Certain Dark Things || Book Three

liii. protector

"Harriet Potter."

Harriet heard her name as if from a great distance, or maybe from underwater, her movements sluggish and ungraceful as she stared at the centaur who'd picked her up. He lowered her to the ground again, and she felt the pressure of it under her shoes, staring at Greyback instead. She didn't know if she felt glad or upset, relieved or angry or just plain sick; it mixed together in her head, in her middle, until she thought she might vomit her guts up and laugh.

"You," said one of the centaurs in a voice thick with authority, his black hair a wild tangle, Greyback's blood splattered across his dark, bare chest. Harriet's eyes followed the glutinous trickle along his torso, and her throat tightened, burning with bile. "You are the one who discovered Actagio in the lake."

Harriet's dazed attention slid to the spear he held, blood running from the sharpened tip to his rough knuckles, silver peeking through the ruby red. He had a cut on his leg, near his front hip, shaped like the werewolf's claws. Harriet guessed he didn't have to worry about contracting the curse, already being a magical creature.

"I am Magorian, the leader of this herd," the centaur said, testier than before, miffed by Harriet's lack of response. Her mouth was as dry as Hagrid's rock cakes. "Humans are not allowed to trespass on our lands."

A rumble of agreement went through the gathered centaurs, their hooves pawing at the rumpled earth. Two of the eight present remained next to Greyback—one aiming a spear, the other an arrow—though the werewolf hadn't moved. No, he stayed limp, white fur speckled in crimson.

Harriet blinked several times and parted her lips. "Sorry," she managed, voice as small as she felt standing among the towering herd.

"You know she is a child, Magorian," the blue-eyed centaur said. He had his bow strapped to his back still, his quiver full of feathered arrows. More arrows dotted the earth like perverse flowers sprung up from nothing.

"Not for much longer." Magorian studied Harriet from his great height, his expression not particularly hostile, but not friendly, either. His bloodied knuckles tightened about his spear, and Harriet had the morbid thought that after killing a monster like Greyback, one scrawny thirteen-year-old wouldn't prove a challenge for him. "You may pass this once. However, know our leniency is not unending, witch."

"I-I'll remember that. Thank you."

He nodded. "Firenze." The first centaur stepped forward, Magorian frowning. "Return the human to the school."

"Of course." He touched the top of Harriet's head, there and gone, probably because he would have had to bend to reach her shoulder. "Come, Harriet Potter."

She went, stumbling, her extremities buzzing and her lungs still tight and aching from her mad dash through the forest, but she stopped to bow to the centaurs once, clumsy and uncertain, yet nonetheless grateful for them saving her life. The centaurs stood, watching her go, and Harriet's last sight of the trampled clearing was of the proud creatures encircling the shadowed mass of Greyback's deceased form, spears jutting into the air, the grass black and glistening.

"Girl," Magorian called. "Tell your Headmaster the beast is dead."

Then, the scene disappeared. Crickets played from the foliage, Firenze's hooves making less noise than Harriet's tired, heavy feet. She was close enough to touch his side if she'd chosen to reach out, and she almost did, frightened by the idea of getting separated and roaming, lost. She looked up at the centaur, and though the moon remained sparse behind the thinning clouds and canopy, he seemed unnaturally bright and clean after everything she'd witnessed. He had not fought Greyback, instead opting to grab her and ensure she'd been taken from the werewolf's clutches.