The air in the Forbidden Forest was thick with the mingled scents of damp earth and rotting leaves.
Hermione trod upon the thick layer of fallen leaves, creating a rustling sound.
Lia walked beside her, her head turning every which way as she breathed in the moist air.
Her little nose twitched incessantly; besides the fragrance of plants and decay, there was an additional, peculiar scent in the air.
"Hermione," Lia tugged at Hermione's sleeve, "there's someone ahead."
Hermione halted, the tip of her already-clenched wand glowing faintly.
She didn't need Lia's reminder; she had already sensed it.
That feeling of being watched, those hostile gazes prickling her back, emanating from the shadows behind every giant tree.
The shadows among the trees began to writhe.
The sound of hooves arose, heavy and rhythmic.
Four figures emerged from the dense woods. Their upper bodies were muscular human torsos, while their lower halves were powerful equine bodies, exuding a sense of primal strength.
The leading Centaur had jet-black hair and a stern countenance; it was Firenze.
His gaze, deep as the night sky, settled on Lia, revealing a hint of barely perceptible pity.
"Child, it seems you have recovered," Firenze first offered Lia a faint smile, then that pity turned to sorrow, "only... at a cost."
Upon hearing this, Hermione's heart sank heavily, vaguely guessing at something.
When Lia first went missing, she had searched the Forbidden Forest but found nothing except a few tufts of hair caught on branches and some familiar footprints.
Before she could ponder further, the other Centaurs behind Firenze held longbows, arrows nocked, their stone arrowheads gleaming with a cold light, aimed at Hermione.
"Human," Firenze's voice grew low, his tone shifting completely from his attitude towards Lia, now filled with warning, "you have crossed a boundary. The Forbidden Forest does not welcome trespassers."
"I am not a trespasser," Hermione met his scrutinizing gaze without flinching, "I have come seeking answers."
Another Centaur with russet-red hair, Bane, let out a disdainful snort: "Human answers should be sought in your libraries piled high with lies, not by disturbing the children of the Stars."
His words were saturated with deep-rooted contempt and hostility towards humans.
Hermione ignored him, her gaze remaining fixed on Firenze.
He was the one among these Centaurs most willing to communicate with humans.
"I came for her."
Hermione pointed to Lia beside her.
Lia glanced at Hermione, puzzled.
Cats and Centaurs... they seemed completely unrelated, right?
In an instant, the gazes of all the Centaurs focused on the petite Cat-girl.
Hermione noticed that their initially wary and scrutinizing looks, upon turning to Lia, transformed into a complex mix of pity, reverence, and sorrow.
Lia felt somewhat uncomfortable under their stares and let out a small hiss in the direction of the Centaur group.
The Centaurs could sense Lia wasn't truly hostile, so they said nothing, merely shifting their gaze away naturally.
"Child of nature..." Firenze murmured, his deep blue eyes, like the starry sky, reflecting Lia's form, "tainted by civilization, yet struggling to preserve a pure soul. Her path bears too many contradictory trails."
"You can see her past." Hermione's tone was not a question, "The Stars record everything, don't they?"
Bane was about to rebuke Hermione for her disrespect, but Firenze raised a hand, stopping him.
His gaze lingered on Hermione's face for a long time, examining her soul with the wisdom of the Stars.
"What do you wish to know?" Firenze asked.
"Everything." Hermione paused, "Every one of her deaths."
Upon these words, the very air seemed to freeze.
Firenze fell silent. The starlight in his eyes seemed to spin faster, mirroring the stubborn fire burning in Hermione's eyes.
"The truth may be a poison to you."
He spoke slowly, "The weight of some knowledge is enough to crush a mortal's mind."
"I want to know." Hermione repeated, each word seeming forced through gritted teeth.
The Centaurs stirred slightly but quieted down at Firenze's signal.
Finally, Firenze nodded.
"As you wish," he said, "Friend of the child of nature. But this torture of truth belongs to you alone.
This child need not endure the torment of recollection again."
He turned to a younger Centaur behind him.
"Ronan, take her to the Moon Spring. The Luminous Moss there should be in bloom."
"Come with me, little one. The spring water is sweeter than honey."
The young Centaur Ronan stepped forward, offering Lia a gentle smile, "The forest's gifts are far superior to the food in your human world."
Lia turned her head worriedly to look at Hermione, hooking Hermione's finger with the tip of her tail.
Hermione went to her, stroking the top of her head, trying hard to make her voice sound as gentle as usual: "Go on, Lia. I'll wait for you here."
"Mm-hmm." Lia nodded and followed Ronan deeper into the forest.
Only after Lia's figure had completely disappeared into the thicket did Hermione straighten up again, facing Firenze.
"Now, we can begin."
Firenze did not reply.
He led Hermione to a clearing where a large gap in the canopy allowed a direct view of the sky.
Even during the day, the brightest Stars could faintly be seen twinkling.
"We Centaurs do not use the crude magic of you Wizards," Firenze said, "We listen to the language of the Stars. The constellations are eternal witnesses; they record every echo since the dawn of time. Including each of her moments of despair, each of her deaths."
He walked up to Hermione and extended a calloused yet remarkably steady hand.
"Empty your mind. Do not resist. The Stars do not deceive with words; they only let you'see'."
His fingertip gently touched the center of Hermione's forehead.
The world lost sound and color in an instant... then, her vision lit up.
The gray, diluted daylight of a London street, thinned by clouds and fog.
Icy raindrops lashed her face, carrying the stench of industrial rust and decaying garbage.
She found herself lying in a cramped, filthy back alley, her perspective unnaturally low.
A trash can lay overturned; filthy water mixed with rainwater, forming murky puddles in the rutted ground.
A damp cold pierced her bones, hunger burned in her stomach, and a deep, bone-exposing wound on her body felt numb and swollen from the icy rain.
It was Lia.
She had become Lia.
She could feel the intense pain in her abdomen, but clearer still was that warm, life-giving energy flowing through her limbs, capable of healing any injury and dispelling all cold at any moment.
If she wished, this wound and cold were hardly life-threatening.
She could survive.
But... "Hermione..."
When this name escaped Lia's lips unconsciously, Hermione's soul trembled violently, an overwhelming sense of foreboding exploding within her.
She saw, in the reflection of the murky puddle, Lia's sky-blue eyes filled with endless guilt, self-blame, and self-loathing.
That warm life force was forcibly suppressed by her will.
The feeling was like a person deliberately holding their breath, refusing air, only worse.
An indescribable emptiness and cold instantly swept through her entire body.
Blood from the wound, no longer suppressed, gushed forth anew, staining the filthy water beneath her red.
Her body's warmth rapidly dissipated in the rain.
Consciousness began to blur and sink.
Before plunging completely into darkness, the last thing she saw was her own eyes in the puddle, gradually losing their light.
And the image that surfaced in her mind of her own horrified, wounded expression upon hearing the word "mudblood"... "Hah—!"
Hermione violently tore herself from that suffocating vision, gasping for breath like a drowning person granted new life, retching dryly a few times.
She was still standing in the clearing in the Forbidden Forest, the scent of pine needles in her nose, the rustle of wind through leaves in her ears.
The taste of London's rain and rust seemed to linger on her palate.
Firenze stood before her, his starry eyes holding silent pity.
The truth.
This was the truth of Lia's seventh death, wrapped layer upon layer with lies.
Not because the enemy was too strong, not because the accident was too cruel.
It was Lia herself who had relinquished the hope of life.
Because, after she had uttered that word "mudblood," consumed by endless guilt and self-blame, she had actively extinguished her own flame of life.
Hermione staggered, steadying herself only by grabbing onto a giant tree beside her.
She could seek revenge against Lucius, she could fight Lord Voldemort, but how could she retaliate against a self-destruction born from love and guilt?
So that's how it was.
"And the other times?" Hermione looked somewhat bewildered at Firenze.
Firenze gave her a deep look.
"You've already guessed, haven't you? Dreams only guide towards the unknown."
She lowered her head, her shoulders trembling slightly.
Firenze watched her, speaking in a low voice.
"The Stars only reveal the past. The future lies in the hands of the living."
[Oh no! Today's the day of the Ibuprofen King!]
[Thanks to Ibuprofen for always saving my sorry life...]
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