Late Afternoon.

Wednesday, Sept. 11

“What do you two want to know about acromantulas for?” Hagrid asked somewhat suspiciously when Hermione made their request.

“You know, Hagrid, that is a wonderful question,” Harry said, then turned to Hermione with an expression, “Say, Hermy, why are we so interested in the lifestyle of acromantulas all of a sudden?”

Hermione scowled at the boy, both for the annoying nickname he called her whenever he wanted to aggravate her, and for his blatant betrayal.

As usual, he was completely unfazed.

Thinking fast, Hermione turned back to Hagrid. “Well, I overheard the Weasley Twins, Fred and George, saying that there is a colony of acromantulas in The Forbidden Forest, so I thought I’d do some research in case we ever ran across one.”

Despite his earlier attitude, Harry quickly supported her. “We checked some books in the library, but all they seemed interested in talking about was how to kill them, which didn’t sit too right with us, so we figured we’d come talk to you to see if you know anything.”

Hagrid beamed at Harry’s words. “Real smart o’ yeh,” he commended them. “Half of those books are tripe anyway; the Ministry calling them Beasts because o’ their diet. Bah. Like vampires are any better. Misunderstood creatures, acromantulas. Very misunderstood.”

Hermione and Harry stared at each other in surprise over Hagrid’s mini-rant, then back at the huge man.

“So they’re not as bad as the books say?” Hermione asked.

“Of course not. Why, I’ve been friends with Aragog for years, and he never—” Hagrid paused with a rather comical deer in headlights look on his face, and it took Hermione a moment to understand why.

She and Harry weren’t supposed to know about Aragog.

Sniffing an opportunity, Hermione struck like a bloodthirsty shark.

“Who’s Aragog, Hagrid?” Hermione asked, drawing inspiration for her innocent expression from the numerous ones she’d seen Harry apply.

“And what does he have to do with acromantulas?” Harry threw in, using one of said expressions.

Hagrid stuttered for a few seconds, before caving and sighing in defeat. Then the big man leaned forward in his seat, as though about to share some great secret, and said, “now, don’t go telling anybody okay? But Aragog’s an acromantula...”

And Hagrid proceeded to tell them all about his ‘little’ friend Aragog, who he’d found as a baby and taken as a pet.

He talked about all the games Aragog liked to play as a child, his favourite foods, teaching the little spider to speak, reading to him, and despite herself, as she listened to Hagrid talk, Hermione started to think of Aragog as an adorable little puppy more than the giant, flesh-eating spider she knew he actually was.

Hagrid became quite sad when he mentioned “an event” that made people think Aragog was dangerous, after which he had to leave the castle to hide in The Forbidden Forest. Hermione quickly clued in that that must have been when Voldemort had opened the Chamber of Secrets, but she said nothing, seeing as she wasn’t supposed to know anything about that.

All the girl said instead was, “Aragog sounds like a nice friend.” To which Hagrid agreed enthusiastically.

“While Aragog certainly seems like a nice enough bloke,” Harry said, after a moment of silence, “that doesn’t really tell us much about their species as a whole. Like, for example, say Hermione and I were to randomly, accidentally, and completely hypothetically walk into a nest of acromantulas, is there anything we should know to ensure that we can walk out with all of our limbs intact? Because I really like my limbs...

“Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

Hermione gave the boy a look; seriously?

Surprisingly enough, Hagrid didn’t seem to notice Harry’s immensely odd choice of words. He just mostly seemed offended by the insinuation that acromantulas would hurt anyone.

“O’ course not, Harry. Acromantulas won’t ever hurt anybody. Sure, they’ll eat anything they think is weaker than ‘em—”

Wait, what?

“—but they’re not savages. Acromantulas are—”

“Yes, Hagrid,” Harry cut in, “I’m sure acromantulas are a lot of things. B—but if you could please go back to that really important part where you mentioned them eating anything they think is weaker, that’ll be great. Thank you.”

Hagrid blinked. “Oh. Well, it’s like any other species now, ain’t it? Anything you beat in a fight becomes food. Even wizards and muggles do it.”

Hermione gaped. There was so much that was wrong in that sentence that she didn’t even know where to start.

“Hagrid, that isn’t—muggles don’t do that.”

“Yeah, pretty sure most people avoid eating food that can beg not to be eaten, Hagrid,” Harry said.

“Exactly!” Hermione agreed.

The half-giant waved their argument away like it was a minor detail.

“Just because you don’t understand them doesn’t mean they’re not begging,” he said, and Hermione and Harry froze.

“Gee,” Harry said flatly. “Thanks, Hagrid. You just ruined meat for me.”

Hagrid laughed, while Hermione, trying to resist her sudden urge to regurgitate the bacon she had for breakfast, tried to get the conversation back on topic.

“So, they’ll eat anything they think is weaker than them. Is that the only reason they’ll attack us?”

“If they think you’re weak, sure. Even if they’re not hungry they’ll still attack just to show yeh who’s boss,” Hagrid said, then he looked thoughtful for a moment, before he muttered, “Lot like giants that.”

“So, as long as we show them that we’re strong, they won’t attack us?” Harry asked to confirm, and Hagrid agreed.

The two children looked at each other, then back at Hagrid.

“How do we show them that we’re not weak?” Hermione asked.

Later, as they left Hagrid’s hut after almost fifteen more minutes of conversation, Harry said, “So, all we have to do to impress acromantulas is acts like jerks. Good to know. No wonder they got along so well with Voldemort’s army.”

Hermione stopped. “The acromantulas worked for Voldemort?” She asked in surprise.

Harry stopped too, only just realising the implications of what he said; if the acromantulas were willing to work with Voldemort, then asking for their help against him might not be the best idea.

“Oh,” Harry said as the realization sank in.

“What are we going to do now, Harry?”

The boy didn’t look like he had an answer. “I don’t know, Hermione. Although, it’s possible that Voldemort forced them. Actually, knowing him it’s very likely that he did; probably threatened to sic a basilisk on them or something. Maybe they were just trying to protect themselves,” Harry said.

“Or maybe they saw that Voldemort was stronger and joined him so that they could bully everyone else,” Hermione said, and to that Harry had no counter. Not that he seemed particularly eager to come up with one.

Hermione felt a spark of anger. Just when she thought they had a sure plan, this comes up. Now, what were they going to do? How were they going to stop Voldemort from hurting the unicorns without the numbers of the acromantulas?

As her eyes roamed her surroundings in helpless frustration, she caught it; a dark, almost horse-like shape walking out of The Forbidden Forest some distance away. It stepped into the light just past the trees, and the shape revealed itself to be a centaur. A female one.

“Harry?” Hermione called quietly, then pointed in a manner that she hoped was inconspicuous (i.e. with her chin), and the boy turned to look.

The centaur was looking at them too, almost unblinking, and Hermione was starting to find it a little disconcerting.

“Should we go to her?” She asked Harry.

“I have no idea,” he replied.

Hermione thought that they should, but before she could tell Harry that, the centaur lady made a ‘come hither’ gesture, then turned and began to walk back into the forest.

“Remember that thing your parents told you about following horse ladies into creepy forests?” Harry asked, and Hermione shook her head in exasperation.

“Come on, Harry,” she said, grabbing the boy’s arm and pulling him along, before they lost the centaur lady in the forest.

At this time of day, under the cover of trees, there wasn’t much light to see by, so Hermione drew her wand and incanted “lumos lumina” a few times, creating four floating orbs of silver light that hovered around the two of them as they walked.

Hermione observed the centaur as they followed behind her. In the silver of the lights she’d created, the centaur’s fur looked somewhat blue, a blue so dark that Hermione had at first mistaken it for black.

Her dark hair was plaited into two long braids that ran all the way from her forehead to her lower back, and the only item she had on her was a bow she had slung diagonally across her back. No quiver. No arrows. And, of course, no clothes. Just a bow.

Now that she thought about it; Firenze had carried a bow too, hadn’t he? And he too had had no quiver or arrows. Were the bows magical? Maybe they didn’t need arrows.

The matter of the bow, and other random thoughts it led to, occupied Hermione’s mind for a few minutes, but eventually, another question began to itch at her.

“Where are you taking us?” Hermione finally asked after almost five minutes of walking, and to both her and Harry’s surprise, considering they hadn’t actually expected a response, the centaur stopped and turned.

Then spoke. “This was rather careless of you, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter. To follow a stranger without knowing where they lead.”

Hermione’s eyes widened, and her face heated in embarrassment, as she realised that, yes, that was exactly what she’d done.

What had she been thinking!? Harry had even told her it was a bad idea, for Christ’s sake.

“You didn’t answer the question though,” Harry said, suspicion colouring his voice, and Hermione looked to find him holding his wand, but with it’s tip pointed at the ground.

Hermione’s eyes widened further, and she reached for her own wand within her robe, but refrained from pulling it out just yet.

“Where are you taking us?” Harry repeated Hermione’s question.

“I am taking you to meet the Herd-mother, Harry Potter. As she requested.”

Hermione and Harry glanced at one another.

“Who is the Herd-mother?” Hermione asked the centaur.

“And why does she want to meet us?” Harry added.

“The Herd-mother is the guide of our herd, and she has tasked me to bring you to her because your owl was quite persistent. Now stow your wands. I promise you will not need them.”

Hermione and Harry stared at each other, the same thought running through their heads: “Hedwig!?”

Then as one they both thought it through and came to a simple conclusion: “Hedwig.”

The last time they’d seen Hedwig was when she’d unceremoniously flown off on their way to meet Hagrid, apparently she’d been busy since then.

Harry returned his wand back to its holster wrapped around his left arm, and Hermione let go of hers and pulled her hand from her pocket.

“So, uh, how much farther is it?” Harry asked.

“Close, Harry Potter,” the centaur said, and Hermione realized something.

“We don’t know your name.”

The centaur smiled; it was an odd thing to see on a face as unhuman as hers, but it wasn’t unpleasant. “I am Arden, Hermione Granger,” she said. “Now we are no longer strangers. Come.” And with that she turned and resumed walking, leaving the children little choice but to follow.

Their journey ended at a small, grassy hill bereft of trees, and at the base, they saw something swoop down towards them.

“Hedwig!” Both children shouted in excitement as the snowy owl perched on Hermione’s shoulder.

“So you ditched us at Hagrid’s to come play ambassador to the centaurs?” Harry asked.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Hermione added, failing to appreciate how insane that sentence would have sounded to her just two weeks ago.

Hedwig ignored the both of them, focusing instead on picking insects out of her feathers.

“The Herd-mother waits at the peak,” Arden said. “I will wait here.”

Hermione and Harry thanked the centaur, then they climbed the not-so-gentle slope of the hill to the peak.

When they got there, they found an old, female centaur sitting on the grass and staring at the starry, twilit sky.

The centaur, or the Herd-mother rather, had the same fit physique that every other centaur Hermione had seen so far possessed, though hers seemed to be wilting away with the years. Her rich dark fur was mixed with white in many areas, and, as Hermione was beginning to expect with centaurs, she wore no clothes.

Surprisingly however, the Herd-mother had no bow, just a long, wooden flute of a simple design.

Hedwig flew off Hermione’s shoulder to perch on the ground before the centaur, so she and Harry followed the bird’s lead and parked themselves on the soft grass too.

No one said anything for some time, and Hermione was beginning to wonder if she should, when the Herd-mother spoke without looking at them.

“Your lights are not needed here, Hermione Granger,” the old centaur said.

The girl startled a bit at the sudden presence of the Herd-mother’s calm but powerful voice, then she fished out her wand, and with a “nox” vanished the four silver lights she’d conjured earlier.

As soon as she did, some of the stars floated down from the night sky to hover around them, and it was only after a few seconds that Hermione realized what they truly were; fireflies.

The insects came by the dozens, a number that rapidly grew until soon their surroundings were lit with nothing but the glow of a thousand fireflies and the heavenly bodies up above.

It was beautiful.

“Whoa,” Harry breathed. “It’s like being on Pandora.”

Hermione didn’t know what Pandora was, but she did think this was quite magical.

The Herd-mother looked at them then, her deep, indescribable eyes peering into them both.

“Hermione Granger and The Boy-Who-Lived,” she intoned. “The Boy Who Is More. Many centaurs have lived and died without the stars changing their song—” at this she looked up at the heavens once again, then back down “—I do not know if I am happy that it has happened in my lifetime.”

Hermione and Harry stared at each other; that pretty much confirmed what they’d already known.

“So you know,” Hermione said. “About Harry.” It wasn’t really a question.

“What I know is the song of the stars, Hermione Granger,” the Herd-mother said. “And the stars now sing of you.” Her eyes pierced the girl. “And you.” They moved to Harry, where they hovered for a time before finding their way back up to the sky.

Thanks to the little she knew about the fabled divination prowess of the centaurs (which the books she’d read had stressed the centaurs refusal to teach to wizards), Hermione understood what the Herd-mother was implying well enough; Harry getting isekai’d had changed the future.

Like in Back to the Future, only scarier, since this wasn’t a movie that she could watch from the comfort of her favourite chair at home.

“What does it say?” Harry asked curiously. “The stars. What does their song say?”

Hermione’s eyes widened. That was a brilliant idea. If the Herd-mother told them the current future, then they would have an even bigger advantage against Voldemort.

The centaur’s response immediately knocked her rising excitement down a few notches. “Things that I will not tell you, Harry Potter.”

Hermione frowned. “Why not?” She asked, unsuccessfully keeping her irritation out of her voice.

“It’s okay, Hermione,” Harry said, sounding resigned. “I’m sure she has her reasons.”

Hermione didn’t see what reasons could be good enough to deny them information that might help them defeat Voldemort, who she had assumed was also the centaur’s enemy, but she let it go like Harry asked. Mostly because her intuition told her that nothing she said would change the Herd-mother’s mind.

“Fine then,” Hermione said, a little grumpily. “Is there anything you can tell us?”

“The Broken One will come soon, seeking nourishment for his half-life. We will be unable to stop him,” the Herd-mother said.

It didn’t take Hermione long at all to realise who the woman was talking about.

“Voldemort,” she and Harry said in unison, and the Herd-mother nodded.

“Hermione and I were planning to try to convince the acromantulas to help, if we could,” Harry said.

“You lack the strength to make the spiders do anything,” the Herd-mother said.

“So, it’s hopeless?” Hermione asked.

“Maybe not. If you have something of value to offer them.”

“Like what?” Harry asked, and the Herd-mother spread her arms in a slow shrug.

“I thought you could see the future?” Hermione asked, almost accusingly.

The Herd-mother smiled. “What it must be like to be human,” she mused. “To perceive so little of the world and still feel so sure in your understanding of it.”

The Herd-mother rose.

“If you win the spiders over,” she said, “we will work with them. Arden will ensure your safe return.”

And with a “farewell” the Herd-mother walked away, in the opposite direction from where Hermione and Harry had climbed up. She took with her the mass of fireflies that flowed around her like a swarm of stars, leaving the children alone on the semi-dark peak of the hill.

Harry let out a loud exhale. “I feel like I just walked through the Twilight Zone, or something,” he said, and Hermione had to agree.

They walked back down together, Hedwig perched once again on Hermione’s shoulder.

Arden said nothing to them when they met her at the base of the hill, just turned and started walking, and the children followed after Hermione once again provided some light.

The journey back was shorter than the journey there and even quieter, and that only changed when they reached the forest’s edge and Arden stopped and spoke.

“If you need me,” she said, “send your owl. She will know where to find me. Farewell, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter.”

Then she turned and walked away.

As they returned to the castle, Harry spoke. “You know, they’re quite different than what I remember in the books. The centaurs.”

Hermione looked at him. “Well, you said it yourself that J. K. Rowling must have done some things her own way in the story. You’re the one who’s always talking about author’s injecting their biases into their works.”

“No, I know, I know,” Harry said, “it’s just... I’m just wondering. If the centaurs are different then, what else is?”

And to that Hermione had no answer.