Stigmata

Chapter Five: Hecate's Glory

Fresh snow was light upon the ground as Harry made his way through the Forbidden Forest. His footsteps disappeared behind him, leaving only a faint whisper of magic in his wake as he walked to the familiar clearing where the Centaurs waited for him.

They were an impressive sight, greater in number than Harry had imagined, and waiting silently for his arrival. It was not often that the Centaurs met in a group, even here, where they were relatively protected by the Forest, for history had taught them that whenever they gathered, they ran the risk of hunters. It was a sign of trust for them to gather here before he arrived; it showed they trusted him to protect them even from a distance.

Magorian stood apart from the other Centaurs, who had arranged themselves around him in a semi-circle. As Harry entered the clearing, he bowed, and the rest of the Centaurs followed suit.

"Rise, Magorian. Your people need not bow to me. I come as a brother, not a master; a friend, not a Lord."

The Centaurs rose as one before him, and looks of approval passed along the faces of those whom he had never seen before. He intended to know all of them by name soon enough, but, for now, he had to let his actions speak for him. Harry's eyes rose upward, and the Centaurs' gaze followed his.

"The moon is in an interesting phase tonight," Harry murmured, his eyes glowing as they shifted. "In the light of the new moon, the magic of wizards is normally muted, while the magic of those who live in darkness is strengthened. Apollo's light, from which the moon feeds, refuses to shine upon me tonight. It is because of this that I come to you now, offer myself to you, at my weakest. Gaze to the northern skies; see Jupiter's descent into the reaches of Heaven. Jupiter, from whom Ravenclaw descends, and from whom I trace my blood, still shines even in his descent. He shines because his child rises to adulthood - he is no longer needed to guide his child's footsteps. Turn to the eastern skies, my brethren, see Hades - Pluto - my sire. See his light, too, reflected even in this - the darkest night - upon his child. See the planets under which I was born; see what I offer you. I come not to offer you up as servants or slaves, but to welcome you home, my brethren. What say you?"

Harry waited as the Centaurs looked to the stars, and then gazed at him. He remained still, all pretence of 'Harry Potter' gone and, in his place, stood Scylla, a dark wizard, Voldemort's heir, and the descendant of Ravenclaw.

Magorian looked back at the other Centaurs, who in turn looked to him to speak for them. He turned back to Scylla, and walked toward him, stopping an arm's length away. Though Magorian towered over Scylla in height, as did most of the full-grown Centaurs, looking at Scylla felt the same to him as looking up at his father when he was a colt.

"On this, the darkest night, when Hecate's glory dominates the skies, we have been shown light - a path, a way - and we, the Centaurs, are ready to come home." His arm raised, offered palm up to Scylla, who placed his palm upon it without hesitation.

"Welcome home, by brethren." Scylla's eyes lit as his power streamed from him in waves. It echoed through the clearing as strands broke from the waves to touch each Centaur. Even as the threads locked on their throats, the Centaurs stood firm, trusting, as Scylla's Mark adhered itself to their skin, burned its way into their veins. And, when the magic disappeared, the blue lighting bolt entwined with feathers glowed upon their skin between their prominent clavicles.

"Welcome home," Scylla repeated, "my Furies of Hades. As such, we are all family, united together under one cause, one blood, one flesh. Darkness courses through us all and unites us. The King of the Dead watches over us and is our father; Jupiter, from whom Ravenclaw descends, watches over me, and, as such, my protection shall cover you as it does all who are Furies."