"It was here somewhere," the old healer muttered as he riffled through a stack of papers that formed a mountain upon his desk. Paper after paper came to his hand and was stacked on top and Simon wasn't even quite sure if he was really able to see any of them through such big glasses and low light of the room. Healer Barmy Quince, or "The Fossil" as many had called him, was trying to figure out what portkey Simon was to use for his upcoming field training. He was going to York, England for some hands-on learning to get a feel for how a clinic ran differently than a large wizarding hospital.

"Blasted parchments - why in the name of Merlin's moldy slippers do I never label anything?" he continued on. Simon waited patiently, as patiently as one could as he had been standing there for over twenty minutes now. He had offered his help when the confusion first began but was barked at so he now remained silent and shifted his weight to one foot.

"A-HA!" the man said and Simon felt a wash of relief fall over him but it quickly dissipated with the man grumbled. "No, that's a spleen salve recipe from '42."

More waiting was ahead.

"No, where is that blasted portkey..... Portkey? Or was it potion?" he wondered aloud.

"Portkey description for the York Internship, Sir," Simon reminded him. The healer jumped. "Blazes and bilberries, blast it all, must you sneak up on me like a banshee in the night?"

"My apologies, Sir," Simon said, although the clock on the wall had indicated that he had been there now 43 minutes now. "Perhaps I should come back later?" ....Or ask someone else.

"Yes, yes. Grand. Goodbye," Healer Quince stated as he began to straighten up some of the papers on his desk, not lessening them or organizing them, but at least placing them into a stack instead of the mountain that was before him.

Simon turned to leave, hoping this information could be found elsewhere. "Great goblins, here it is at last!" he said and stood up quickly. Simon turned around at the sound of the desk chair scraping against the old wooden floor to see the older healer waving a piece of brown paper in the air. "The cracked mirror in the staff basement bathroom above sink number seven."

Simon, who had started given up hope that he would be able to make it to this internship smiled, feeling as though it was now achievable. "Thank you! Thank you, Healer Quince."

Perhaps he'd have to return sometime and offer his help to organize the older healer's office. While he was older, and perhaps his mind was slipping some, he still was held in high regard there at St. Mungos and Simon hoped perhaps he could assist him. Simon left the office, too far out the door to hear the man grumble, "....or is that a one?"

Simon entered the empty staff bathroom on the basement level of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries and wondered what was with the magical world and their abandoned bathrooms? Hogwarts had an abandoned bathroom, St. Mungo's had this abanded bathroom, where else? Did every place in the wizarding world, if old enough, have one? Did they not hear of rennovations?

Behind a heavy oak door with a tarnished brass handle and a 'STAFF ONLY' sign rested the dimly lit room lined with cracked green tiles that was cleaned who knows how long ago. Eight elaborate ceramic sinks stretched along the left side of the wall. Many of them dripped steadily, creating a sort of rhythmic sound in the empty space.

Simon walked further in. Above the sinks were remnants of mirrors. The first sink's mirror was split diagonally down the middle, several others missing pieces here and there creating jagged edges, and the seventh one was shattered in spiderweb like cracks, creating twisted kaledioscope of an image.

No one uses this bathroom anymore; and with good reason. Simon supposed it was as good as any location to house a portkey. It was not a place Simon would have gone on his own accord but circumstance, not desire, led him there.

"The cracked mirror above sink number seven," he repeated the man's words as his eyes moved from sink to sink, carefully counting out seven in his mind as several of them were broken. It was the next to the last one.

Having never used a portkey before, Simon reached out slowly, unsure what to expect. The moment he touched the jagged edges of the mirror, the world seemed to lurch sideways. There was no time to steady himself, to prepare himself. His vision blurred and the sound around him warped and the air became dense.

With a pop he was thrown down onto grassy ground and birds scattered from a nearby tree. Rain clouds hovered above the land. This wasn't York with its dense concentration of buildings, where narrow, winding streets are lined with shops, cafes, pubs, offices, museums, and homes.

Instead he saw a woodland of oak trees and birch before him. Moss covered rocks rested below him. Simon got to his feet to look around and could hear a stream running somewhere closeby somewhere hidden in the moss-draped trees. It felt like something out of a fairy tale.

He wasn't sure which direction to choose. He could further enter the woodland to the left, to the right, behind him, or in front of him; as there seemed to be nothing else.

Time passed, hours. Just as Simon was about to sit down and catch his breath, something darted across the clearing. It was a small sleek creature with amber fur and a bushy tail. It paused on a rock and Simon took a slow step forward to get a better look when SNAP - his foot broke a twig. The pine marten jerked, made a noise, and vanished into the underbrush.

"Some hunter, you are," a voice behind him was heard and Simon quickly turned around to see a centaur in front of him, bow and arrow in hand. "A single moment, that's all it takes to undo an hour's patience. Vanished in a blink, gone like a dream."

"My apologies. I'm just trying to get out of the woods. I got lost. Hours ago, maybe more," he wasn't sure.

"A boy lost in the greenwoods - worse tales have begun with less. I'd dare say though, you are not lost at all, as you have been found. Now we shall go. I shall not leave your wayward soul to the mercy of dusk and its darker kin. Come, then. The path you need is not the one you came by."

Simon paused, unsure both of what the centaur meant but also if it was the best course of action to take or not. Perhaps magical creature should stay with magical creature. "Try not to startle any more spirits of the glade," the centaur said as Simon caught up. "Some are less forgiving than I."

Simon wasn't quite sure whether he should follow but the centaur seemed welcoming enough, as far as what he had heard of centaurs - and the creature had been absolutely right - he was lost but now had been found and that was certanily better than still being lost.

"Thank you for finding me," Simon said, wondering if he should be talking. With mention of not wanting to leave his soul to the mercy for the dusk and its darker kin and talking of spirits of the flade that were less forgiving than the centaur, Simon wondered exactly what was, or what the centaur felt, close by. "I'm Simon and it's a pleasure to meet you. I've never had the honor of speaking with a centaur before - may I ask your name? Do you know where we are?"

Was it ill manners to ask a centaur's name? Oy the things he had yet to learn in Care of Magical Creatures.

"The forest doesn't guide the feet of the lost - only those who are meant to arrive. I am Kaelith of the Starglen Wanderers. I knew you were near. You were spoken of in the rusle of the leaves. You may not know why you're here but the land does. We stand in the far southwestern wilds of Cork, whre the earth breathes deep beneath ancient skies. Here, in the remote valleys cloaked in whispering forests near Glengarriff, the land sings old songs - not far from the quiet habors of Castletownbere and the mist-veiled heights of Adrigole. This is a place where the veil between worlds things, and the spirits of the wild roam free."

Simon nodded as if he understood that but felt the centaur studying him and he knew that he wasn't very convincing in his endeavor. "Cork....Ireland? I was supposed to be going to York. York, England."

"York lies far beyond these hills," the centaur said and continued to lead Simon further through the thick forest. The dense trees blocked all light from above and made it difficult to discern the time of day. "But do understand, no error brought you here."

Simon shook his head. "I was traveling by portkey and something went wrong," he protested. The centaur let out of a loud huff, seemingly annoyed by this. "No error brought you here," he repeated. "The paths of fate are woven by threads unseen, guiding you not where you wished to be, but where you are meant to stand. This place calls to you for a purpose yet to unfold."

Simon was just about to ask what the centaur thought the purpose might be when he heard music in the distance. Before long, Simon was entering a small clearing within the forest walls. Several centaurs gathered around a campfire in a drumming circle made from hollow logs and stretched animal hide for the tops. The deep rhythmic puse felt like the heartbeat of the forest itself.

Some others had flutes that were carved from what looked like slender reeds that played melodies that flowed like gentle streams. And one had a harp-like instrument that played notes that seemed to float above the others.

It was as if they were one with nature and Simon truly no longer did feel lost as the music brought a feeling of belonging and calm. They were welcoming him through his true element - music. It was as if they sensed his soul's deep connection to sound and rhythm and welcomed him into their herd. Or perhaps it was the herbs they burned at the campfire, their fragrant smoke twisting and spiraling into the air and through the forest like silent incantations, drawing him deeper into their sacred circle.

The few that didn't have any instrument at all tapped their hooves upon the ground in rhythm and Simon, who also had no drum, no flute, no harp, tapped his hands upon his thighs in sync as he sat down on a fallen tree limb that made him think of one of the special spots he often shared with AngelFyre back by the lake at Hogwarts.

Tharos, leader of the herd, said he would send word to the Ministry of Magic that Simon was there in the land of Cork instead of York and they would help him get home or where he needed to be - in time. "The forest does not send without purpose. You are not yet meant to leave but when the time comes, we will guide you home. Those who seek you will know you are not lost, only walking the path set before you."

"My path?" Simon asked. He knew that centaurs were big on divination. What did they see? "Your path to your purpose in joining us. Not all paths are marked with signs. Some begin in smoke and bitter brew. Come, perhaps the simmering of herbs will allow your purpse to rise like mist."

The music had ended, with the exception of one centaur who continued to play on their flute in a beautiful melody that filled the forest. Simon watched as the centaurs now began to brew what seemed to be a sort of calming draught over the open fire using cauldons. Moonwort and Silverleaf were two of the ingredients placed inside and there were many Simon didn't know despite his extensive Herbology knowledge.

After some talk, of centaurs and half/vampire getting to know one another, a centaur named Elarin poured some of the liquid from the cauldron into a transparent crystal-glass goblet which allowed him to see the violet liquid. As it shifted from being transported from centaur hand to half-vampire hand, the purple shimmered as if containing glitter and resembled the star-streaked night sky.

Once upon a time ago, back in his muggle reality, Aunt Maggie would have scolded him for not only going into the woods with strangers but hanging out with them and taking in consumables that they gave you, especially when you didn't know what exactly was in it. That was long ago, long before he knew of the existance of witchcraft and wizardry and an astounding world of wonder and curiousity. That was before crazier things had happened to him and one didn't need to worry so much about strangers when their own father was their greatest worry. Besides, it just didn't seem polite.

Simon took a sip from the cup and believed it to be mostly made of wild berries but it did seem to refresh him quite quickly. The centaurs all had some of the drink as well, including the flute player who now allowed the wilderness of the night to take over in creating the soundscape around them.

"Friend, the hour approaches for Selene's Gallop." Kaelith said as he placed his glass down into a crate nearby. Simon looked to him, wondering if that was a term he should know. "It is the ancient rite to align our spirits with the dance of the stars. Before we watch the heavens, we must prepare ourselves with the ritual as the moon guides the sky tonight. Ready your senses, my friend, for it will deepen your sight and bind your fate to the cosmos."

Simon nodded as he finished up the last bit of liquid in his glass and placed it gently into the same crate. All the centaurs were now moving to the outskirts of the forest, where the trees opened up to the night sky above, spckled with stars.

There was no drumming, no fluting, no harping when it came to Selene's Gallop - just the body creating rhythm and pulse. The centaur's hooves moved along the ground, as if aligning in harmony with one another, as if aligning in harmony with the earth.

Simon closed his eyes to the cadence of the centaur's dance and felt his own connection. Perhaps he hadn't hooves to share in their ritual but his soul galloped alongside of theirs. Together, all present had built a harmonious bond. Simon felt it.

Or maybe it was the glittering purple liquid.

The centaurs formed a circle in the field, stars above. They laid down, their torsos stretched upward as they looked above. Each held what seemed to be an enchanted telescope made from wood and crystal. They didn't talk, not words of conversation, but statements here and there.

"The stars write not in ink, but in music. Tonight's melody is loud with drums and horns. Listen: it is a call to rise."

"See there? The tail of Scorpius curling between the wanderers. Secrets shall be uncovered not with force, but by patience."

"Beaneath this aspect, vengeance masquerades as justice. Beware those who shout of honor with blood still on their hands."

"Mars casts upon Jupiter's crown - ancient essences will burn, cowards will choke in shadow."

Simon listened to the cryptic statements said before him but could not seem to decipher meaning. This was celestial observations and astrology with centaurs who had just drank the same glittery purple liquid he had, breathed in the same herb-induced smoke from the cauldron in the forest clearing, and participated in the same musical rituals - how much validity was there in their words? He would not know that these words were a mirror, reflecting something vast and trembling within his future.

"When you gaze upon the expanse, do any stars call to you as they do us?" one of the centaurs asked him.

Simon had been looking above and to the right, having found it almost immediately after laying down. "That one," he said as he pointed upward. His gaze was upon the constellation of Ursa Major and he pointed to the glimmer that made up the nose of the great bear. "SimFyre," he added.

Any murmurring from the centaurs ceased and they all seemed to point their handheld telescopes toward that location in the starlit sky, seeming intrigued by it perhaps because it was unknown to them. "It's the binary star that makes up the nose of Ursa Major. A constant, in tandem, two lights bound together. It's not named that on your charts, but that's it's name for me."

"Go on, friend. The sky has more to say and we are listening."

Simon knew he couldn't be as poetic as the centaurs, but still he would try to make it at least sound interesting.

"Once upon a time, like so many other stories, there was a boy and there was a girl and they would fall in love. The boy was curious and kind and the girl was beautiful and wise. When they met, it was as if two stars recognized one another - light meeting light, soul meeting soul. Their friendship quickly grew into a love that was deep and bright like twin fires of a binary star."

"AngelFyre, the girl, a seer, was ever watchful and saw a shadow in the flame. She told Simon, the boy, 'Beware your father. His heart is not made of what yours is. He will try to change you, to claim you. Stay away from him.'"

"Simon loved her and he trusted her visions but having not known his mother he carried a loneliness that nothing could fully quiet. He wanted a bond, he wanted an understanding of himself and while it caused an ache within him, he went against AngelFyre's warning and sought out his father."

"His father did his best to indoctrinate him into his coven of vampires, weaved him into an intricate world of misdeeds and wrongdoing, attempted to control him. His father arranged his marriage to another and expected Simon to give into every manipulation, saying, "I am your father, Simon. Do as I say with all facets of these plans, including those with AngelFyre. Consequences could be....dire." He heeded warning."

"It was a threat and Simon had no choice but to temporarily end his relationship with AngelFyre to keep her safe. It was hope and sacrifice; faith. He kept faith and held it tightly. Faith was believing that their love wouldn't die when let go but would transform into hope, into prayer, into something that could be carried quietly in the spaces between them."

"They were still together through the distance - together in thought, together in feeling. They were soulmates that could never be separated. Even when apart, they would forever orbit one another, locked in an eternal dance of closeness."

"I like to look up and think of two lovers, soulmates that are forever drawn to one another, close enough to feel the warmth of their light. There's a promise written up in that sky for them that even when they're apart true love never loses its way."

"Alas, I grieve to hear of your heartbreak, wizard," a centaur said who was across from him in the circle. The space fell silent for a bit until the wind picked up, causing some leaves to scatter around them. "Yea...." Simon whispered softly and didn't like this silence; it felt like emptiness.

"How about one of you tell a star story?" maybe it would be a little more uplifting or at least fill the void.

The one that made the apology to Simon got up, trotted slowly over toward Simon, and then extended his hands out toward Simon with his eyes closed as if reading his aura or something.

"The wind speaks and provides one; one that calls to you, new friend," the centaur said before laying down on the space to Simon's right.

"The Tale of Equuelus and the Flame of Alrakis...." he began.

"Oh, whispering wind.....you who shapes the world with runes and reason. Heed now the tale of the stars, one that hooves remember and few heed in time." All the others were quiet, the silence allowing their full attention on the centaur talking.

"Long ago, before men carved spells into stone, the constellation Equuleus, the Little Horse, galloped beside the great ones. He was young and swift. He danced near Alrakis, the star in the eye of the Dragon, Draco, who watched over the sky with burning sight. Equueleus saw the flicking Alrakis, a red pulse into the night. Old centaurs had long whispered 'when the dragon's eye dims thrice, misforgune gallops behind it.' But Equuleus ignored the prophecy, chasing a comet. He gallop contineud through the night, ignoring the dragon's warning."

"But the dimming came: once, twice, then a third. On that third, the comet turned not into understanding but into cinder. It sruck near Equuleus's trail. The young horse was lost to the night and the stars wept. Now, friend, when Alrakis flickers red in the dragon's gaze, and Equuleus rises with the late summer moon, beware. The stars speak not in riddles but patterns. The bold who ignore the sky's rhythm may awaken ruin. Mark my words: three dimmings, three weeks. Heed the signs or repeat the fail. You are Equuleus, be mindful of Alrakis. The sky has already spoken, though few hear its cry. When the stag drinks in the early morn, the reckoning will begin. Three cycles remain."

All eyes were now on him and Simon. In three weeks' time he would be going to visit his father. Was that what the centaur was referencing? What sort of reckoning?

All of a sudden Simon felt like he just wanted to be in York, England.