Note: This is a complete story in several parts. I will be posting one part a week, in an attempt to apologise for not updating my other stories. I am writing them, you see, but I have decided to be a student sponge for the summer and live with my mother, and the computer with all my story files on it will not have an Internet connection, so it's hard to update those with no Net and a busted floppy drive. I have to write and not upload. So, instead, I decided to write a new story for the summer, on my mother's PC, and you all can look for updates on the older ones in September. I am terribly sorry to the people who are waiting for a Confessional update. I hope you enjoy this story; it was fun to write, and a little unconventional, too!

Standard disclaimers apply. I solemnly swear I am up to no good.

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Ad Astra
Falkesbane

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Part One

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If you would have asked me when I was a teenager, I would have very confidently and very dismally told you that Very Interesting Things only happen to Very Interesting People. Adventures and successes happen to beautiful girls like Parvati Patil—

Ugh, why did I have to mention her almost straight off? This is not starting well.

—or brilliant girls like Hermione Granger, not old dull average Lavender Brown. In fact, I probably would have kept to this view only a short year ago. What can I say? I've always been a most secret sort of pessimist. I lived in my own small house. I had a very routinised sort of life. I was twenty-five years old, my best friend was married to my longtime boyfriend and having little Finnigan-Patils to crayon up the walls of her too-big house, and I was well-convinced that I would spend the rest of my life as a crazy cat-loving old lady.

Not that Mr Peabody was not a great companion. It's easy to have a fulfilling relationship with a creature who only miaows at you once in a while and is willing to purr and nuzzle and just generally be contented. Mr Peabody has been more faithful than any male.

And that's just sad, isn't it? I may as well start collecting more cats now, so I can be well stocked up when I reach old age.

But, Mr Peabody aside, I felt fairly alone and therefore I did what every other lonely person does. I dove headlong into my work because, well, everyone knows that loads of boring work are a great substitute for human interaction. I told myself that I was a bright and busy career woman, fierce and independent, with no time for useless men who would just laze about and philander anyway and eat all the lovely pastries you made for your mum's birthday party the night before you were meant to go—

Damn it! I'd better not spend this whole time injecting little barbs at Seamus and Parvati. Especially since I am completely and utterly over it, and no longer wish that either of them will spontaneously burst into flames.

Much.

Long story short: Seamus and I were going to get married. No, scratch that. I thought that Seamus and I were going to get married, and Seamus thought that he was just going to go on stringing me along and shagging the illustrious Ms Patil on the side. So, in typical bad-drama fashion, I found out, I freaked out, and the whole debacle ended with them married and me getting pats on the back from gossipy people I barely remember from school, calling me Poor Lavender. Hmmph.

At the time, I moped and moaned and theorized that Seamus was justified – because who would pick the short Lavender, with her dishwater hair, over the gorgeous, glossy, why-isn't-she-on-a-magazine-cover Parvati? But now I see the real truth of it. Seamus Finnigan is an indecisive prat who can't make a choice unless circumstances push him into it. Why, look at what a jerk he was over that whole Dumbledore's Army thing in our fifth year – he couldn't even join until everyone else had and he felt like an outsider!

Prat. Prat. Prat prat prat prat prat.

And he also snored.

I hope Parvati has to wear earplugs every night.

All right. Frustrations vented. On with it, then.

I was working under a nice but crochety old woman called Francesca Vega, who had even taught at Hogwarts back in the Dark Ages, and was generally regarded as quite the supreme authority on all things astronomical. Even though she was approximately one hundred, she still loved her research. Only she needed an assistant, which is where I came in. I had taken Outstanding NEWTs in both Divination and Astronomy (and – er – not-so-Outstanding grades in all my other subjects), so I was a fair candidate who wouldn't go wandering off to greener pastures.

She was not quite approving of my tendency to equate astronomy with astrology, being an academic and all, but there had just been a war on and all the students had gone into exciting careers, like magical weaponry, or chasing down war criminals. I was the only applicant for the post. There weren't many who were boring enough to want to sit and look at the night sky and live like horribly nocturnal vampires.

I still can't sleep very well at night. I need at least an afternoon nap.

So Professor Vega, being old as the hills herself and no longer able to traipse her way through mountain and plain to get her own astronomical readings done, recruited me to do the grunt work. It was a fair job for someone of twenty-five, I suppose; I could afford my own house in Godric's Hollow and keep myself in copies of Well-Dressed Witch.

Shut up, shut up, it's an addiction, I swear it, even though I could never afford the absolutely stunning new autumn Malkin's robes. I wish I could. Those things would so transform me in an instant. Especially the red ones. Wow.

But, to get back on track, Fran was undertaking this rather insane project of charting the whole night sky. And, as any casual stargazer knows, the closer you are to light and civilization, the harder it is to make out stars. So one evening I Apparated to Vega's office, fully expecting to be loaded up with my usual mound of boring paperwork and thinking of how I might sneak in a nap during the day, but Vega was sitting there with her eyes gleaming and a powerful portable telescope (only the top of the line for us!) twirling lazily in her hand.

"Fran?" I ventured, thinking that the eye-gleam might be a sign of impending senility.

She clucked at me. "You're late, Lavender."

"Only by ten minutes," I muttered. She was always so particular! And my hair had just been misbehaving terribly.

"I'm sending you on a field mission, my dear. I want you to observe the area and draft up some star charts, see if your smart little eyes can spot anything new up there."

Oh, joy, I thought sarcastically. "Where?"

She smiled grandly. "The Forest Ateratra."

"The Forest Ateratra? What's that?"

"The darkest place in all England." She said this wearing a huge grin, as casually as she might have said, Oh, it's just the park around the corner. "Some say the sun never even touches the branches of the trees. You ought to get a great view from inside it – just find a good spot to observe, and you'll be set."

I stared. "Er – Fran – that sounds a trifle – dangerous."

"Oh, you can bring your wand," she said enthusiastically. She was the sort of woman that was hard to discourage. It was lovely, in a way, when she wasn't sending me off to uncharted dark forests. "It won't be a thing compared to when I was doing field work over on the Russian steppes – years ago, that was – and it was cold and there were giants."

"Fine," I said glumly, thinking that it wouldn't be as bad as it sounded. Heck, I could even think of it as an unwanted vacation – at least it would be some time free of paperwork. My wrists were beginning to hurt from using too many quills. "For how long?"

"Say – three days? Time to set up and observe and get your charts done."

So that's how I found myself staring at the gnarled trees at the edge of the Forest Ateratra, listening and swearing I could hear terrible screaming from the inside. I knew, right then, that I would keep my wand at the ready for the whole three days.

Vacation, indeed. Okay. I have to impart, here, the sheer horribleness of this forest. Think of the Forbidden Forest at the edge of Hogwarts. Then multiply that by ten. Then add three. There you have it.

I had a tent and pack and bedroll strapped to my back. I am certainly not a tent and pack and bedroll sort of woman. I am a hotel and room service and sexy-French-concierge-tipping sort of woman. I was questioning the sanity of Francesca Vega. "Three days," I muttered to myself. "Three days! I can't even wash my hair properly! I am so asking for a raise when I get home."

Feeling entirely uneasy, I began my trek into the Forest. Why couldn't Fran have decided we needed charts from a beach on the South of France? Sunbathing and little drinks with umbrellas sounded really good.

It wasn't so bad once I got over the twisted trees and the unnatural darkness. As a professional astronomer, my eyes were accustomed to the lack of light, and adjusted themselves quite quickly. Still, it wasn't the best setting imaginable. I was reminded of the horror films I had seen with Seamus in his parents' house – as a half-and-half, he liked Muggle things, only he'd told me jokingly that those scary pictures were specially meant to scare women into pressing up against men for comfort.

Prat.

Ahem. The first few hours were not so bad. I had to fend off a bunch of particularly bite-happy Bowtruckles, but, apart from that, I was fine. I was simply focused on finding a patch of clearing so that I could observe the sky. I was even thinking of my career a little – maybe with perfect star charts I could finally prove that astrology really is real!

It soon became apparent, though, that finding a patch of clearing big enough to see the sky was not going to be easy. The trees were everywhere, and I was getting mighty sick of pushing their branches out of the way and scraping my head when I didn't see one on time.

"Stupid twisty trees," I muttered viciously. "I wish the Muggles'd come and cut you all down." This thought pleased me for a bit – scores and scores and Muggles with their axes and saws and whatever else they used. Take that, nature! Then I remembered that this forest was probably Unplottable, and therefore Muggles could never find it to mercifully chop it apart.

This realization brought on another one.

I was lost.

Hopelessly lost, and I didn't even know it.

Idiot Lavender! I hadn't bothered to make any markings or look to remember where I had come in or trace my own path – the charm would have been easy enough, too – and of course Unplottable things have a way of being large and inconstant and insanely difficult to navigate.

"Okay, okay," I coached myself as I continued my aimless trek through what my boss had quite cheerfully and madly called the darkest place in all of England. "Just keep on moving, Lavender, you're bound to find something." I thought about Apparating, but I'd been stupid there, too, not bothering to memorise the place I'd come in so that I could picture it coming back. Knowing me, I'd have mis-Apparated and splinched myself right over a swamp or something.

It was starting to get dark. "Lumos," I muttered, and then, "Point Me." There. North would eventually get me out if I simply kept along the same direction. Never mind that the direction was currently leading me into an especially dark-looking tangle of trees.

I went in, my wand still lit. I took careful steps, fully expected to be accosted by something horrible. I tried to remember all my Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons. Funny how everything important from school fades away, but I can still remember all the lyrics on the Weird Sisters' album A Chimaera Ate My Socks.

Shut up, it's a great album.

So I kept coming, humming the title track (It has the head of a lion! Body of a goat! I hope it forgets about my hat and coat!) and feeling thoroughly annoyed with myself for having such a bad memory. What I came upon in the forest turned out to be quite different than what I had been expecting.

It was simply fantastic – not just a single patch of grass, like I'd hoped for, but a great big area with a stream running right through the middle, and high rocks piled up around one side, like a protective wall. I forgot all about being lost. "Lavender, you brilliant explorer!" I said to myself as I shucked off my belongings. "You, my girl, are awesome."

I really should quit the habit of talking to myself. It does come off as insane when I think about it.

I set up the tent and bedroll with little difficulty, surprisingly enough, and I was beginning to think that perhaps I had missed my calling as an infamous outdoorswoman. Living off the land, chopping down trees, breathing in the sweet outdoorsy air, and all that good stuff.

I swear, the Forest Ateratra made me delusional.

I took off my shoes and socks and stuck my feet in the stream; they were slightly blistered from my long hike, and the water felt cool and wonderful. Why did such an oasis of loveliness exist in a such a dark forest? I ate a little packet of Fizzing Whizzbees I'd brought with me and waited for it to get dark enough to set up my telescope.

It was too late to react when I heard the sound. It was almost like a humming – the running-together of drumbeats. For one mad moment, I thought it really was drummers. Then it hit me – hooves. Sets and sets of hooves.

Please, please, I prayed, let it be something harmless, like Abraxans.

I knew I wouldn't be that lucky. Just call me Bad-Luck Brown.

Frantically, I tried to grab my things and hightail it out of there, but it was pretty much in vain. Centaurs were coming out of the tangled trees, dozens of them, all of them halting in shock when they saw me standing there barefoot with my hands full of hastily gathered astronomy equipment. Soon I was surrounded. I dropped the equipment; it landed on the grass with a loud thud.

"Oh, dear," I said, under my breath.

Understatement of the century.

"I – I – I—"

"A human at our council-ground?" one of them gasped.

"Such disrespect!" another shouted. "She has come to the seat of our herd!"

"I didn't mean to – I – er – I didn't come here to see you—" I stammered. They all looked very large and very menacing in the early starlight, and of course I was completely graceless in the face of danger.

"See how she dismisses us!" a large centaur shouted.

There must have been a hundred of them. I started to back away, but that only placed me closer to the centaurs standing behind me. I was bloody well trapped. "I'm not dismissing you," I said hotly. "I'm an astronomy researcher – I only came here to look at the stars – I didn't know this was your ground!"

Why, oh, why hadn't I argued with Fran? I could have been sitting down on my favourite chair reading, with Mr Peabody purring in my lap, but instead I was being angrily confronted by loads of scary centaurs. Fran, I thought, I quit!

Well, if I live to quit.

One of them came towards me. He was huge, probably the biggest of them, with a shock of dark brown hair and narrowed eyes. By the starlight, he looked just about like a murderer come to attack me. "Astronomy researcher?" he sneered. "More foolish human tricks. You cannot even begin to understand the stars."

"I'm sure I can't," I said beseechingly. "I'm an idiot; you're all brilliant and wise and wonderful. I didn't mean to come here. I didn't even want to; I had to for my job. Please let me go."

"She's lying to you, Padear," one of the centaurs called.

"I swear, I would never want to interfere with centaurs. In fact, I find you all very fascinating." I tried to be polite.

It was true and had always been – theyare such interesting creatures – but it was definitely the wrong thing to say. "Fascinating?" Padear roared. "We do not exist for your entertainment or your curiosity, human!"

"I didn't mean it that way and you know it! I meant that I respect you!" I was angry. I couldn't help it.

"We do not need your pitiful respect."

"Stop twisting my words around!"

"Don't accuse me, human."

"I'm not," I said helplessly. "But you won't listen. I'll leave and never come back – just let me go!"

A few more centaurs had trotted up to where Padear was standing. "She has come to our sacred ground, Padear," one said. "Such insolence cannot go unpunished."

"Agreed," Padear said quietly.

"What?" I shouted. "That's not fair! I—"

But Padear craned his head upwards and gave a great cry. The centaurs rumbled forward, stampeding, all of them wearing terrifying expressions of matched concentration. I cowered as they closed in on me, instinctively holding up my arms to shield my head, even though I knew it would do no good. I couldn't move; I couldn't say anything. I was simply paralysed with fright, and I was certain that I was ticking through the last few minutes of my life.

And then their hooves were on me, seemingly stamping out my very breath, my very heartbeat, and then I gasped and hollered and swore and then everything went black. It was almost relieving; the pain was like a distant memory, and I felt myself slipping away. A breathless second before oblivion, I could have sworn that I heard someone's ragged voice – oddly familiar, a dead memory – shouting for them to stop.

...............

When I woke up, the first thing I saw was a great gaping expanse of stone over my head. Oh God – was I dead and buried? Was that it? I sat up, rubbing my head, trying to massage some of the pain away. I felt far too alive to be dead, and could only conclude that somehow I'd made it. I almost opened my mouth to call out a hello but then I remembered how that might possibly attract a horde of insulted rampaging centaurs.

Instead, I forced myself to sit up. Every muscle in my body screamed in protest. I held out my arms to look over them; they were bruised and bloodied. I peered down my shirt to examine the rest of my body. It was equally damaged, with several red welt-like wounds in the shape of hoof-prints. I pulled up my torn trousers and looked down at my leg, where I had definitely heard the bone crunch the night before, but apart from a large red mark and a mysterious strip of cloth wrapped round it (I was sure it had come from the trousers themselves) to cover a bleeding wound, it was fine.

It was not exactly the damage I knew I had suffered. It should have been far worse. How had I escaped? How had I healed? I was certain that the centaurs had broken so many bones and crushed so many limbs—

A shadow fell over me.

"So. You're awake."

A single centaur was standing before me. He was still young by their standards, with pale almost-white hair, familiar brilliant blue eyes, and an expression that wavered between worry and distaste. I choked, recognizing him; it was unmistakably—

"Professor Firenze?"

"Miss Brown," he answered flatly. "The stars did dictate that we would meet again. So I should not be surprised – even though I was, to see you behaving so foolishly at our council-ground." He raised an eyebrow. "You may drop the Professor."

I was, of course, incredibly articulate. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Such thanks," he said, "for saving your life."

"Thanks," I said incredulously, still trying to absorb it all. It felt as though I would my close my eyes and once again find myself broken and bent under the centaurs. "Would I – would I have died?"

"Undoubtedly."

"And the wounds?"

"We centaurs," he said importantly, "are not without our own forms of magic."

"Oh," I said in a very small voice, feeling very unreal. I took a moment to take in our surroundings. We weren't at the pretty council-ground any longer. We were on a rocky slab of land dense with trees. Surprisingly, I was sitting on my blanket and bedroll. Firenze must have brought them as well, but I was too embarrassed and confused to bring it up. "Thank you," I mumbled again.

"I couldn't have let them kill you," he said simply.

"They seemed pretty eager about it."

"Most centaurs are." I looked up at him; the expression on his face was one of utter misery.

I was struck with an abrupt bolt of clarity. He probably hated the bit of himself that had made him intervene. I noticed that his torso was not without its own bruises, and some of them looked particularly nasty and painful. "But – when you helped Headmaster Dumbledore all those years ago – the other centaurs in the Forbidden Forest kicked you out, didn't they?"

He shot me a sharp glare. "How did you know about that?"

"I asked around. I was interested." I flushed suddenly. "Not in that way, not like – er, not like Parvati – but I wasn't lying when Padear was shouting at me, accusing me, all that. I do find centaurs very fascinating. Er – in the least offensive way possible, I don't think you're specimens or anything." I was choking on my words – though Firenze was surprisingly not angry – so I covered up with what I'd originally intended to ask. "But – doesn't you helping me mean that the Ateratra centaurs will be furious with you?"

"That is not your concern."

"Oh, I think it is," I said quickly. "I mean, you saved my life. I now can't help but be worried about what they'll do to you for this." I gulped, remembering a long-ago conversation with Rubeus Hagrid about how Firenze had nearly died himself at the hands and hooves of his brethren. And now he would be an outsider in yet another centaur clan, and it was my fault.

"Miss Brown?" he prodded.

My thoughts must have been obvious on my face. It was all very surreal. "I'm so sorry, Firenze."

"You should never have come here, silly girl," he said brusquely, but his voice was not unsympathetic. "Sleep. I will return here later."

With that, he was gone, but I could no more sleep than I could have got up and danced the tango with the way my body was aching. I lay back with my head against the hard stone and thought a million thoughts, from cursing Fran from the depths of my soul to wondering if Firenze was really angry with me.

I must have been unconscious for several hours because it was already afternoon, and darkening into evening. The memory of the centaurs attacking me was quite terrible and visceral. I had always been interested in them, but Firenze had been the only one I'd ever seen up close, and he was quite the centaur deviant. I sighed, feeling bewildered, lucky to be alive, and still rather scared.

I really need to work more on becoming a callous action hero.

I searched through my pockets for my wand and found it there, mercifully unsnapped. I started a fire and hugged my arms around myself, waiting for Firenze to return. I wasn't certain that he would return, but he did, late in the night, with an armful of food culled from the forest – berries, roots.

"Here," he said gruffly, dropping it all in front of me.

I was too hungry to say much. Firenze did not eat; he only watched me with cool, unreadable eyes, waiting for me to finish. When I was done (and, to think back on it, probably embarrassingly stained all over the face with berry-juice), I decided I had to get him to talk. "Where did you go today? Back to the centaurs?"

He laughed; it was a hollow sound. "No."

"Will you?"

"I must," he said, and I realised he really didn't think he had a choice. Perhaps he didn't. "The heavens bind me to them. It is destined that I should go back."

Now, I don't mean to be a hypocrite, since I like astrology and all, but that sounded rather stupid to me, so of course I tried to discourage him. "But won't they be horrible to you?"

"This is not the first time, Miss Brown, that I have been forced to the outside for helping a human."

"But the last time didn't end so well, Firenze." His name sat awkwardly on my tongue; I had to mentally force myself not to say Professor. Old habits die hard.

"The Ateratra centaurs are wiser."

"They didn't seem so," I said without thinking. "You could always find another herd! You did it once, you can do it again. I don't think the Ateratra centaurs are going to be all that happy when you go trotting back expecting to be forgiven for helping me."

It was maybe too harsh. Firenze looked away from me and up at the sky. He was biting on his lower lip. No emotion was betrayed on his face, save for a thin glossy sheen over his eyes. I felt sick; it would be nearly impossible for him to turn back, and it was one hundred percent my fault.

"How are your wounds, then?" he asked.

"Aching but not entirely horrible."

His mouth twitched. "Good to know. Are you prepared to tell me why, precisely, you are in this forest in the first place? It's far from any wizarding community. This is no place for humans."

I rolled my eyes, relieved that he had changed the conversation. "I intend to ask for a big raise when I get out of here. I mean big."

He shot me an are-you-nuts sort of look. "So, if I understand correctly, you were sent here for your work?"

"Yeah. I wasn't lying about that, either. I really am an astronomy researcher. I'm only an apprentice now, but whenever my boss decides to retire, I reckon I'll be in charge." I had to stop myself – damn my rambling, of course centaurs don't care about silly human things like jobs. "Well, anyway, I was trying to make star charts."

"I told you when you were my student about the foolishness of humans following the stars."

"Yeah, well, you weren't the most nurturing teacher ever." I grinned, remembering how put off I'd been when he'd insulted Professor Trelawney – who, I know now, is a bit of a nutter, but still my very favourite teacher. "What with all the human-bashing."

"A fair point," he admitted. "I am not skilled at relating with human adolescents; they are extremely confusing and overly emotional. I imagine that Headmaster Dumbledore appointed me solely to annoy the High Inquisitor. She had a rather infamous reputation – a great hater of non-human creatures, I hear."

"She was a mad old bat, though. You can't judge us all by ones like that. And really, she did get her own brand of centaur treatment." I shivered. "Almost like I did."

"She deserved it," he said quietly. "You did not."

"I really don't think anyone deserves a good trampling."

Except for maybe Seamus Finnigan, I added mentally.

"Nor do I," he agreed, "but it is what my herd does."

"So you just go along with it?"

"There is no choice. I have already defied the stars too many times in my life – with you, with Professor Dumbledore." He gave a short laugh. "I imagine that I am a little strange."

"In a non-murderous way. That can be nothing but good," I mumbled. "Do you miss the centaurs in the Forbidden Forest, then?"

He nodded. "Sometimes I wish that I do not, but the stars will always bind me to my herd, even if I am cast out of it." A sheepish look crossed his features, as though he'd said something he hadn't meant to. "Sleep, Miss Brown. I will see that you find your way out of the Forest in the morning."

"Bind you to your herd? What do you mean by that?"

Firenze turned to the stars once more. "Venus is coming close in its path."

Something in his voice told me that this was centaur-speak for shut your mouth, Lavender. For once in my life, I took the hint, rolled over – ignored a sharp jab of pain in my side – and promptly fell asleep.

Weird, huh? I can never usually sleep at night. But I suppose I just felt – oddly at ease, with Firenze as a great blocky towering hulk over me, just standing and watching and probably thinking stupid cryptic thoughts about the stars.

Really – if people think I'm a nutter for liking horoscopes, they really ought to have a chat with Firenze.

Or it could just be that being stuck in an extremely creepy forest with a slightly depressive, slightly annoyed centaur put all my other problems out of my mind.

Including Seamus Finnigan.

Prat.