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Two Names Are In The Stars


ARRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

ARR-ARR-ARRR-ARRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

The howls echoed through the woods - the werewolf’s so much louder and more chilling than the dogs’s. They crashed through the woods, the stag rushing to keep up, having a much harder go of it with his thick antlers catching on branches as he ducked along through the brush. It was the first good moon in some time, where Padfoot had managed to get control over the werewolf fairly quickly and they’d gone out into the woods to run freely among the bracken.

James had missed this. He’d missed the feeling of the air and the smell of the forest and the crunch of leaves and twigs beneath his hooves. He missed the running and the leaping over logs and low brush, missed the sound of the canines fading in and out around him as they ran, so much faster and more agile than he was, dark in the shadows, nearly impossible to see in the pale moon until they got into clearings. He paused now and then to rest, his heart throbbing in his chest, and nibbled on bark from trees or grass from the ground and listened to the dogs barking playfully about him in the forest.

Sirius always said how much better it felt to be in the animagus form when he was feeling blue - you could always tell when Sirius was feeling sad, he’d be popping in and out of Snuffles form all over the place back in the dorm room, and shedding his stupid black fur on every surface. Sometimes, James forgot how right Sirius was about it, how jealous he was that Sirius’s animagus was something he could easily transform into anywhere without getting his antlers caught up in stuff. James felt better now, in the trees, as a stag, than he’d felt for some time. Since the start of term, really.

Prongs paused in running to catch his breath, and walked slow through a clearing, listening as the sounds of the dogs rushing through the trees faded off. They’d come back for him, he wasn’t worried about it. He paused and nosed about slowly.

There was a sound then, through the trees and he looked up, raising his head to peer through the dark, ears twitching.

Probably one of the dogs, he thought.

But then he heard it again and turned toward it.

Suddenly there was a spear pressed to his neck.

“Reveal yourself.”

The spear was long and it disappeared into the dark behind the trees, but even covered in shadow and branches he could see with his stag eyes that it was a centaur that had spoken. He swallowed his nerves and he closed his eyes and transformed, standing up once it was completed and instinctively raising his hands, palms-up, to show he didn’t have his wand in his hand.

Actually, he didn’t have his wand at all, he realized.

It was back in the Shrieking Shack in his robes pocket.

“My name is James Potter, I’m a wizard… a student... from Hogwarts,” he said quickly.

“I know who you are, Boy,” answered a low voice.

James stayed still.

“All of our kind know who you are.” The spear was lowered and James slowly lowered his hands.

“You do?” he asked.

“Yes,” said the voice, even lower than before. “Your name has been known by the centaurs for years.”

James felt uneasy. “Why?”

“It is written in the stars.”

“What’s written in the stars?” James asked.

“Your name,” the centaur answered.

“What?” James asked, “Why?”

There was a crunching then and the centaur stepped through the trees. He was huge and bronze, with dark hair and beard, thick, which framed his face like a mane. He wore iron cuffs about his wrists and a quiver slung over his back was filled with arrows with stone tips, ground to deadly points. James stared up at him - he was so much taller than even Remus Lupin was tall, and probably three times as thick, with biceps so thick they seemed unhumanly large. James realized with surprise that he recognized this beast… He had been one of the centaurs that crossed the path of the night they’d run to the forest to meet with Voldemort back in first year.

Their names had been Bane and Neremai… and Neremai had been killed by Fenrir Greyback in third year… so this then, this must be Bane.

The centaur studied him a moment.

“Two names are in the stars.
Two are chosen by the fates.
Like two ways through the woods.
The path is not chosen until he who walks
Takes the first step.
Then one of the names shall fade.”

He stared at James, looking him head to foot, and he said, “But the name of Potter is known.” He paused, then, “Go on your way, James Potter… but take with you the beast you’ve brought along when you go… and think twice in the future of trespassing onto Centaur’s land in the future. Another may not be as kind. Particularly to your beast.” And before James could ask a question or say a single thing, Bane had turned and leaped away through the trees.

It was like coming out of a daze. James blinked and looked around, disoriented for a moment after the departure of the centaur and he didn’t realize at first that the sounds of barking was getting louder until it was nearly too late. He popped back into his Stag form only just in time as the werewolf and the dog came bounding into the clearing - the wolf carrying a rabbit from his mouth, and the dog barking merrily, bouncing circles around the wolf, excited for the rabbit dinner.

They stayed there in the clearing to eat and the dogs fell asleep after a time, their bellies full, their legs tired of running, and Prongs sat beside them, looking off through the trees, half expecting the centaur to return…




Regulus ran through the castle, panting, until he got to the Hufflepuff dormitory door, where he realized he had no way to get Maryrose to come out to see him, and he paced for a few minutes before dropping onto the floor, his back against the wall, and struggling to catch his breath. He closed his eyes.

The image of Sirius in that blasted orb swam before his eyes.

Prophecy, Voldemort had called it. Then it was a prediction of something that would come to be. Something that the Blind Seer had seen about Sirius. Regulus hated how pale and awful he had looked in that orb, how narrow and sickly, like he was dead, like those terrible inferius in the cave.

There was a funny moment in Regulus’s head at the thought.

What cave?

The thought had come so naturally, the knowledge of a cave with inferius inside of it… of murky green-black water and pale, white flesh lurking just below the surface… Regulus hugged his knees, a panic rising up inside of him…

Surely it was the memory from a nightmare.

Surely there couldn’t truly be a cave with dead people lurking below the surface.

Could there?

But there was something chilling about the thought that made Regulus feel haunted and he scratched his left arm as it felt like it was beginning to burn. He stared at the dormant black ink and he frowned.

He got up after awhile, unable to sit still any longer, and he went walking back through the castle. It was late and he just hoped he wouldn’t run into Argus Filch or his nasty flea bitten cat. The last thing he needed was detention. He wished he knew where in the castle Voldemort was, as he didn’t fancy a run-in with him, and he snuck down the stairs into the entrance hall, glancing over the bannister, afraid to find him there below. But he made it to the Slytherin common room without running into Voldemort and he breathed in relief as he shut the door behind him before falling onto one of the couches with a heavy sigh of relief.

He was laying there still when he woke with a start.

He could’ve sworn he’d heard somebody call his name.

But he was alone in the common room… even the fire was out.

He sat up.

A dream, he thought, I’ve dreamed someone was calling me. There’s no one here.

But since he was alone…

“Kreacher,” he called quietly.

There was a pause and then crack! Kreacher stood on the coffee table before Regulus, his ears drooping sleepily, his eyes bleary. “Master… Master calls his Kreacher and Kreacher comes,” the elf yawned widely.

Regulus leaned forward, “I’m sorry to disturb you,” he said his voice quiet, “But I’ve something important to ask of you and nobody else must ever find out. Do you understand? I forbid you to speak of it to anyone but me.”

“Kreacher understands what Master Regulus asks of him, yes.”

Regulus said, “A few years ago, you were sent to Hogwarts to fetch a clock. My father sent you. Do you remember that?”

“Yes Master Regulus.”

“Do you still have that clock, Kreacher?”

“Yes, Master Regulus, Kreacher is still having that horrible horrible clock!” the elf whined, tugging his ears. “Kreacher is hearing its ticking all of the day and all of the night, the ticking never stops, and even though Kreacher is wanting to smash it with a hammer, Kreacher is not breaking the clock because Master Orion said to Kreacher that the clock was very, very important and so Kreacher has been keeping it very safe all of this time.”

Regulus said, “Kreacher. Will you bring me the clock?”

Kreacher hesitated.

“Kreacher?”

“Master Orion told Kreacher to never, ever give that clock to anyone except for him, sir.”

Regulus made his voice very stern and he said, “Well Master Orion is dead, Kreacher, and I am your Master, not father. So I command you to bring me the clock.”

Kreacher stared up at Regulus and his great bulbous eyes filled with tears, “Yes Master Regulus.”

Crack!

Regulus waited for Kreacher to return. He felt sort of horrid for being stern with the elf, making his big eyes tear up the way he had, but sometimes it was the only way. When Kreacher returned, Regulus took the clock he held out. “Thank you Kreacher,” he said gently, and he reached out and awkwardly petted the old elf’s ears and Kreacher sort of cowered when Regulus first held out his hand - trained by many years experience that a wizard’s raised palm meant a beating - but timidly accepted the pats once he realized Regulus meant him no ham and his whole body shivered beneath Regulus’s touch.

The clock was plain.

It was simple.

It was an old fashioned alarm clock, with the two bells and the wide white face with black numbers and two narrow hands moving ‘round the face. It ticked loudly, for a clock, audibly, and Regulus stared at it for several long moments as it tick-tocked up at him. He took a deep breath and he reached down and with two fingers he pinched one of the hands and held it fast. The hand tried to tick, but it could not tick and it tried to tock but it could not tock and for a moment, Regulus thought he had topped it, when the hand paused in it’s struggle against his grasp…

But then --

“Ow, ow!”

A great blazing pain shot through his fingertips, as though he were being seared and he released the hand of the clock to find it had gone red-hot and burned his finger so badly he had a welt already rising up in the skin - white edged and red in the center, already blistering. He stuck his fingers in his mouth.

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, the clock went on as though it had never been stopped at all.

Kreacher stared at Regulus with wide, imploring eyes.

“Thank you Kreacher,” murmured Regulus. “You can go, I’ll keep this with me.”

And with a crack, the elf had gone.