirius's eyes. "You shut your mouth, Snivilus," he says in a strangled whisper.

"What does he mean, Sirius?"

No answer.

"Tell me what he means," she says more heavily, frightened of his silence. "Answer me, Sirius."

But it is Severus who answers. "During our fifth year your dear Black decided to pull a little prank--"

Sirius makes a strange noise that is halfway between a protest and a groan.

Snape smirks. "A prank that would have killed me, if it hadn't been for Potter chickening out."

"No," he croaks. "That's not how it happened."

Severus snarls. "No, it's not. The actual details of the occurrence make it so much worse."

"Then tell me the details," she says, her blood quickened with alarm.

"I can't," Snape hisses through gritted teeth. "Dumbledore forbade me to speak of it."

"Why? What happened--Sirius, tell me!"

He turns to her and only then does Farren understand the gravity of the situation. Gripping her arms, Sirius begins to speak quickly. "Farren, please believe me. You can't understand. I--"

"Don't tell her what she can and cannot understand, Black!" Severus snaps, becoming furious. "There is nothing but your idiocy to understand--!"

"I didn't mean to do it!"

"You told me how to get past the tree!"

"You shouldn't have been snooping--!"

"DON'T--" Snape looks demented with rage, his motions becoming steadily jerkier. "--DON'T YOU DARE DEFEND YOURSELF!"

Sirius stops, looks down and momentarily closes his eyes. It is a gesture of surrender and Farren nearly cries with exasperation. He can't give up--he can't! He is Sirius Black and if he admits to defeat, then that must mean--

"No," Farren says. "No, there must be some mistake. This can't be right."

"Well it is," Severus sneers. And then he leans forward and whispers soft enough that only she hears. "How does it feel to know that we're all villains?"

Farren slaps him. "You're wrong." She begins to step away. "And I can't look at either of you right now."

Someone says her name but she doesn't listen. She runs back into the unknowing crowd of partiers. The sight and sound of them all seem to hit her like a ton of bricks. As she squeezes through them, an overwhelming sensation spreads throughout her body. Every sense is heightened and agonizing. The sound is too loud, the light too bright, and every brush on her skin is like fire.

She hates this. All these people who don't really care about her but pretend to. Like Slughorn, who is only interested in her success, or James who only wants a connection to Lily, and them. Who must only be with her for sex or fun or--

They're all fake leeches. They're like that erkling in the Forest who made her believe it loved her when, in reality, it hungered for her skin. She needs the person who had saved her from that monster. The person, or creature, which she is sure can save her now...

Reaching the forest had never been easier than that night. Most of the teachers and prefects are at the party and Filch is no where to be found. Before she can fully realize what she is doing, Farren reaches the small alcove on the skirts of the Forbidden Forest. He isn't there, but this does not discourage her much. Farren sits down in the center and closes her eyes.

She can feel her pulse thumping against her neck, awakened by the new information she had just heard. There must be some mistake, she is certain of it. Snape is the one with blood on his hands, the marked one. Sirius is her sanity, the balancing act to her relationship with Severus...

But she keeps hearing Snape's words whispered to the steady sound of her breathing.

How does it feel to know we're all villains?

If Sirius really does have so much hate him--

How does it feel to know we're all villains?

What does that say about her?

How does it feel to know we're all villains?

It means that they're all villains. Including her.

How does it feel...

The beat is suddenly interrupted by a much louder noise. Farren strains to confirm the sound and, like a bell in a church, the sound rings and feels at home in her ears.

The hooves come closer and closer before finally they cease with a swift brake from the centaur's legs.

"Miss Graham," Cheiron says and Farren smiles, eyes still shut.

"Cheiron," she breathes, relief flooding over her by the sight of him. "Oh, Cheiron you've no idea how wonderful it is to see you."

"I feel your distress is very great. It makes the forest air heavy." He steps forward and falls gracefully onto the grass beside her. "My mind is weighted with your frantic thoughts."

"Is that how you knew I was here?"

"Partially," he says ambiguously.

Farren studies the centaur, remembering how The Prince had described him. He has definitely aged. But Farren understands what Eileen had meant about the almost unearthly maturity. "I've read some of the diary," she states.

He nods, face unfeeling. "To what part?"

Farren opens and closes her mouth several times, unsure of how to phase it. She decides to answer with a question. "She really loved her, didn't she?"

"Which one, Eileen?"

"Yes--no... Both."

For the first time, true emotion crosses the wise, knowing face. "I learned very much from them. More than I have learned in the 30 years following their departure." He turns his powerful stare on her. "You remind me of her. Eileen Prince, that is."

"I do? I would have thought I was more like Ella."

He shakes his head. "In appearance, perhaps. But in fight and thought and sarcasm, you much more resemble Eileen."

Farren tries to suppress a small smile. She is glad that, for once, she is though of as the smart one. "Thank you."

"And there is something in the eyes." He lifts her chin absently to inspect their depths. "Hers were a much darker shade of blue--nearly black. But there is a unique sort of hope..." Cheiron releases her with a slight shake of the head. "Forgive me; I am getting caught up in memory. I have not spoken of them in 30 years."

"No, please," Farren says quickly. "I love hearing about them."

"Do you really?"

She nods.

"Why?"

"Oh, I... I'm not sure. I guess because by learning and understanding them, I learn about myself."

"And what have you learned about yourself?"

This question stumps Farren. "I don't know. I don't think there's a straight answer."

She laughs nervously, but Cheiron remains stern in her awkwardness. "Who are you?"

"I'm... I'm Farren Graham."

"Yes, but who are you?"

"I don't know," she says, her voice becoming more high-pitched by the minute. His demand is beginning to panic her slightly. "I'm Farren. I have big hair and blue eyes and I'm short--"

"That's not enough."

She stands in frustration, the Gryffindor in her making her indignant. "Then I can't answer you're question! I--talk too much and I think too much. I'm a romantic and a pessimist. I think animals are better than humans. I've fallen for two men who are complete opposites--I'm a bitch!"

"Yes," Cheiron says rising to stand with her. He towers over her, making her feel more insignificant and consequently more defensive. "You've fallen for two men. Which one do you feel more for?"

"N-neither," Farren stutters, startled by the sudden change of topic.

"If you had to choose?"

"I couldn't."

"You must choose one. Does Severus not understand you more? You must like him more."

"No, no, I don't! Sirius keeps me sane. He would kill for the people he loves--And God knows people like me know how rare and special that is... But Severus is brilliant and the rest of the world has given up on him, so I can't... I couldn't choose." It is only then that Farren realizes the full weight of this fact and she allows it to sink into her brain. "It's either both or neither. I could never choose. Not really."

She closes her eyes, mentally and physically exhausted by all the revelations she has had tonight. She is still panting slightly with the effort of defending herself against Cheiron's sudden attack of her character.

His voice is like a beacon in her mind, clear and reasonable. "Do you feel what I feel now Farren Graham? Do you feel the emotions emanating from your pours, dissolving into the air and becoming the energy of the forest?"

At his words, a strange tingling sensation spreads throughout her body.

"Can you not feel it inside you? I can feel your impulsiveness: how you plunge into complicated situations on a whim. Your bravery: how you still love and attach yourself to people, even though you have been shown all the proof in the world that they will fail you. And I feel the rage," his voice lowers with intensity. "The rage that bubbles so near the surface and lashes without warning. Can you not feel all of that?"

She nods dumbly, the fury licking at her insides. "Yes," she hisses, thinking of Snape and Sirius. "Yes, I feel rage."

"What does that rage make you want to do?"

"I... I want to scream!" And without much thinking but a whole lot of feeling, Farren opens her mouth and releases all the poison that has made her so angry. The sound is loud and resonating--much more a roar than a scream. It is such a wondrous feeling that she does it again and again until there is nothing but air left. By the end her throat and skin are raw and sensitive to all touch.

"I want to run," she growls to no one but the universe itself.

With no hesitation, Cheiron leaps into a majestic gallop. She follows, racing with all her might to catch up. But it is, of course, no competition. No only is she two-legged, but short as well and not the most athletic type. But that doesn't stop her. She knows no reason or logic any more. She runs until her lungs are full to burst with exhaustion and the blood oozes from cuts caused by wild branches. But still, none of that could matter less. The pain is only felt distantly. Only the chase and the anger and catching up matters.

Her body, which she realizes is more like a vessel than anything else, has gone completely numb now. And at that moment she understands herself--her real self, with no exterior distractions. There are the things Cheiron had mentioned: impulsiveness, bravery, and above all else, ferocity. It's not precisely anger, but intensity. Only she, Farren, could ever differentiate the two because it is her soul... soul. That is what she feels smoldering like molten lava, drowning out all other sensation.

The floor is suddenly rushing toward her and Farren realizes dimly that her legs, with no brain present to command them, had leapt forward of their own accord. She isn't scared of the collision though, because neither pain nor pleasure exists anymore.

But something breaks her fall, keeping her aloft. It is actually four things--fur covered things that have retracted claws... paws. They are paws. Her paws.

All at once, reality bombards Farren and feeling rushes back. She is no longer only soul, but body too. And her body had never felt so strange. It is furry and lean and supple and--

"Beautiful," says a familiar voice.

Farren hears and reacts so quickly that her vision swims. Vision, she notes, that has sharpened thirty-fold.

"Absolutely magnificent," Cheiron continues, stopping in front of her and looking even taller than she remembers. "You must be very confused: you have just achieved the final stage of the animagus form... You are now a lioness."

She hears the words slither inside her new eardrums and relishes them. Farren initiates a powerful run around Cheiron, testing this new form of hers. She watches the gigantic paws make their heavy impact on the dirt, the claws concealed within them just begging to be used.

A bowtruckle watches the lioness's glee, not knowing that its camouflage is useless against her keen senses. She lunges, entrapping the creature under her paw. It scratches and lashes in desperate attempts of escape, which Farren finds quite amusing. She plays with it for a moment until the sight of kicking horse legs startles her.

The lioness avoids the hooves swiftly, growling and allowing the bowtruckle its frantic retreat.

"I warn you, Farren Graham, do not become so consumed with your new abilities. Do not become, as you humans call it, a 'bully.'"

The lioness stops snarling but remains in her protective stance.

"Do not be angry with me. I only have your safety in mind. Before you bite off much more than you can chew, be aware that you are not a fully matured lioness. As in human form, you remain an adolescent in animal form."

But Cheiron's warnings fall on deaf ears. All her life, Farren has bitten off more than she can chew, fighting people that are bigger than her daily. How is this any different?

"Now," he says bending down to eye-level. "What would you like to do first?"

Farren purrs and it sounds like a low chuckle. She flashes her new fangs and bounds over the centaur. She begins another chase, thinking to herself that the race will be much fairer now.