Just like that, the day's fighting was over. At least between the students and the Aurors it was over. The private war between the newly appointed Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Hogwarts High Inquisitor took place behind closed doors and behind a silencing charm. Umbridge left looking slightly ill and Harry's respect for Thicknesse rose a few points. He was calm and conducted his interviews with Luna and Colin politely and respectfully. Of course, both interviews took place under the eagle-eyed watch of their guardian and lawyer, but at the end of it all, Director Thicknesse could only say one thing: "All charges dismissed." Then he surprised them, "On behalf of the DMLE, I would like to apologize. It should never have gotten so out of hand."
Harry nodded, "It shouldn't have. But even though an Auror fired the first shot, we didn't have to fire back."
Thicknesse actually smiled, "I'm glad that you did. Amelia told me a great deal about you and your friends. I'm surprised Hardwick and Juggerson are not in Saint Mungos." He turned to leave but threw one final question over his shoulder, "Just what is "Legion?" It sounded, like a… battle cry," he added.
"No idea," Harry answered promptly, "never ever heard it before." Harry still was not sure if he was going to thank or strangle Susan Bones for nearly giving them all away, "Will Professor Umbridge be conducting her interviews today?" Harry asked, changing the topic.
"No. She won't," he replied, "Convinced her that it would not be a good idea." Thicknesse said good-bye and made his departure.
Harry considered it, but then decided against even trying to get Thicknesse on his side, or even showing him a few things via Pensieve. The man seemed like the decent sort, but appearances could be, and often were deceiving. No. he thought, staring at the man striding out the front door, better to let Thicknesse sink or swim on his for now, at least until he had more information on the man - a task for Moony and Blake, "Winky!"
The ministry wanted to play "hardball," it seemed. Harry had decided enough was enough and he was not only going to change the rules of the game, but the game entirely. Journalism was not Amelia Bones's forte, but he was sure she could adapt, "Dobby!"
In the Hogwarts staffroom, another meeting was taking place. Headmaster Dumbledore, his four heads of house, and the high inquisitor were discussing the showdown in the Great Hall, and Albus was once again feeling the need to reach for a bottle of something with the word "Ogden" printed on the label. The meeting had gone round in circles for the better part of the last half hour as they discussed the actions and the appropriate response to the actions of seven Hogwarts students.
Thus far, the voting had fallen the same way almost every time with four against and two in favor of expulsion. Considering Snape had suffered greatly for appearing before the Dark Lord, sporting Harry's handiwork, he had voted to have them all expelled just to get them out of his hair permanently. However, he already knew that any propositions he made here, would fail to pass, just as his attempts to get the brat punished for the scar that remained visible despite his best efforts to hide it. The snakehead of Slytherin had been surprised when Umbridge had supported his proposals to have the whole group expelled and realized that he would have to keep an eye on this potential ally.
The meeting went on for another half hour and by the end of that first hour, Dolores Jane Umbridge was completely and utterly livid. Not only was there no possibility of expulsion, nor any possibility of suspending them either. That left only two very unsatisfactory punishments on the table: Detention and the removal of house points. "They attacked and incapacitated two Ministry Aurors" she said, "Removing house points and detention is simply insufficient punishment for such heinous actions."
"Again," squeaked Professor Flitwick, "The Auror's fired first, and they reacted with shield spells. Then they were attacked a second time and strove to incapacitate, not kill. Indeed, having spoken with their lawyer, they had the right to self-defense and personal protection as laid down in the Wizengamot's Charter of Rights. They also came without representatives for Luna and Colin. Harry was correct in not allowing them to be taken!"
"I believe what my colleague is asking is whether they should be punished at all, given that they acted in defense of each other, showing true loyalty to each other, demonstrating courage, honor and nobility," said Professor McGonagall, "I open the motion to the floor: Should these students be punished for acting in self defense? I vote Nay!"
Once again, the Nays had it, by a narrow margin of four to two. Of course, Professor Snape had known that there was not a chance that any of them, let alone Harry would be expelled, but he had made the proposal regardless, because he was not one to pass up an opportunity to even attempt to make Harry's life more complicated. He owed the little bastard; he vowed silently that Harry was going to get what he deserved.
Umbridge however was more than furious: She was incandescent with rage. She had spent months planning to get this far, but ever since her arrival to Hogwarts, she had been thwarted at every turn by Harry, Dumbledore or both of them working in concert. It was not the first time she wondered if the breach between them was real, or a plot to keep everyone else off balance. The staff meeting ended a few minutes later and it was all Umbridge could do to keep herself from exploding with rage over the seeming futility of her situation. No. Things were going to have to escalate, and she had a file that was phonebook thick. It was time to use it.
It was just before dusk, as Fleur stared out the master bedroom's bathroom window of Potter Manor. After recent events at the Castle, she knew he would be late in coming home, just as well as she held the plastic case in her hand, and stared at the small blue window. She had her suspicions since her time of the month had not arrived on time, and worse it was almost two weeks late. She read the packaged instructions again and compared it to what was showing in the window of the small muggle invention. "Pourquoi? Pourquoi? Pourquoi?" she asked herself, "Positif, negatif, why can they not just make one that says "oui" or "non." She cursed under her breath as she rummaged through her medicine cupboard. "Nom de Dieu de putain de bordel de merde de saloperie de connard d'enculer ta mère! I packed them to keep my mother happy, lost them when I moved here, and now that I need one that I can understand, I cannot find one!" This was something she would have to handle herself, but first, she would have to visit her office to get the name and address of the healer. Considering the hour, she wondered if she could make the trip to Gringotts and back before Harry came home but decided not to the push her luck.
After a staff meeting that had consumed most of his evening, Albus Dumbledore had just taken the top of the bottle of whisky when there came a knock at his office door. Given that whoever it was had somehow bypassed the Gargoyle Guardian at the base of the stairs that left only one candidate, "Come in Har… Mr. Potter."
"How'd you know it was me?" he asked as he sat down.
"You are the only person the Gargoyle will simply move aside for without a password," replied the headmaster, "Tea?"
"Thank you, but no," said Harry, "I'll make this brief. I wanted to say thank you. Your support this morning helped smooth things over with the DMLE, and helped ensure nobody got arrested."
"You lawyer was very persuasive on all counts, and the interviews only proved what she said," replied Dumbledore, "I did not have very much to do with it."
"Still, thank you," said Harry, "That was all I came for, unless you have something to discuss?"
Dumbledore poured himself a cup of tea, stalling as he struggled to put his question in the right content, "I don't understand you, Mr. Potter."
"What's not to understand?" asked Harry as he leaned back in his chair, "The facts speak for themselves. Given your past actions, I know I cannot trust you. I don't dare trust you. There can be no friendship between us, because there is no trust. Without trust there is no respect. I can work with you if necessary, even though I'd rather not. And today, you put the welfare of your students, ahead of our differences. You worked with me. For that, I thank you."
Harry could see Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkling blindingly as they tried to hide their concern at his demeanor, "Our differences are but a facet of what I do not understand," he said quietly, "You know the prophecy, you know what must be done, what you must do. It falls on your shoulders, and I am concerned that you will not be a savior, but a conqueror."
"Yeah, well I would know all about saviours, heroes or whatever the heck people like to call them," he said mildly, "The Boy-Who-Lived is more myth than anything else. Everyone assumes it was somehow me. It was my mother that slew him, with a sacrifice of her love, her love and her blood. I look back on my time in the wizarding world and see a few things clearly: Wizardkind wants someone to take the responsibility, to be the savior, to be accountable and to shoulder all the blame. Look at what I have been accused of being, this past year, of doing in my second year. It's my fault when things go wrong, but I get none of the credit when I do the right thing and tell the truth!" Harry's eyes flashed though whether with anger or pain, or sadness, Dumbledore could not tell.
"I never wanted you to feel this way Harry," said Dumbledore, "I never planned for you to suffer the way you have. I wanted you to be a child, to have a home, a childhood and to grow up without the burden that you now shoulder. I never meant to make you… what you are. But you were safe enough and survived, to fulfill your destiny. I acted for the greater good, and succeeded. "
"Can't you see?" Harry answered softly, "This is who I am, what I am. Your actions in my life have made me what I am. Have caused me more physical pain, more emotional suffering than you can imagine. I was a little boy, with a big destiny, but I don't think you ever saw the little boy. All you saw was the big destiny. The big picture. The greater good. Has it ever occurred to you that to ensure the success of the big picture, you have to look for the devil in the details?" Harry blinked several times, keeping the tears at bay, "Everything I have worth living for, worth fighting for, I have had to fight for, shed sweat, tears and blood for."
The headmaster sat back and listened, wondering if it was possible that Harry could actually be right. Could he have overlooked all of this because he was too focused on the big picture? Could he have done so much wrong, when all he had wanted to do was good? Harry left him a few minutes to chew on those words, and was sitting back, taking a drag from a hip flask. The action reminded Dumbledore a great deal of Alastor. Having Harry develop a sense of paranoia was one thing, but to have another Alastor Moody to deal with was a slight concern, if Harry continued to fight for the… With a visible start, the headmaster realized exactly what Harry meant. "Harry, I'm…"
A woman screamed for somewhere outside the room. Considering the location of the Headmaster's office, it had to be some scream. Both men were on their feet, and Harry already had his wand in his hand.
"What the…" Harry muttered as Dumbledore looked at him with a frown
"Did you see anything unusual on your way to my office?" Harry shook his head as the scream rent the silence of the castle once again. Dumbledore swept out of sight. Harry followed two steps behind.
The screams were indeed coming from the Entrance Hall; they grew louder the closer they got to the entrance hall. It was packed; students had come flooding out of their common rooms, the library and perhaps even in from the castle grounds. Harry pushed forwards through a knot of Slytherins and saw that the onlookers had formed a great ring, some of them looking shocked, others even frightened. Professor McGonagall was directly opposite Harry on the other side of the Hall; she looked as though what she was watching made her feel faintly sick.
Professor Trelawney was standing in the middle of the Entrance Hall with her wand in one hand and looked absolutely furious. Stygian Harpies would have looked less terrifying, and Banshees could not have produced the sound of anger. Her hair was sticking up on end, her glasses were lopsided so that one eye was magnified more than the other; her innumerable shawls and scarves were trailing haphazardly from her shoulders, giving the impression that she was falling apart at the seams. Two large trunks lay on the floor beside her, one of them upside‐down; it looked very much as though it had been thrown down the stairs after her. Professor Trelawney had murder in her eyes, staring at something standing at the foot of the stairs. "No!" she shrieked. "NO! This cannot be happening… it cannot… I refuse to accept it!"
"You didn't realize this was coming?" said a high girlish voice, sounding callously amused, and Harry, moving slightly to his right, saw that Trelawney's was ready, from the looks of it, to kill Professor Umbridge. "Incapable though you are of predicting even tomorrow's weather, you must surely have realized that your pitiful performance during my inspections, and lack of any improvement, would make it inevitable that you would be sacked?"
"Hogwarts has been my home for sixteen years!" howled Professor Trelawney, "You dare to take that from me?"
"It was your home," said Professor Umbridge, and Harry was revolted to see the enjoyment stretching her toad-like face. Harry wondered if the former Divination professor would kill Umbridge but he watched as she sank on to one of her trunks, "until an hour ago, when the Minister for Magic countersigned your Order of Dismissal. Now kindly remove yourself from this school. You are embarrassment to all of us."
There were footsteps. Professor McGonagall had broken away from the spectators, marched straight up to Professor Trelawney and was patting her firmly on the back, "There, there, Sybill… calm down…it's not as bad as you think. We will find a solution," Professor McGonagall was giving an excellent impersonation of a Basilisk as she glared at Umbridge, "To the… problem."
Unfortunately, Umbridge seemed immune, "Oh really, Professor McGonagall?" she said, in a deadly voice, taking a few steps forward. "And your authority for that statement is… ?"
"That would be mine," replied the headmaster. The students scuttled aside like so many drunken crabs as he strode forwards through the circle of onlookers towards Professor Trelawney, still seated on her trunk with Professor McGonagall alongside her.
"Yours, Professor Dumbledore?" said Umbridge, with a singularly unpleasant little laugh. "I'm afraid you do not understand the position. I have here ‐" she pulled a parchment scroll from within her robes "‐ an Order of Dismissal signed by myself and the Minister for Magic. Under the terms of Educational Decree Number Twenty‐three, the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts has the power to inspect, place upon probation and sack any teacher she ‐ that is to say, I ‐ feel is not performing to the standards required by the Ministry of Magic. I have decided that Professor Trelawney is not up to scratch. I have dismissed her."
To Harry's surprise, in fact everyone's surprise, Dumbledore actually smiled. He looked down at Professor Trelawney, and said, "You are quite right, of course, Professor Umbridge. As High Inquisitor, you have every right to dismiss my teachers. You do not," his tone hardened, "have the authority to send them away from the castle. That power, still resides with the Headmaster, and it is my wish that Professor Trelawney continue to live at Hogwarts."
"No ‐ no, I'll go, Dumbledore! I shall leave Hogwarts and seek my fortune elsewhere."
"It is my wish that you remain, Sybill," he replied, almost ordered before he turned to Professor McGonagall, "Might I ask you to escort Sybill back upstairs?"
"Of course," said McGonagall. Professor Sprout came hurrying forwards out of the crowd and grabbed Professor Trelawney's other arm. Together, they guided her past Umbridge and up the marble stairs. Professor Flitwick went scurrying after them, his wand held out before him, "Locomotor trunks!" and Professor Trelawney's luggage rose into the air and proceeded up the staircase after her, Professor Flitwick bringing up the rear.
Professor Umbridge was standing stock still, staring at Dumbledore, who continued to smile benignly. "And what," she said, in a whisper that carried all around the Entrance Hall, "are you going to do with her once I appoint a new Divination teacher who needs her lodgings?"
Watching the entire scene play out, something struck Harry about it: It seemed, almost rehearsed, as if Dumbledore had planned all of this. No, not rehearsed, but planned for this occurrence. The more he thought about it, the more confident he felt about it: It had been clear for a while now that Umbridge would fire someone, and she had been gunning for Trelawney for months. That was obvious from every Divination lesson he attended. No, Harry concluded, this was just prudent planning by the headmaster.
"Oh, that won't be a problem," said Dumbledore pleasantly. "You see, I have already found us a new Divination teacher, and he will prefer lodgings on the ground floor." Harry actually smirked. The old man was still a chess master in his own right. But then, he wondered whether McGonagall, and possibly even Trelawney was in on the whole thing. Too many variables, too many things he could not have predicted, or planned. But it was a success and the look on Umbridge's face was almost priceless.
"You've found ‐?" said Umbridge shrilly. "You've found? Might I remind you, Dumbledore, that under Educational Decree Number Twenty‐two ‐"
"The Ministry has the right to appoint a suitable candidate if ‐and only if‐ the Headmaster is unable to find one," said Dumbledore. "And I am happy to say that on this occasion I have succeeded. He should be here momentarily."
There was the clatter of hooves and a moment later a polite knock upon the door. He turned to face the front doors, as did everyone else. They swung open and the night mist drifted in doors. Hooves again, accompanied by a shocked murmur around the Hall and those nearest the doors hastily moved even further backwards, some of them tripping over in their haste to clear a path for the newcomer.
Through the mist came a face Harry had seen once before on a dark, dangerous night in the Forbidden Forest. White‐blond hair and astonishingly blue eyes; the head and torso of a man joined to the palomino body of a horse.
"This is Firenze," said Dumbledore to a thunderstruck Umbridge. "I think you will," he said, "find him suitable."
It was far later than usual when Harry returned home – it was almost eleven at night and he found himself surprised to find Fleur staring in to the fireplace, looking incredibly pensive about, something. Even the densest of men would have realized that there was something on her mind. He hesitated. He knew how much he hated it when other people pried in to his personal life, and he was not sure if this was something personal-personal, or something personal-he-should-get-involved-with.
She was so absorbed in her own thoughts, she leapt out of her chair, and had her wand trained on him when he placed a hand on her shoulder, "Merde Harry! Don't scare me like that! I could have hexed you!" She suddenly pulled him in to a hug, a tight one, and she seemed unwilling to let him go.
"Fleur, what's wrong? He asked.
"I," she hesitated for a moment, not knowing if this was the right moment to tell him, given that she herself was not entirely sure. The tests had contradicted each other and the appointment with a healer was only in a few days. She broke in to a smile, "It's nothing." Of course, being able to read his thoughts made it clear that he definitely did not believe her, "Really it's nothing - a few numbers not adding up." She knew it was not exactly fair to withhold even the potential of something like this, but she was not sure how he would react, especially if, in the end, there was nothing.
It was an open secret that if you worked for Gringotts, nobody outside the bank really knew what you did or how you did your did your job. Even those with what one would assume were obvious titles such as "teller," "clerk," and even "cursebreaker." It was more for the human employees to be able to file taxes accordingly with the ministry. What they really did behind the closed doors of the bank was anyone's guess. All Harry knew was that when the numbers failed to add up, a termination notice accompanied an armed guard, to escort the individual in question from the premises.
Harry nodded and let it go as he slid on to the couch and took her hands in his. Something was clearly bothering her, but he let it go. If important, she would tell him when she was ready. Until that time, he would be there for her. "Wish I could have come home sooner."
She smiled, "Why? Too much homework?" she teased.
"Well… not really, I mean, most of this stuff, it's just OWLs… I could get through most of the exams in my sleep, except for History, Divination and probably Potions." He shrugged.
"You don't study enough to justify such, over confidence," she retorted lightly.
"I might not do well on the theory side of things, but I'll ace any practical exam they throw my way, except for those three. But since the practical is sixty percent of the final grade in every subject. I'm pretty sure I'm looking at exceeding expectations."
She laughed, he smiled and she managed to put her aside the one issue that was gnawing at her thoughts. She reclined against Harry who pulled her close. It felt safe and warm in his arms, and she loved being there, just held by him. She had her appointment in two days, she decided. She would worry about it then.
Breakfast in the Great Hall was a quiet and subdued affair. Given just the most recent turn of events, more and more students were developing a healthy sense of paranoia. More than one conversation took place behind notice-me-not and other privacy charms. There was a rumor going round that Fred and George Weasely were teaching those charms to anyone interested for a fair price: Test one of their wacky inventions, or pay three sickles. Unsurprisingly, they had sickles by the galleon lining their pockets.
There was only one dominant topic of conversation: Divination. Firenze had only taught two lessons so far, and had divided the students into three distinct groups: Those that found what he said made sense, those that were inclined towards Trelawney's way of looking at things, and of course, the few who were convinced both of them were crazy. Harry was amongst those still uncertain which group he was going to support: His first Divination lesson with Firenze was scheduled for that morning, classroom eleven on the ground floor.
Classroom 11 was on the ground floor along the corridor leading off the Entrance Hall from the opposite side to the Great Hall. Harry knew it was one of those classrooms that were never used regularly, and therefore had the slightly neglected feeling of a cupboard or storeroom. When he entered it, his wand was in his hand as he stared around at the forest clearing. "What the…"
The classroom floor had become mossy and trees were growing out of it; their leafy branches fanned across the ceiling and windows, so that the room was full of slanting shafts of soft, dappled, green light. The students who had already arrived were sitting on the earthy floor with their backs resting against tree trunks or boulders, arms wrapped around their knees or folded tightly across their chests, and all looking rather nervous. In the middle of the clearing stood Firenze, "Harry Potter," he said, holding out a hand when Harry entered, "You will have no need of your wand in this lesson."
He met the unblinking gaze of the Centaur, and sheathed his wand, "Good to see you again Firenze."
"And you," said the centaur, inclining his white‐blond head. "It was foretold that we would meet again."
Harry noticed there was the shadow of a hoof‐shaped bruise on Firenzeʹs chest. As he turned to join the rest of the class on the ground, he saw they were all looking at him in awe, apparently deeply impressed that he was on speaking terms with Firenze, whom they seemed to find intimidating.
When the door closed behind the last student, Firenze gestured around the room, "Professor Dumbledore has kindly arranged this classroom for us," said Firenze, when everyone had settled down, "in imitation of my natural habitat. I would have preferred to teach you in the Forbidden Forest, which was ‐ until Monday ‐ my home… but that is no longer possible."
"Please ‐ er ‐ sir ‐" said Parvati breathlessly, raising her hand, "why not? Weʹve been in there with Hagrid, we're not frightened!" Harry felt a pang at that. Hagrid. Killed somewhere in the mountains of Europe, no coffin, no body, nothing to mark his passing, except that Professor Grubby-plank continued to teach Care for Magical Creatures in his place.
"It is not a question of your bravery," said Firenze, "but of my position. I cannot return to the Forest. My herd has banished me."
"Herd?" said Lavender in a confused voice, and Harry knew she was thinking of cows. Comprehension dawned on her face. "There are more of you?" she said, stunned.
"Did Hagrid breed you, like the Thestrals?" asked Dean eagerly. Harry promptly reached out and slapped him across the back of the head, but it was too late: Firenze was staring right at him, and Dean realized at once that he had said something wrong, "I didn't ‐ I mean ‐ sorry" he finished in a hushed voice.
"Centaurs are not the servants or playthings of humans," said Firenze quietly. There was a pause, "Because I have agreed to work for Professor Dumbledore," said Firenze. "My herd views me as a traitor to our kind." Harry remembered how, nearly four years ago, the centaur Bane had shouted at Firenze for allowing Harry to ride to safety on his back; he had called him a "common mule."
"Let us begin," said Firenze. He swished his long palomino tail, raised his hand towards the leafy canopy overhead, then lowered it slowly, and as he did so, the light in the room dimmed, so that they now seemed to be sitting in a forest clearing by twilight, and stars appeared on the ceiling. There were oofs and gasps and Ron said audibly, "Blimey!"
"Lie back on the floor," said Firenze in his calm voice, "and observe the heavens. Here is written, for those who can see, the fortune of our races." Harry stretched out on his back and gazed upwards at the ceiling. A twinkling red star winked at him from overhead. "I know that you have learned the names of the planets and their moons in Astronomy," said Firenze, "and that you have mapped the stars' progress through the heavens. Centaurs have unraveled the mysteries of these movements over centuries. Our findings teach us that the future may be glimpsed in the sky above us ‐"
"Professor Trelawney did astrology with us!" said Parvati excitedly, raising her hand in front of her so that it stuck up in the air as she lay on her back. "Mars causes accidents and burns and things like that, and when it makes an angle to Saturn, like now ‐" she drew a right‐angle in the air above her, "‐ that means people need to be extra careful when handling hot things‐"
"Human nonsense," interrupted Firenze, "Trivial hurts, tiny human accidents," said Firenze, as his hooves thudded over the mossy floor. "These are of no more significance than the scurrying of ants to the wide universe, and are unaffected by planetary movements."
"Professor Trelawney ‐" began Parvati, in a hurt and indignant voice.
"‐ is a human," said Firenze simply. "And is therefore blinkered and fettered by the limitations of your kind." Harry turned his head very slightly to look at Parvati. She looked very offended, as did several of the people surrounding her. "Sybill Trelawney may have Seen, I do not know," continued Firenze, and Harry heard the swishing of his tail again as he walked up and down before them, "But she wastes her time, in the main, on the self‐flattering nonsense humans call fortune‐telling. I, however, am here to explain the wisdom of centaurs, which is impersonal and impartial. We watch the skies for the great tides of evil or change that are sometimes marked there. It may take ten years to be sure of what we are seeing."
Firenze pointed to the red star directly above Harry, "In the past decade, the indications have been that wizardkind is living through nothing more than a brief calm between two wars. Mars, bringer of battle, shines brightly above us, suggesting that the fight must soon break out again. How soon, centaurs may attempt to divine by the burning of certain herbs and leaves, by the observation of fume and flame…ʹ
It was the most unusual lesson Harry had ever attended and he was nothing like any human teacher Harry had ever had. His priority did not seem to be to teach them what he knew, but rather to impress upon them that nothing, not even centaursʹ knowledge, was foolproof. While that seemed to divide the class, Harry was surprised to find himself actually in agreement with what he was saying, because it agreed with the Goblin view of the subject: What has been foretold, or seen, may or may not come to pass. Of course, Harry wished he could get more detail about the war, that Mars hinted was fast approaching. The bell rang right outside the classroom door and everyone jumped; Harry had completely forgotten they were still inside the castle, and was quite convinced that he was really in the Forest. The class filed out, looking slightly perplexed. He was amongst the last to leave when Firenze called, "Harry Potter, a word."
Harry shut the door, and turned to face the Centaur, "Firenze," he said cordially, "Or perhaps I should say Professor Firenze?"
"Firenze, please," he replied, "my teaching position here is probably temporary at best. I just wanted to ask how the Protectorates of your house fare?"
"Well enough," said Harry carefully, "Have the stars shown you something?"
The Centaur pawed at the ground nervously, and finally, he nodded, "Mars, bringer of battle, harbinger of war glows bright in the night sky, it is not alone." He pulled a heavy wooden staff slung across his back and pointed it to the sky overhead. A number of clouds vanished "The stars speak of new life accompanying the harbinger of war in to battle, but beyond that, I know not what it means."
Harry watched the sky and could see the pattern of star that seemed, strangely clustered around bright red Mars and he shuddered, wondering what damned responsibility he did not need or want, was being laid across his shoulders, "How do you fare facing the weight of the task ahead of you?"
"That would depend," Harry said suddenly, "Am I the Harbinger?"
"Mars is bright, and has been bright for many months. The stars speak as they do, and say nothing more specific than what I have already told you." The Centaur turned and stared at Harry intensely, "It is not easy, taking life."
"No. It isn't," agreed Harry, "The good guys don't walk away without blood on their hands. No matter what side you're on, you have to be a bad guy to win. What counts is what you're going to do, going to be, once you win. A few less death eaters in the world, maybe we get a little more peace in the word."
Firenze blinked in surprise, "I have lived, sheltered from the wider concerns of the wizarding world. Though my tribe was surprised that you sent envoys seeking our aid should the war come to Hogwarts, what concerns me is that you speak, as one who has not only seen battle, but as one who has killed in battle."
"The world is in poor hands right now," said Harry quietly, "It has cost me the life of one I love, has already claimed the lives of families close to me. And it all scares me. I'm fifteen, and I want to focus on my OWLs, NEWTs, girls - Quidditch even." For a second, he actually wondered if he would ever play in Hogwarts again.
"And, perhaps," said Firenze, "not in that order?"
Harry laughed, "Not in that order," he agreed but quickly sobered, "But I'm scared… scared of the decisions that I make, and how, those decisions will affect others, the lives of others." He did not have to say it, but it was clear that he feared sending someone to his or her death, or their deaths.
"You will make the choices you have to make when the time comes," said Firenze, "You can do nothing until the choice must be made. Remember, that what decisions you make are but a part of a whole: Others will make their own choices, ones you cannot control." The centaur stared at him for a long moment, "New life will march to battle alongside the Harbinger. That is what the stars reveal to my kin, to me." He turned and disappeared between two trees and Harry.
Over a hundred kilometers away, Fleur read the results one more time, "Merde," and then read them again, "Merde!" she whispered. The implications for herself were one thing… but how, when to tell him. The healer sat back, waiting for her to process everything that had just happened.
She finally looked up, registering the presence of the Healer, "I've run the charm and the test twice. The results are the same both times. Since you're not on any other potions or anything… muggle. I'm quite sure that the results are accurate."
She crunched the slip of parchment in her hands, staring out the window as she wondered again, just how she was going to explain, how she was going to tell him, until a single question rocked her back to the present, "Who should I list as the father?"