Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7876438.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J.K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Harry_Potter/Other(s)
  Character:
      Harry_Potter, Other_-_Character
  Additional Tags:
      First_Time, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, BDSM, Bestiality
  Collections:
      Ink_Stained_Fingers
  Stats:
      Published: 2004-02-19 Words: 14106
****** Quiet ******
by Sophie Richard [archived by ISF_Archivist]
Summary
     In his sixth year, Harry becomes overwhelmed by human company. Only
     Firenze properly understands his needs.
Notes
     This story was originally archived at Ink_Stained_Fingers, which was
     created in 2002 as a home for Harry Potter slash fiction. To preserve
     the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an
     Open Doors-approved project in January 2015. We e-mailed all authors
     about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached
     everyone. If you are (or know) this author or artist, please contact
     me using the e-mail address at the Ink_Stained_Fingers_collection
     profile.
Quiet




  Harry walked through the almost deserted halls of Hogwarts one sunny Saturday
  afternoon, brooding. Ever since the beginning of the sixth year, Ron and
  Hermione had kept him at a distance. Not in obvious ways, but more and more,
  he was beginning to find himself excluded by them. He supposed that was his
  fault. He had, after all, become almost unable to talk to anyone. There was
  just so much weighing on his mind that he found himself retreating into
  solitude.

  That solitude was interrupted by a quiet voice from a doorway. "Harry
  Potter."

  Looking up, Harry saw the centaur Firenze watching him impassively. "Hullo,
  F- I mean, Professor."

  "You seem troubled. Come in."

  Harry lifted his eyebrows, but did as he was told, entering the peaceful
  classroom, standing awkwardly. "Professor, I'm really all ri-"

  "I have no use for human honorifics," Firenze interrupted. "You may call me
  by my name."

  "Firenze," Harry acknowledged. "I'm really all right, I'm not troubled or
  anything."

  Firenze raised his eyebrows. "Of all the human behaviors that I find
  puzzling, that of lying for no particular reason is the most difficult."

  Harry blushed. "I'm sorry, but I just...don't want to talk about things."
  Firenze's bluntness was more than he could resist.

  The centaur nodded gravely a few times. He looked Harry up and down. "Perhaps
  you simply need to take time to rest and think."

  "I guess so," Harry agreed. "But I just...get so distracted." When he was
  alone, he wanted to be with people, when he was with people, he wanted very
  much to be alone. It was maddening, and he needed to sort it out, but
  couldn't seem to. "I like my friends," he continued slowly. "But they don't
  seem to understand...and then, sometimes, I just want to be quiet."

  Firenze regarded him gravely for a long time, then trotted to the middle of
  the small glade, and sank to his knees, tucking his legs comfortably under
  him. "Come here."

  Harry hesitantly moved to stand in front of Firenze, and looked down at him.
  "What do you-?"

  "If you wish," Firenze said calmly, "you may sit with me for a time."

  It was an odd suggestion, and for a moment, Harry thought about refusing, and
  going off to his dormitory or the library. When he thought about it, though,
  there was something restful about Firenze's presence. It was something in his
  quiet watchfulness and careful speech. "All right." Harry carefully settled
  himself to the ground, his back facing Firenze. He was startled when a pair
  of strong arms wrapped around him and pulled him close. "What-?"

  "Just lean back, and relax," Firenze instructed soothingly. "I shall not harm
  you."

  Harry was stiff for several minutes, not precisely understanding what Firenze
  was doing, but after a while, the soothing smells of horse and man had
  relaxed him, and he leaned his head back, cautiously, against Firenze's chest
  before closing his eyes. There was something incredibly comforting about
  being held in those strong, yet impersonal arms.

  In the end, Harry didn't think much, just soaked up the restfulness of
  sitting there, listening to the sound of the centaur's breathing and drinking
  in his fragrance. He didn't move for a good two hours, and during that time,
  all of his troubles seemed to have...not disappeared, but receded, and become
  manageable.

  The bell for dinner startled them both, and Harry sat up quickly. He got to
  his feet awkwardly, and Firenze did the same. Harry looked up at him rather
  shyly. "Thank you. You were right, it did help."

  Firenze nodded. "You have a period of great difficulty ahead of you. Should
  you need me again, do not hesitate to seek me out. I think we understand one
  another."

  Harry thanked him again quickly, and headed for the Great Hall. But as he ate
  his dinner, and talked with Ron and Hermione, all he could think about was
  how pointless all the chatter was, and how much more he preferred Firenze's
  restful quiet.

  *****

  That night, as Harry was getting ready for bed, the other boys in the
  dormitory already asleep, Ron was unexpectedly friendly. "Where were you all
  afternoon, mate? We were looking for you."

  Harry rather doubted that...it had been a while since Ron and Hermione had
  actually sought out his company, but the consideration warmed him just the
  same. "I was in one of the classrooms with Firenze."

  Ron looked up quickly. "Really? What did he want, then? Is it about the
  homework? He's not near as easy to bluff through as Trelawney."

  A slight frown crossed Harry's face. "No, it wasn't about that. We
  just...sort of sat together. It was nice, really."

  Ron scratched his chin. "He didn't want to talk about anything?"

  "No. He..." Harry blushed and fidgeted a little bit. "He kind of held me for
  a long time. It was comfortable." That was the best word he could think of to
  describe it, but it didn't come near to the truth of the near-perfect peace
  that being with Firenze had offered him.

  Ron's jaw dropped, his face a caricature of shock. "He HELD you?"

  "Yeah," Harry admitted, uncomfortably. "But it wasn't weird or anything. I
  just sat there with him."

  Ron shook his head, a look of disgust crossing his face. "Harry, I reckon he
  wanted to bugger you." He thought for a moment. "Blimey, and with that thing
  it'd probably kill you."

  "It wasn't like that," Harry protested. "He was just being nice."

  "Oh, yeah? Well, tell me this. Was it your idea to go cuddling up to him?"

  "Well, no, but-"

  "So he just started touching you?"

  "Sort of, but not like THAT." It hadn't been like that, Harry thought. It was
  just comforting, nothing more.

  Ron lifted his eyebrows. "Harry, I think you're being a bit thick. Maybe it
  was all innocent this time, but I bet he wanted you to come back, didn't he?"

  Harry shifted awkwardly. "Well, he said I could. He didn't order me to or
  anything."

  "I think you should tell Dumbledore," Ron said soberly.

  "No!" Harry's voice was vehement. "I told you, he didn't do anything wrong."

  "So...you liked it," Ron said slowly.

  "Not...not that way." Harry was beginning to desperately wish that he'd never
  told Ron about this. "I'm not gay."

  Ron looked relieved. "Then I tell you what, even if you don't want to tell
  Dumbledore, you'd better stay right away from Firenze. I mean, he is only
  half-human. They probably do things that humans don't."

  "Yeah," Harry said, unwilling to argue the subject any longer. "I guess
  you're right."

  *****

  Harry realized later that he should have known better than to expect any kind
  of reticence from Ron. By their first Divination lesson on Monday, all the
  Gryffindors in their year knew all about the situation, with varying degrees
  of accuracy.

  The information seemed to have eased their awe of Firenze, and as the centaur
  stood describing the movements of heavenly bodies, the boys began playing. It
  started with Dean Thomas winking and blowing Harry a kiss. Harry tried to
  ignore it, but he couldn't, and the memory of Ron's reaction to his
  acceptance of Firenze made it impossible for him to tell them to stop.

  It didn't stop, and it wasn't long before Seamus Finnigan was pawing at the
  ground, and leering theatrically at Harry. And then the unthinkable happened.
  Firenze turned, quickly, and caught sight of Seamus' performance. Harry
  wished he could sink into the ground as the centaur's blue eyes turned
  glacial. "Twenty points from Gryffindor. Harry Potter, you will stay after
  class."

  It was the first time that Firenze had ever stooped to taking house points.
  It was also the first time that he had ever needed to. So much had he slipped
  in their estimation that Ron began to argue. "Harry wasn't doing anything! Or
  maybe you have another reason for wanting to keep him after?" There was a
  chorus of snickers.

  Firenze's hands clenched into fists, and he seemed about to rear up on his
  hind legs, barely managing to contain himself. Harry, who knew too well the
  capacity of centaurs for violence, was almost shaking. He wouldn't hurt them,
  would he? He was the calm, reasonable one of the centaurs. Firenze wouldn't
  hurt them.

  Slowly, Firenze allowed his hands to relax, and regained his calm. "Any
  student who has issue with my decisions may appeal to the headmaster. Is
  there anyone here who wishes to do that?"

  The sight of his anger seemed to have restored a good deal of their awe of
  him, and no one spoke. Firenze continued. "Ronald Weasley, do you wish to
  speak to the headmaster?"

  "No, sir," Ron muttered.

  He recited the names of the other Gryffindor boys, and was met with the same
  reply everywhere. He then looked at Harry, disappointment clear in his gaze.
  "Harry Potter?"

  "No, sir," Harry said emphatically. He hadn't wanted any of this to happen,
  hadn't encouraged any of it, and he wished he could just turn back the clock
  and tell Ron nothing of what had passed on that peaceful afternoon.

  The lesson continued, and afterwards, when the others were filing out, Harry
  began to stand up.

  "Remain seated," Firenze said harshly.

  Harry settled back down onto the grass, wincing at the angry tone. "Please,
  Firenze, I didn't mean-"

  "Didn't mean what?" Firenze walked up to him very slowly, his form towering
  above Harry. "Didn't mean to hold me up to public ridicule for having offered
  you comfort?"

  Harry swallowed. "No, sir, I didn't mean for any of it to happen, and I'm so-
  "

  "You owe me a blood debt, Harry Potter. Five years ago I saved your life. And
  now you repay me by making me a joke among your companions."

  "It wasn't like that, I promise," Harry protested, feeling awful. Everything
  Firenze had said was true. He had saved Harry's life, and now Harry had
  opened his big mouth and made him ridiculous. "I'm sorry."

  "I have no use for your apologies," Firenze said coldly, and turned around.
  His tail was still swishing angrily, and as Harry stood up, it caught him in
  the face, the pale blond strands stinging his skin.

  Harry made a little noise, and tried to speak again. "Please-"

  "Leave this classroom." Firenze did not turn around.

  "Yes, sir," Harry sighed, defeated. The centaur had managed to make him feel
  more ashamed and guilty than he could remember. He left the classroom,
  holding back the tears that were stinging at his eyes. Only Firenze had
  understood what he needed, and now Firenze would never speak to him again.
  Harry went to join the others at lunch, and wished, with all his heart, that
  he had not forsaken the peace he had been offered.

  *****

  Harry managed to survive the rest of the week with the guilt that he was
  enduring. Granted, Divination class was almost painful. He could feel
  Firenze's angry gaze pass over him occasionally, though the centaur never
  addressed him directly. Harry spent the entire class flat on his back,
  staring straight up at the heavens so that he wouldn't have to see Firenze's
  cold blue eyes.

  He buried himself in his homework, especially his Divinations homework. It
  wasn't that he necessarily thought he could regain Firenze's approval just by
  doing well in the class, but, he thought, it couldn't hurt either.

  But on Saturday night, the dormitory was full of people who simply had no
  desire whatsoever to go to bed. There were people in the common room, people
  in the dormitory, people everywhere. Harry couldn't sleep or study, or do
  anything, because there was a never ending stream of chatter.

  Finally, he pulled on his invisibility cloak, and left the dormitory. He had
  been planning to simply roam the school until he found a quiet corner, and
  then settle down there, but Harry found himself drawn, almost irresistably,
  to the hallway where the Divinations classrom was. The guilt he felt was
  still eating away at him and, without any very clear idea of what he was
  going to say or do, he opened the door.

  Harry found himself staring at the business end of an arrow. The centaur's
  quick ears had apparently caught his tread almost immediately. "Show
  yourself," Firenze said harshly.

  Whipping off the invisibility cloak, Harry stammered, "I - I'm sorry, I
  didn't mean, I just..."

  Firenze surveyed him with contempt. "You just what?"

  At the palpable disgust in Firenze's demeanor, Harry broke down, tears
  springing to his eyes. "I'm sorry!" he nearly shouted. "I never meant for it
  to happen. Ron asked what I'd done that day, and he kept asking and so I told
  him, but then he thought it was...and I never, never wanted to make you angry
  like that, and now you hate me and you don't ever want to see me again..."
  Harry was almost sobbing, and he barely restrained himself.

  Firenze sighed loudly, and turned away. "You disappointed me greatly, Harry."

  "I know," Harry said in a small voice, trying to wipe away his tears.

  "Come here." Firenze's voice was very quiet.

  Harry hurried forward, embracing the centaur almost without conscious
  volition, resting his head near Firenze's withers, one arm draped over the
  broad back. His tears made dark spots on the glistening coat, and for a time,
  he just cried quietly, all the shame and frustration pouring out of him.

  Firenze waited and listened while Harry cried, not moving. Finally, as he
  could feel Harry's breathing slowly returning to normal, he turned around.
  "You will never do such a thing again, understand?"

  Harry nodded, quickly. "I never meant to do it in the first place. But I
  promise, no matter how much they ask, I'll never say anything again. I
  swear."

  Firenze reached out and brushed back a lock of unruly hair from Harry's
  forehead. "You are still agitated. Come, lie down and look up at the stars.
  They have always served to calm me."

  Harry stretched out obediently, and when Firenze dropped to the ground
  awkwardly, Harry squirmed so that his body was pressed close to the centaur's
  side. He looked up at the enchanted sky, wishing that he'd paid more
  attention in astronomy so that he could impress Firenze. Unfortunately, it
  escaped him. "What's that little cluster of stars there?" he asked, pointing
  up, feeling stupid.

  "The Corona Borealis," Firenze replied easily.

  "What - um - what does that mean?" Harry asked, hesitantly.

  Firenze looked down at him, surprised. "The Northern Crown. You do not speak
  Latin?"

  "No...they don't teach it here."

  "You ought to learn," Firenze said decisively. "Most of your spells and magic
  are bound to that tongue, you should know how to do more than parrot them."

  Harry blushed, and didn't answer for a moment, then said, "I'd learn if I
  could, but my relatives would never pay for a tutor, and there's really no
  one..."

  The centaur gave a deep sigh. "I suppose that I could teach you the elements
  of the language, if you wish. You should not be left in such ignorance."

  Harry nodded. "I'll do my best."

  "That is all I can ask," Firenze replied, still staring up at the heavens. He
  looked down at Harry, and said, "The Corona Borealis was created, they say,
  when the god Bacchus placed the crown of Ariadne in the sky at her death. It
  was the crown he had given her when he found her, weeping, on the isle where
  she had been abandoned."

  Harry was becoming drowsy, but he struggled to pay attention. "And then she
  stopped crying?"

  "Yes," Firenze said remotely. "She stopped crying."

  *****

  Two weeks later, on a Friday evening, Harry was flying down the corridor.
  Quidditch practice had gone long, and he was late for his usual meeting with
  Firenze. Gasping, he pushed open the Divination classroom door. "Sorry," he
  panted.

  Firenze looked down at him, his expression neutral. After a second, he
  trotted off into a little area adjoining the classroom, and brought back a
  birch bark cup filled with water, which he handed to Harry.

  Harry thanked him, and gulped the water, then sat down on the ground, pulling
  a battered bit of parchment from his pocket. "I tried to translate that
  passage, but I'm not sure it came out correctly."

  "Read it to me," Firenze said, settling down beside him.

  Harry automatically shifted so that his back was propped up against Firenze's
  side, and read the paragraph uncertainly. "I know I went wrong somewhere in
  the third sentence..."

  "You declined the noun improperly. It is plural accusative." Firenze paused
  long enough to make Harry nervous. "Other than that, you did well."

  Harry sighed, relieved, and relaxed. "I didn't think I'd get it...Seamus and
  Dean just wouldn't shut up last night. And Ron kept asking what I was doing."

  Firenze didn't answer, and Harry shifted, so that more of his body was
  pressed against the centaur's side. There was something wonderfully
  comforting about the warmth of that smoothly haired body. It was peace and
  comfort; it was coming home, in a way that he'd never known before. "I wish I
  could stay here all the time," he sighed, before he knew what he was saying.

  "I doubt that would be possible," Firenze replied, frowning. "Though I can
  understand that it would be welcome."

  "Do you?" Harry said pensively. "I don't. I don't know why I can't be normal
  anymore. I used to love being with everyone, I liked people, and wanted to be
  around them. Now I just want to be left alone." Harry was frustrated. Because
  that was only half of his problem. The other half was that he found himself
  wanting to be near Firenze all the time, to feel his solid, accepting warmth.
  It was making him wonder if maybe Ron hadn't been right, not about Firenze,
  but about himself. Was he queer, that what he liked best in the world was to
  curl up next to a centaur's body?

  "You have experienced a great many changes," Firenze said calmly. "And you
  have not been granted time or leisure to deal with them properly. When you
  have done so, you may find the company of your friends more pleasant."

  "Mmm," Harry said, noncommitally. He shifted again, and began letting his
  fingers play along Firenze's body, feeling, stroking. The centaur seemed to
  combine the best of human and animal, with an animal's acceptance of touch,
  but a human intelligence. And there was something more, something that made
  him quite irresistable, a quiet strength allied to that sleek, powerful
  body...

  Firenze shuddered lightly. "Harry."

  "Yes?"

  "You should perhaps refrain from such touching. You are too young to
  understand what it means."

  Harry frowned. "I didn't think you minded."

  Firenze turned to look at him. "It is not that your touches are not pleasant,
  it is simply that they are not, perhaps, appropriate."

  There it was. Appropriateness. Nothing that he enjoyed seemed to be
  appropriate. And what if Firenze didn't even like him in that way? "Firenze,
  did you ever...I mean, did you ever like lady centaurs?"

  There was a soft laugh from the centaur. "If you are asking if I have ever
  enjoyed more than just their company, then the answer is yes. But I think
  perhaps you should ask what you really want to know."

  Harry blushed, but obediently framed the next question. "Did you ever like
  boy centaurs?"

  "Often. But you are not a centaur colt." Firenze's voice was very firm.

  Hurt, Harry pulled away. So that was it, then. Firenze couldn't find him
  attractive because he wasn't a centaur. "I think I'll go take a shower," he
  said, his voice husky with unshed tears. "I didn't have time after practice."

  "Stop being such a foolish child," Firenze said coolly.

  "I'm not a child," Harry protested as he stood up, sounding very much like
  one. "And I just wanted..."

  Firenze stood as well. "I know what you wanted. But there are reasons why
  what you desire cannot come to pass."

  "Yeah, such as that you don't like me," Harry muttered.

  "That reason is not among them. The fact that I am your teacher and that you
  are still a foal is, however, one of those reasons. Do you really think that
  I could take you without someone finding out? If that happened, not only
  could we never be intimate, you could not even visit me."

  "I'll be seventeen next year," Harry said, tracing a pattern on the ground
  with his toe.

  Firenze smiled. "And perhaps we shall both welcome that time. Until then, do
  not reject what I can give you because of what I cannot." He reached down and
  took Harry's hands in his own. "Come, stay a while. You may share my evening
  meal."

  Harry brightened up, and moved forward to hug Firenze. "I just like you so
  much..."

  "I like you as well," Firenze said honestly. "And the time may come...but for
  now, you need comfort and learning more than anything else. Be patient,
  Harry."

  Harry reached back to stroke Firenze's shoulders. "I'm trying. But you're
  just so...and it's hard sometimes."

  "Another hard lesson for you, then," the centaur replied. "Come, you must be
  hungry."

  During dinner, the subject wasn't brought up again, and they talked instead
  about Latin, about Divinations, and even about Quidditch. Firenze was
  fascinated with the idea, since centaurs had nothing like team sports. He
  even promised to come and watch Harry's next match.

  After dinner, Harry went back to his dormitory, and decided to go to bed
  early. It had been rather a long day. He was pulling on his pyjamas when Ron
  came in. "Where did you go after practice?" Ron said, an odd expression on
  his face.

  Harry shurgged, trying to think of somewhere that he could be sure that Ron
  hadn't been. "Nowhere, really," he said, cursing his failed imagination.

  Ron ruffled his hair, agitated. "You've been nowhere quite a lot lately. Is
  it-"

  "Damn it! Can't you ever let me be?" Harry demanded. "It's not as if you care
  whether or not I'm around, you just don't want to let me be."

  "So you were-"

  "I was studying," Harry said flatly. "And that's more than you need to know,
  so you can just shut up now."

  Ron's eyes widened, then narrowed. "Right. I won't ask again."

  Harry climbed into bed, hoping that was true. Ron had been his first, best
  friend. But his company now was grating more often than uplifting, and Harry
  really didn't like the way he'd started prying. And all too often, all he
  could think of when he was talking to Ron, or anyone else, was that quiet,
  deliberate voice and ice blue eyes that saw through him. "Love you," he
  mouthed into his pillow, not daring to speak the words aloud, then drifted
  into a peaceful sleep.

  *****

  Two days later, Harry was surprised when Professor McGonagall caught him
  after dinner. "Potter, the headmaster wishes to speak with you."

  Harry followed her to Dumbledore's office, racking his brains for what he
  might have done to get him in trouble. He honestly couldn't think of
  anything, and decided it was probably something about Occlumency or
  Voldemort. Not that that was much better, but at least he wasn't in trouble.
  He thought.

  He ascended the staircase, and to his surprise, Professor McGonagall followed
  him up. Nervously, he entered the office and sat down at Dumbledore's
  direction. Professor McGonagall stood behind him, and he looked up at her,
  anxiously, before returning his gaze to Dumbledore. "What did you want to
  talk to me about, sir?"

  Dumbledore steepled his fingers together, and frowned. "Harry, sometimes when
  a young man is at a difficult period in his life, he can need someone to
  support him. And that need can drive him into unfortunate situations, without
  his really understanding them, or being to blame. Do you understand what I am
  saying, Harry?"

  Harry shook his head vehemently. "No, sir, not at all, I'm afraid." All he
  could gather was that, while he apparently was in trouble, Dumbledore didn't
  think it was his fault.

  Dumbledore sighed. "In the past, Harry, you have always trusted me. And I - I
  understand that there are reasons why you may not trust me now, but I ask you
  to believe that I do have your best interests at heart."

  "Okay," Harry said, still deeply confused, "I believe you." And he did.
  Dumbledore always had his best interests at heart. It just didn't work out so
  well very often. Harry had begun to lose his automatic faith in Dumbledore's
  judgment.

  "Then trust me once more, Harry," Dumbledore said pleadingly. "Don't hide
  your troubles, or seek out other ways to ease them because it seems easier."

  Harry shook his head. "Professor Dumbledore, not to be rude, but could we
  please just get to the point? I've obviously done something wrong, but I
  really don't know what it is."

  Dumbledore didn't answer, and McGonagall made an impatient noise, "Potter,
  we're concerned about your relationship with Firenze."

  Harry's eyes widened, and then he began laughing, rather helplessly. "Oh, no.
  Let's see, you've been talking to Ron, right?" It figured. He should have
  expected something like this. And the most annoying part was that he wasn't
  even getting what they thought he was getting, thanks to Firenze's tiresome
  scruples.

  "Ron is very concerned about you," Dumbledore said gently. "He's afraid that
  Firenze may be taking advantage of your unhappiness in some way. All he wants
  is what's best for you. As do we."

  "Well, you can stop worrying," Harry said firmly. "He's teaching me Latin.
  That's it."

  Dumbledore closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Harry, Ron
  told us-"

  "About the time that Firenze held me. I'm sure he did. But he was just
  comforting me, because I felt bad. It was nothing sexual, I swear. He has
  never, ever touched me in a sexual way." 'Much as I wish he would,' Harry
  added mentally.

  McGonagall barked out a quick question in Latin. Harry answered haltingly,
  dredging his mind for vocabulary. He turned and looked up at her desperately,
  needing to be believed. Bad enough to be harrassed for the things he did, the
  last thing he needed was to be harrassed for things he hadn't done.

  Dumbledore looked rather hopeful. "So he's merely teaching you Latin? You're
  certain?"

  "Yes, sir, I'm pretty sure," Harry said, trying to fight back the sarcasm in
  his tone, and failing.

  Dumbledore nodded, resigned. "Very well, Harry. I'm sure you can maage your
  extra lessons with your classes. You may go."

  Harry left as quickly as possible, still annoyed at the entire situation.
  McGonagall, however, stayed. "You still look distressed, Albus, but it sounds
  entirely innocent."

  Dumbledore nodded. "I'm quite sure it is. I have a very high opinion of
  Firenze's morals, which is why I asked Harry rather than going through
  official channels. That isn't what troubles me."

  "Then what is?" she demanded, somewhat impatiently.

  Dumbledore gave an unhappy smile. "Minerva, for five years, Harry trusted me
  and, in some measure, reposed his confidence in me. I was the person who
  understood him. Shall we simply say that seeing someone else take that place
  is not pleasant?"

  "Albus, I'm sure he still-"

  "No, Minerva, he really doesn't. It was, I fear, inevitable." Dumbledore
  sighed. "Never mind. He could not be in safer hands." His voice dropped down
  to an unhappy murmur. "I had just foolishly hoped I wouldn't lose him so
  soon."

  McGonagall shrugged, memories of a thousand times that Dumbledore had left
  Harry to stew in his own juices running through her head, and her voice was
  rather brisk. "Sometimes, Albus, I'm not sure you ever understood him at
  all." She left the room quickly.

  *****

  Things went on quietly for the next several months, and Harry found himself
  spending more and more time with Firenze. Ron had kept his mouth shut, and
  from the petulant looks he shot at Professor McGonagall during class, Harry
  suspected that she had something to do with that, for which he was deeply
  grateful.

  He was actually making tremendous progress in all of his classes. Firenze had
  been right about Latin helping him with his magic. He had actually become
  quite good at Transfiguration now that he could understand the words that
  made up the spells, and Firenze's patient tutoring on his accent had made him
  much quicker to pick up pronunciations.

  Harry could have almost forgotten that there was a war going on, had the
  Daily Prophet headlines not informed him regularly of what was going on, more
  deaths and disappearances every day. He managed to forcibly keep these things
  from his conscious mind, but they came out in his subconscious, dreams of
  death and destruction every night.

  Those issues were brought back up when, at breakfast one morning, the Daily
  Prophet held a grim headline. "Death Eaters Raid Diagon Alley, Gain Control."
  Harry gasped, and immediately looked up at the head table. Once there, he
  noticed that Professors McGonagall, Snape and Dumbledore were all gone. He
  jumped up and went tearing up to Dumbledore's office.

  This had to stop. They couldn't keep hiding him here while the rest of the
  wizarding world suffered. He couldn't keep playing Quidditch and and sitting
  quietly in classes while Voldemort took over. It had to stop.

  But Dumbledore's office was empty, and Harry felt his anger grow. Had they
  already gone, without so much as telling him? A squeaky voice interrupted his
  thoughts, "Potter, what are you doing here?"

  Harry whirled around and saw Professor Flitwick. "Where is he?"

  "Professor Dumbledore is meeting with some of the other-"

  "WHERE?" Harry shouted.

  Flitwick jumped, and said, "Near Hagrid's hut, but you mustn't-" His voice
  was anxious.

  Harry was gone before he could finish the sentence. He ran through the entire
  castle, and across the grounds. Near Hagrid's hut, he found them all,
  including Hagrid and Firenze. "You can't," he panted, glaring at Dumbledore.

  "Can't what, Harry?" Dumbledore asked kindly.

  "Leave...leave me behind...again."

  "Harry, there is no way that you can be of use in what must be done right
  now. You must stay here in the safety of the castle-"

  "NO!" Harry shouted. "You can't keep me locked up here forever. He's taking
  over. I have to stop him." He was gasping, drawing in breath as quickly as he
  could.

  Snape spoke, sneeringly, "Potter, you can't even cast a decent Cruciatus and
  you think you could kill the Dark Lord?"

  Harry glanced at him, quickly, taken aback, but then Dumbledore was speaking
  again. "Harry, trust me. When the time is right, you will face him. But you
  must rely on me to tell you when that time will be."

  "Yeah, because all your other decisions have been so wonderful," Harry said,
  angrily. "I'm going to go, you can't stop me-"

  "Oh, yes, I can," Dumbledore said, sternly. "And perhaps I ought to remind
  you what happened the last time you went off without consulting anyone's
  judgment but your own."

  There was a small gasp from McGonagall, but Harry's eyes narrowed. "Maybe if
  I weren't used to having to do it - maybe if you hadn't hired Quirrell, left
  me here to deal with the Chamber of Secrets, told me to reverse time to save
  Sirius, or maybe if you'd just fucking told me, 'Harry, don't go to the
  Department of Mysteries because that's what Voldemort wants.'" Harry was so
  caught up in his rage that he didn't even notice Firenze move until the
  centaur's hand was on his collar. "What are you doing?"

  Firenze didn't answer, just pulled Harry away from the others, dragging him
  ungently behind Hagrid's cottage, and glaring down at Harry. "You will not
  speak like that to Albus Dumbledore."

  Harry protested. "But he-"

  "Be silent!" Firenze's eyes flashed dangerously. "I do not care about your
  motives or your wrongs. You will not speak so disrespectfully to anyone, do
  you understand?"

  Harry felt as though the ground had fallen out from under him. "But
  Voldemort-"

  Firenze stooped and shook him, hard. "No more! Dumbledore has done nothing
  but try to care for you. Will you speak so to me when I will not give in to
  you?"

  "N-no," Harry managed, hanging limply in Firenze's hands.

  Firenze stopped, but didn't remove his hands from Harry's shoulders. "You are
  going to apologize, right now. Later, I shall punish you. If you do not do as
  I say, I will never speak to you again, do you understand?"

  Harry nodded, mesmerized, tears starting in his eyes. He could bear anything
  other than Firenze's anger. It was worse even than when Professor Lupin had
  been so disappointed in him.

  "Go, then." Firenze turned Harry around and gave him a push, following him
  back to where Dumbledore and the others were still conferring.

  Harry took a deep breath, and forced himself to look at Dumbledore, another
  little pang hitting him at the weary, sorrowful look in the headmaster's
  eyes. "I'm sorry, Professor. I shouldn't have said that."

  Dumbledore nodded, glancing over at Firenze, looking even more tired.
  "Apology accepted, Harry. I think you need to go back up to the castle now.
  Rest assured, we will do what needs to be done."

  Harry bit his lip, then nodded. "Yes, sir." He turned, giving Firenze a
  wistful look, then went back up to the castle. It was going to be a long day.

  *****

  Classes were cancelled that day, owing to the absence of half the teaching
  staff, and instead of joining with the worried little band in the Gryffindor
  common room, he went to the Divinations classroom, settling down on the
  ground, waiting for Firenze to return.

  Harry didn't like to admit it, but worried as he was about everyone, he was
  worried most about Firenze. How would Firenze manage in battle, with no magic
  to protect him? What would he do if Firenze died? Who would take care of him
  then?

  And gnawing in his mind was the fact that even if Firenze did come back, he
  wasn't very happy with Harry. He'd said something about punishment, and Harry
  wondered what he had in mind. Detention? Shovelling out his private quarters?
  Harry couldn't help giggling at the thought of that.

  It was late evening before Firenze came back, and Harry had fallen asleep
  when he was nudged by a hard hoof. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. "You're
  okay!" He leapt to his feet and wrapped his arms around Firenze, burying his
  face in the firmly muscled torso. "I was so worried, are you all right?"

  "I am quite well," Firenze said, his voice softening against his will, and he
  stroked Harry's head gently.

  "And Hagrid and everyone else?"

  "There were no casualties, Harry. Don't be frightened."

  Harry gave a long sigh of relief. "What happened, then? Diagon Alley-"

  "Is once again safe. Dumbledore has warded it heavily, and we drove the Death
  Eaters out."

  Harry relaxed against Firenze's body, hugging Firenze more tightly. "I'm so
  glad. I was scared that you-"

  "Did you think me defenseless, Harry?" There was a hint of laughter in
  Firenze's voice. "There is magic that surrounds centaurs, much like giants.
  And more than one of those foul men have my arrows sunk in their flesh even
  now."

  Harry shivered slightly at his grim tone. "I didn't think, I guess."

  "Apparently a frequent failing with you of late." The centaur's voice
  hardened and he pushed Harry from him, looking down at him sternly.

  Harry felt a twist of discomfort in his stomach. He'd forgotten about
  Firenze's earlier anger in the relief of having him back safe. "I'm sorry-"

  "So you said. Shall I punish you now, or in the morning? If you are tired,
  you may go to bed."

  "Now," Harry said quickly. He wouldn't be able to sleep with that hanging
  over him.

  Firenze nodded. "Then I must admit that I am at something of a loss as to how
  to punish you. If you were a young centaur you would be banished from the
  herd for three days, and left to fend for yourself, but that is obviously
  impracticable. What do you suggest?"

  Harry squirmed uncomfortably. "Detention?"

  "Dumbledore explained the concept to me, when I accepted work here. It seems
  a very unreliable deterrent at best."

  Harry had to agree with that. He'd had countless detentions, but they'd never
  stopped him from doing what he wanted to. He racked his brains for other
  punishments. His mind drifted, unwillingly, back to his time at the
  Dursley's. "Sometimes, at my aunt and uncle's, they would lock me in the
  closet, or send me to bed without dinner."

  Firenze looked concerned. "Those punishments both sound harmful. You are
  already undernourished, and I do not believe that Dumbledore would approve of
  me locking you up."

  Harry bit his lip, fighting with himself. "Sometimes they spanked me."

  "What is that?"

  "It's when you..." Harry found himself blushing hotly. "You make someone bend
  over and you hit them a few times. On the, um, on the rump."

  Firenze pondered that for a moment. "And is it effective?"

  "I guess so," Harry said uncomfortably. It had always been effective for him
  - he'd done his best to stay out of Uncle Vernon's way for days after a
  spanking.

  "Very well. I would prefer not to use violence, but there do not seem to be
  any alternatives." Firenze began looking around, and his gaze lit on the
  high, broad table where he stood to mark papers. "Come here."

  Harry followed him over to the table, and then Firenze's large hands were
  around his waist, hoisting him up and bending him over the table. His legs
  dangled over the edge, and it was an altogether precarious and uncomfortable
  position.

  "Are you normally garbed for this punishment?" Firenze asked critically.

  "No, sir," Harry said in a small voice. "I have to take my trousers and pants
  down."

  "Then do so."

  Harry squirmed, lifting his hips, and drawing down his garments, which
  quickly slid down his legs, leaving him bare from waist to ankles. He reached
  out with his hands and got a good grip on the table, feeling the need of
  something to hold on to.

  Firenze's breath caught in his throat, and his hand darted forward, as if of
  its own volition, gentle fingertips caressing Harry's bottom. "Such a
  beautiful colt," he said, voice husky.

  Harry shivered at the light caress, and couldn't help thrusting his hips up
  and back against Firenze's hand. It felt so good, the delicately tracing
  paths over his skin, that seemed to set him on fire.

  Firenze coughed, and drew back his hand. "Are you ready, Harry?" he asked,
  trying for a more normal tone. At Harry's nod, he landed a crisp slap on
  Harry's backside.

  Harry jumped. Firenze was strong, which wasn't surprising. The first slap was
  followed by another, and then another, and Harry felt tears welling up in his
  eyes from the pain. He let out a little gasp, gripping the table more
  tightly.

  Firenze continued, warming to the task, landing painful, smarting blows all
  over Harry's bottom, pausing occasionally to squeeze and stroke the reddening
  skin, which caused Harry to emit a strangled sound of pleasure and pain. He'd
  never before had a spanking that felt so...intimate.

  But Firenze was thorough as well, and it wasn't long before Harry was crying
  openly, his backside burning intolerably. "I'm sorry," he said, rather
  desperately. "Please, sir."

  "Be quiet," Firenze said firmly. "You aren't a little foal anymore, it's time
  for you to learn control."

  Harry bit his lip hard, and focused on keeping quiet. Finally, when he was
  quite sure that he couldn't hold still anymore, Firenze stopped. Again, his
  hands began cupping and squeezing the burning flesh. Harry cried out, and
  pushed up into Firenze's hands, regardless of the pain. "Please," he moaned
  again.

  "Do you think you have learned your lesson?" Firenze asked huskily.

  "Yes, sir, I promise." He was absolutely not going to make Firenze angry ever
  again.

  "Good." With a sigh of longing, Firenze tugged up Harry's trousers, and
  waited while he fastened them again. That done, he picked Harry up, but
  instead of placing him on the ground, he turned the boy, holding him close to
  his strong body.

  Harry's legs went around Firenze's waist automatically as he clung to the
  centaur, pressing his tear-stained face into Firenze's shoulder. "I love
 you," he gasped.

  Firenze stroked Harry's back with one hand while holding him securely with
  the other arm. "I love you too, Harry."

  *****

  As the end of the school year grew near, Harry became more and more anxious.
  He had no idea how he was supposed to manage over the summer without Firenze,
  and every time he thought about it, his mouth got dry and his heart began
  racing.

  And the nightmares came oftener and oftener, until Harry had to put a
  silencing charm around his bed to keep from waking up the other boys. Neville
  was always good about talking him through things, but Ron had begun to get
  very cross at the frequent awakenings.

  And then, one night, the worst nightmare of all came. The only thing that he
  couldn't just shrug off after a few minutes of gasping for breath and
  remembering where he was.

  Harry knew what he had to do, and he pulled on his slippers and invisibility
  cloak silently before setting off down the stairs towards the Divinations
  classroom, his refuge. The night seemed full of terrors, and Harry couldn't
  remember ever being so skittish before. "Just a little further," he whispered
  to himself.

  When he reached his goal, he slipped into the classroom quickly, pulling off
  the invisibility cloak. "Firenze!" he called, in a croaking voice, unable to
  manage anything better.

  There was no response, and he called again, beginning to shiver. What if
  Firenze couldn't hear him and he would be have to go all the way back up to
  his dormitory all by himself? "Firenze, please!"

  The soft thud of hooves on the ground was music to his ears, and as the
  centaur came trotting towards him, Harry could have almost cried with relief.
  He nearly flung himself at the centaur, wrapping his arms around Firenze's
  waist. "'m sorry I woke you," he whispered, clinging tight.

  Firenze's hand cupped the back of Harry's head for a moment, pressing his
  face close, then Firenze sank down onto the ground, tucking his legs
  underneath him, Harry following, sinking to his knees. "Do not be concerned
  about awaking me," Firenze said, his voice deep and soothing. "What is the
  matter?"

  "Nightmare," Harry said softly, inhaling Firenze's reassuring scent.

  "You have them often. Why did this one distress you so?"

  "Because you tried to kill me in this one," Harry said, dully, shivering as
  he remembered the fury in the hooves trampling him, the arrows piercing his
  body.

  Firenze held Harry's quivering body close. "You know that this was a dream
  and not a foretelling."

  Harry nodded, almost violently. "Of course I do. You wouldn't hurt me." But
  there was a tiny hint of doubt in his voice.

  "Harry, I love you," Firenze said patiently. "And centaurs cannot be
  controlled using the Imperius curse. This will never come to pass."

  "It was just...bad," Harry said softly. "And I couldn't go back to sleep,
  couldn't do anything except come here."

  Firenze nodded. "It was well done. But you must return to your bed. In a
  moment, when you are calmer," he added, as the tremors rocking Harry's body
  became stronger.

  "I don't want to," Harry said, his voice high and frightened. "I can't go
  back tonight, Firenze, please, I'm scared, don't make me, please..." A stream
  of pleas that he would have rather died than utter to anyone else came from
  his mouth as he tightened his arms around Firenze's body as if he would never
  let go.

  "Shh," Firenze whispered. "Be calm, Harry."

  "Can't." Harry was still shivering.

  Firenze furrowed his brow, worried. He could tell that Harry was quite ready
  to stay there for the rest of the night, and he knew equally well that if Ron
  woke up and found Harry gone at night or in the morning, his location would
  be a foregone conclusion. Firenze sighed as he came to the realization that
  the best route to avoid the appearance of impropriety would be genuine
  impropriety. "Harry, I want you to be very quiet and hold on to me. And you
  must never tell anyone about this, do you understand?"

  Harry nodded, not sure what Firenze was referring to, but knowing that he
  would do whatever he wanted. Firenze had gradually become everything to him:
  teacher, father, lover. His breathing hitched a little as Firenze bent at the
  waist and pressed surprisingly soft lips to his temple. "What-"

  "Be quiet, Harry," Firenze murmured, and let his hands slide down, caressing
  the lean lines of Harry's body. He had ached to touch Harry like this, wanted
  nothing more than to feel Harry melt against him, and he only regretted the
  necessity of having to do it too soon, under circumstances that were not
  quite pleasant. He let his hands slide under the material of Harry's pyjama
  bottoms and began pushing them gently down.

  "Oh." Harry let out a little breath as he realized what Firenze was doing. He
  was yielding where before he had witheld, because Harry was upset. Harry
  nuzzled his face against Firenze's chest, not wanting to disobey by speaking,
  but wanting to show how grateful he was. And as a firm, calloused hand closed
  around his shaft, Harry held on tightly.

  Firenze squeezed carefully, coaxing Harry to full hardness. He could hear
  little hitches in Harry's breathing, but otherwise, the boy was quiet, and
  his grip on Firenze was painfully tight. "My Harry," he whispered. "My
  beautiful colt. I will always love you, always care for you."

  Harry nodded his comprehension as Firenze stroked him in a slow, regular
  rhythm. It didn't feel like he had expected, not like the sparks that had
  shot through him when Firenze had touched him after the spanking. It was more
  like the quiet, dreamy desire that had caught him when he had begun touching
  Firenze. "Love you," he whispered, very softly.

  Firenze didn't answer, but increased the pace of his stroking a little,
  listening greedily to Harry's choked breathing, feeling the boy's mouth fall
  open against his chest, hot and moist. When he sensed that Harry was ready,
  he squeezed Harry's bottom tightly with his free hand, and stroked more
  roughly.

  Harry came with a low moan, panting, spilling himself over Firenze's hand and
  onto his gleaming palomino coat. He didn't move, just rested his head gently
  against Firenze, breathing heavily. He felt sated and relaxed and more
  comfortable than he ever had in his life. "Don't want to go home for the
  summer," he whispered. "I don't want to leave you."

  Firenze sighed. "Look up at the sky, Harry. See there - Centaurus." He traced
  the line of the constellation with his fingertips, as though the stars were
  only a few inches away. "Humans look at pictures of one another when they are
  apart. But you may see me in the stars."

  Harry nodded, and felt that all the stars would be comfort to him, knowing
  how well Firenze loved them, remembering the stories he had told him.
  Glancing down, he saw his come still showing white on Firenze's blonde body.
  "I'm sorry. I'll clean it - I -" Harry didn't know much about horses. The
  phrase curry comb floated through his head, but he suspected that to ask
  about one would be a deadly insult to the centaur.

  Firenze almost laughed. "It doesn't matter, Harry. There is nothing dirty
  between us. And it will come off when I wash in the morning. Now, do you
  think you can return to your bed?"

  Harry nodded, pulled his pyjamas back up, then raised himself up, kissing
  Firenze softly on the mouth for the first time. It was a gentle, undemanding
  kiss, and when Harry broke away, he felt as though Firenze's lips must be
  coated in a soothing draught, he felt so peaceful. "Thank you. And next year,
  when I'm seventeen-"

  "I shall bend you over a tree branch and take you," Firenze said, gravely,
  but with a hint of laughter in his voice.

  Harry shivered. "Yes. Definitely."

  *****

  That summer seemed longer than any before to Harry. Even after he was removed
  to Grimmauld Place, all he could think about was getting back to Hogwarts.
  There was a subdued celebration for his seventeenth birthday, and everyone
  was a little surprised at how happy Harry seemed to be. For his part, Harry
  knew why he was grinning ear to ear, and only wished he could go to Hogwarts
  to take advantage of his new maturity.

  As it was, the carriages had no sooner delivered the students to Hogwarts
  than Harry took off at a fast clip for the Divinations classroom. He
  completely ignored Hermione, shouting after him, or the startled looks of the
  other students as he broke away. He had waited long enough.

  When he arrived at the classroom, he found Firenze, pacing back and forth,
  looking closer to nervous than he had ever seen the centaur. Throwing
  restraint to the winds, Harry ran forward and claimed a kiss. Firenze's lips
  were hot and firm against his, and Harry pressed himself closer, wanting no
  distance at all between them.

  "Did you miss me, then?" Firenze laughed, when the kiss was broken.

  "Only about every half hour," Harry replied with a grin.

  "Should you not be at the Sorting Feast?"

  "Seen one, seen 'em all. Besides, I don't think anyone at the Sorting Feast
  wants to shag me. As far as I know, anyway."

  Firenze laughed gently into the top of Harry's head, pressing a quick kiss
  there. "Have I taught you nothing of the virtues of quiet, and restraint,
  Harry?"

  "Oh, yes. And if you want me to be quiet while you shag me, I'm sure I can
  manage that. Well, if you put your hand over my mouth." Harry shivered
  suddenly as he imagined himself, bent over, Firenze's calloused hand tight
  across his mouth. He licked his lips unconsciously, and his hands stole to
  the loin cloth that Firenze wore. "Now?"

  "Be patient," Firenze replied, catching his hands at the wrist. "We need to
  talk, Harry. I would not have you hurt by your own enthusiasm."

  "Hurt?"

  "Yes, hurt. Do you know nothing of the possible consequences of intercourse?"

  Harry's brow furrowed. "Well, pregnancy. But I don't think that's a big
  concern here. Though if we did have babies, do you think they'd have your
  coat, or mine?"

  Firenze smiled and shook his head. "Harry, perhaps it would be preferable,
  for tonight, if we simply took time to learn one another's bodies. After all,
  this shall be my first encounter with a man, as it is for you."

  "Yes, but you've been with other centaurs."

  "Centaurs," Firenze said delicately, "are built differently. Something you
  need to learn. Come." He led Harry over to a desk, then picked him up to sit
  on top of it so the two were at eye level.

  Harry sighed, with exaggerated patience. "All right, then. What's so
  different about centaurs? I mean, you've got a loincloth there, and I'm
  pretty sure it's not just for decoration, so..."

  Firenze lifted his eyebrows. "And you do not think it particularly
  'different' to have a second, horse's equipment?" He forestalled Harry's
  reply with a kiss. "Undress for me, Harry."

  Harry was happy to comply, and in almost no time, his robes and everything
  else were strewn on the ground, as he looked at Firenze, wide-eyed.

  Any doubts he had were melted by a gentle hug. "You are so lovely, my Harry."

  Harry blushed a little, but let his hands play over Firenze's back. "And what
  are you going to do with your Harry? Leave him sitting up here all cold and
  naked and lonely?"

  "Cold, are you?" Firenze rumbled, separating Harry's legs with his hands and
  moving between them. He pulled Harry's hips forward until their bodies were
  flush against one another. "We shall have to cure that."

  Harry gasped as his cock, already semi-hard, brushed up against Firenze's
  body. And then, even that was forgotten as Firenze's hands slid down to cup
  his bottom, parting him and sliding careful fingers down his cleft. He knew,
  logically, the mechanics of all this, but had been unprepared for the
  intensity of sensation, particularly as Firenze found, and began to gently
  rub, his entrance. "Feels good."

  Firenze paused, frowning. "I am not quite certain...we require lubrication,
  but I have none. It is not something I have ever required before."

  Harry was still very aroused, which made him a little confused. He let his
  mouth move over Firenze's chest, little teeth nipping and marking it. He
  thought, vaguely, about what people would say when they saw love marks on the
  centaur, then decided he didn't care. "What do centaurs use?" he asked,
  between biting kisses.

  Firenze groaned very softly. "Saliva, in general, is sufficient. Centaurs are
  accustomed to discomfort. But you humans are so much more fragile." His skin
  rippled slightly under the moving stimulus of Harry's mouth.

  Harry nodded, and tugged Firenze's hand away from his hip. Slowly,
  provocatively, he pulled it into his mouth, sucking the bow-hardened fingers
  avidly. He would show that he could be as Spartan as any centaur, if he had
  to.

  The centaur's eyes slid shut as he enjoyed the suckling sensation at his
  fingers, but he forced them open, looking at Harry gravely. "Harry, it is no
  test of your devotion."

  Harry gave the fingers a valedictory lick, then released them. "I really
  think it'll be okay, for this," he assured his anxious teacher. I mean, for
  the other, yeah, we'll have to get something. But for touching, I think it'll
  be enough." He leaned forwards, arching his hips, his cock pressing more
  firmly against Firenze's body, his bottom ripe for exploration.

  Firenze took advantage, pushing one slicked finger carefully against Harry's
  entrance, waiting until Harry was relaxed enough to let him in, and then
  slowly working the finger in further. "So small," he said, in a tone of
  wonder.

  "I'm told it stretches," Harry said, dead-pan, as soon as he could breathe
  again. He gave a little squeak as Firenze rotated the finger carefully. "Oh,
  damn, that feels good." He began thrusting his cock forward against Firenze's
  body, his hips rocking helplessly, stimulated from before and behind.

  Firenze made it even better, wrapping his free hand around Harry's cock,
  running his thumb over the sensitive tip to see Harry shudder, smearing the
  small amount of moisture there over the head. The centaur's eyes slid shut as
  he tried to memorize the feel and sound of Harry, so close to him. He could
  feel his own arousal growing, but was patient, knowing that Harry's youth
  could brook no delay.

  Harry whined a little as Firenze pushed a second finger into him, but not
  from pain. It was just so intense, a thousand times better than just being
  touched. His hips thrust steadily, his cock pushing forward into Firenze's
  hand, then moving back against the fingers, driving them deeper inside him,
  making him see stars. "Fuck," he breathed, as the sensations seemed to grow
  too intense, making him feel that he would shatter under the caresses.
  "Firenze, now..."

  Firenze tightened his grip, and hardened further at the choked gasp that
  Harry gave. It was followed, instants later, by a long, strangled moan, as
  Harry came, hard, nearly falling off the table as his hips rose up off the
  hard surface. Firenze caught him and held him, hugging him close, whispering
  endearments until Harry's breathing slowed.

  When Harry came down, he lifted his head. "What about you?" he asked, tired
  but eager. "Let me see now?" His hands strayed once more to the loincloth.
  Unhindered, they made short work of the fabric, and he stared at the proud
  erection that rose from a nest of blonde hair. "Good thing I'm not
  competetive."

  Firenze gave a soft snort, then sighed as Harry's hands wrapped around the
  hard shaft. The hands were oddly soft, strange to his weather-hardened body.
  "Harry," he said softly, closing his eyes again. He was surprised when Harry
  removed his hands, and pushed him away a few paces. "What-?"

  "Want down," Harry said, kicking his legs slightly. Firenze, looking
  concerned, helped him down, and Harry immediately closed the distance between
  them, wrapping his hands again around the shaft. "Can I use my mouth?" He'd
  heard all about that, though he'd never done it, but he wanted to show
  Firenze how much he loved him, and could think of no better way.

  "If you wish," Firenze replied cautiously, looking relieved. He had feared,
  for a moment, that Harry had wanted to stop, and while he would have, it
  would not have been a pleasant event. His breath came out in a hiss as Harry
  stooped slightly, letting his tongue explore the lines of the erect shaft.

  Harry just tried to get used to the musky smell and taste for a moment,
  deciding that he liked it. It was like a concentration of Firenze's scent,
  which had always aroused him. Carefully, he relaxed his jaws, taking a bit
  more of the cock in his mouth. He kept one hand wrapped firmly around the
  base, stroking and squeezing. Cautiously, he began letting his tongue explore
  the intricacies, noting what made Firenze gasp, or grip his shoulders more
  tightly.

  Firenze was not young, and even with the delightful stimulation of Harry's
  mouth, it took him a while to come, but as he held Harry close, massaging the
  thin shoulders with his large hands, it seemed to him that he felt again like
  a new-born foal, shaky and unsteady on his legs. "Harry," he said, his voice
  low and trembling.

  Harry stepped up the pace. His jaw ached a little, but he didn't stop, or
  relent, just kept coaxing the pleasure out of his lover until there was a
  loud groan, and a flood of hot liquid in his mouth. He gulped it, unable to
  think of anything else to do with it, then looked up, wiping his mouth on the
  back of his hand. Firenze's hands were still painfully tight on his
  shoulders, and his head was thrown back, as he panted softly.

  Harry made a soft, inquiring noise, and Firenze opened his eyes and looked
  down at him. Seeing the slight doubt in Harry's eyes, he bent down and pulled
  him close. "That was wonderful. My precious Harry. I love you so."

  Harry relaxed, pleased. "But the other one's still-"

  "It will pass," Firenze said, stroking Harry's messy hair. "I think we would
  do better to work up to that, hmm?" Noting a slightly anxious look on Harry's
  face, he laughed. "Not inside you, my little colt. Never that. I would not
  hurt you for the world."

  Relieved, Harry squirmed. "And next time, the lubrication? And the tree
  branch?"

  "Depend upon it," Firenze chuckled, then gave Harry a swat on the rump before
  sending him on to the feast.

  *****

  It was two days before Harry had time to visit Firenze again. Voldemort had
  begun moving again, and Dumbledore had spent days acquainting Harry with what
  was happening, and what he had to do. Harry found himself sitting in
  Dumbledore's office until the wee hours of the morning, going over battle
  plans.

  Two days in which Harry dreamed and ached for the centaur's touch during odd
  moments. Every time he thought about what Firenze had promised to do to him
  he felt hot all over, and became utterly distracted. At the end of the second
  day, desperate for relief from the sweet torment, he went to the Divinations
  classroom.

  Firenze greeted him with a warm embrace and a kiss. "Harry. Are you all
  right?"

  Harry nodded. His head was still a mass of attacks and defenses, and he shook
  it forcibly, willing his brain to clear. "All right. Not good." He looked up
  at Firenze almost shyly. "Will you - tonight?"

  Firenze's hands strayed out, smoothing Harry's messy hair. "Are you sure? It
  might be better to wait-"

  "Wait for what? For battle to be joined? For me to be dead? I'm not really
  sure that's such a good idea." Harry's voice was tired.

  "You are not going to die, Harry," Firenze said firmly. He pulled Harry close
  to him, letting the dark head rest against his stomach, taking comfort from
  the simple fact of having Harry close to him.

  "You don't know that," Harry said in a muffled voice. "No one knows what's
  going to happen. But I know that whatever's going to happen, I don't want to
  go into it without being wih you."

  Firenze's arms tightened around him, and for a moment, the centaur was
  speechless. When he spoke, his voice trembled slightly. "Very well. You are
  right. Let it be now, then."

  They stood quite still for a moment longer, and then pulled apart slightly.
  Between them they made short work of both their clothing, and when Harry was
  nude, he looked at his lover with a kind of desperation in his eyes. "I'm so
  tired of talk of battles and sacrifices and advantages. Make me forget,
  Firenze, please."

  "Whatever you need, Harry. You know that. Come." Firenze took Harry by the
  hand, and led him back into his personal quarters. It resembled the classroom
  very much, but had a pile of dead leaves and a large trough, constantly
  freshened by a stream of water coming from a large rock. Firenze led Harry to
  the trough, and picked up a cloth, dampening it. "Bend over, Harry."

  Confused, Harry did as he was told. The next thing he knew, strong hands were
  parting him, and the moist cloth was gently cleaning him. Harry moaned as it
  delicately circled his entrance and carefully worked inside him, even as
  Firenze's other hand stroked and squeezed his bottom. "Firenze-"

  "Shh...just a moment more, Harry." Firenze made sure that Harry was nice and
  clean, then rinsed out the cloth, hanging it up to dry. He looked down at
  Harry with a smile that was almost mischievous. "Do you see that tree over
  there, Harry?"

  Harry looked, and his breath caught. The tree in question had a broad, low
  branch, covered in thick, soft moss. "Pretty handy, that," he commented, when
  he could speak again.

  Firenze coughed. "I may have trained the moss to grow there."

  Harry grinned. "Right." He hurried over to the tree, and looked over his
  shoulder at Firenze. "Help me up?"

  Firenze trotted over to him, lifting Harry up, positioning him comfortably
  over the tree branch. "Are you all right?"

  Harry squirmed, loving the feel of the soft moss against his cock and
  stomach. "Better than all right," he purred.

  Firenze bent and kissed the small of Harry's back. "Good." He let his mouth
  work its way down Harry's back, trailing kisses, soft licks and bites. He
  could feel Harry trembling against his lips, a trembling that intensified as
  he let his tongue slip down the cleft, teasing the small pink opening.

  "Wh-what are you doing?" Harry asked, wide-eyed.

  The centaur paused for just a moment. "I told you that centaurs use saliva as
  lubrication. For tonight I have other means, but I would not deny you the
  pleasure of this experience." He let his tongue return to work, caressing,
  tasting, probing.

  Harry drew in a long breath, and forced himself to relax, letting the warm
  tongue push past his muscles, stimulating the sensitive nerves. A light
  flicker of Firenze's tongue, and Harry let out a shrill giggle.

  Firenze paused again. "Is something amiss?"

  "It sort of tickles," Harry replied sheepishly. "Feels really good, though."

  Firenze's lips curved in a smile, and he returned to his task, pushing his
  tongue in more deeply, opening Harry up to the pleasure that he offered,
  continuing until Harry was thrusting back and forth frantically, his cock
  rubbing against the moss, his arse pressed shamelessly up to Firenze's
  tormenting mouth. Little breathless pleas began to issue from Harry's lips as
  he writhed and pushed until Firenze had to hold his hips down. "Please...oh,
  fuck, please, it's too much..."

  Firenze withdrew, and took a deep breath, then pulled out a jar of cream. He
  rubbed it generously over his cock, smiling as the spicy scent drifted up to
  his nose. "Ready, my beautiful little one?"

  "Yes," Harry said positively, despite the slight attack of nervousness that
  was assailing him. The one thing he was quite certain of was that he was
  going to die if something didn't happen very quickly.

  Firenze pressed himself against Harry's moist, receptive entrance. He was
  almost unable to breathe as the tightness encircled him. It was beyond
  anything he'd ever felt or imagined. Harry pushed backwards, clearly wanting
  more, and Firenze moaned, then let the rest of his hard length slide in.

  Harry let out a low, gutteral groan. He felt incredibly full, more than he
  had with the fingers, and his erection was painfully hard, begging for
  attention. He pushed and thrust it against the cool moss, the movements
  causing Firenze's cock to move inside him, making him whine and push harder.
  "Fuck me," he gasped.

  Firenze closed his eyes, and one hand gripped Harry's hip tightly as he
  pushed forward, his movements firm and steady, biting his lip to keep his
  animalistic instincts at bay. Seeking to share the intense, searing pleasure
  he was feeling, he lifted Harry's hips slightly, and took hold of Harry's
  hot, needy cock. "Harry..."

  Harry didn't know, anymore, which way was up or down as pleasure assailed him
  from all quarters. All he could do was hold on tightly to his tree branch as
  his hips made shallow, instinctive thrusts, and little sobs escaped him.
  Thought and control were all lost, all that existed was the heat filling him
  and the hard caresses on his cock that made him almost explode with desire.

  It wasn't long before Harry came, spilling himself joyfully, screaming
  Firenze's name as the centaur fucked him hard, driving him against the
  cushioned wood.

  Firenze, overcome by the tight spasms of Harry's body, lost all semblance of
  human restraint, and drove into Harry two, three more times, hard, before
  spilling himself, his mouth darting down at the last instant to bite Harry's
  shoulder, hard.

  For a long moment, they were suspended, perfectly balanced, mouth and flesh
  and panting bodies pressed together. At length, Firenze drew in a deep
  breath, and stepped backwards, not releasing his hold on Harry's body.

  Harry felt himself being carried, but couldn't be bothered to open his eyes.
  He felt the soft edges of partially decomposed leaves pressed against his
  skin, and realized that Firenze had laid him down on his bed. An instant
  later, the centaur's body was sprawled beside him, and he curled up to it
  quickly, pleased that they were, for once, both on the same level. "Love
  you," he whispered, when he could again remember how to form words.

  Firenze gave a long, shuddering sigh, and bent his head slightly, nuzzling at
  Harry's shoulder and the broken skin there. "I hurt you. Forgive me?"

  "You did?" Harry, dazed, asked. He gave a slight, exploratory movement, and
  winced. "Oh, yeah. I didn't really notice. In fact, I'm sort of surprised I'm
  still conscious."

  Firenze smiled at that. "I am not certain that you were, for a moment there."

  Harry shifted slightly, pressing himself even closer to Firenze's warmth. "It
  was so good. I never thought - and I've been thinking about this for over a
  year."

  "As have I." They lay together, quiet, not needing to speak anymore, drifting
  on the edge of sleep. Body and mind at peace, Harry felt a unity with the
  centaur that he hadn't known before, as though they had truly become one
  person in that rough coupling.

  Eventually, Firenze stirred, and sighed. "You need to go back to your
  dormitory. People will be worried about you."

  Harry nodded wearily, recognizing the truth of that. He sat up, making a
  slight face at the sense of stickiness that assailed him. "Mind if I wash up
  first?"

  Firenze shook his head, and stood up, walking with Harry over to the trough,
  taking up the cloth, and wiping Harry clean, bestowing reverent kisses on his
  lover's body at the same time. When that was done, they walked out into the
  classroom, where they pulled on their garments, with little enthusiasm.

  Harry accepted a tender kiss good night and, against every inclination,
  walked out into the hallway. The first sight that met his eyes was a tabby
  cat stretched across the cold stone floor. Harry bit his lip, and winced as
  the cat stood up, then quickly morphed into human form. "Pro-professor."

  "Indeed." Minerva McGonagall looked sternly down at Harry. "I was beginning
  to wonder if I'd have to come in after you. Come with me, Potter, I believe
  we need to have a talk."

  Harry followed Professor McGonagall miserably to her office. He didn't know
  precisely what she was going to do, but he strongly suspected that she
  wouldn't be sympathetic to the knowledge that Harry was being buggered by the
  Divinations professor. His body was exhausted, and walking reminded him
  rather painfully of the vigorous intercourse in which he had just engaged.

  Minerva settled herself down behind her desk, and regarded Harry sternly.
  "Potter, I think I hardly need say that I'm not terribly pleased with you
  right now."

  "No, ma'am." Harry had figured that out all by himself.

  She pressed her lips together. "Not least because I shall now have to
  apologize for calling Mr. Weasley a nosy, filthy-minded little pervert. He
  is, of course, but given the accuracy of his perceptions, I suppose an
  apology is in order."

  Harry would have laughed if the situation hadn't been so serious. He gathered
  up his courage. "What are you going to do?"

  Minerva regarded him for a long time, expressionless, then pulled off her
  glasses and began rubbing her temples. "When did it start?"

  "We...touched and stuff before, but this was the first time." And the last as
  well, he supposed. Would Firenze be sent away from the castle? Would his herd
  kill him?

  "Nothing sexual occurred before you were of age?"

  Harry squirmed, wanted to say that it hadn't, but knew it to be a lie. "He
  touched me, once, at the end of last year. Because I wouldn't calm down. He
  just wanted me to go back to bed."

  "Fascinating method of enforcing it," she said crisply. "Has he ever hurt
  you?"

  "No!" Harry's voice was emphatic. "He never would. He - I - we love each
  other, Professor. Really."

  "I take it you use the term hurt rather loosely, given that you could barely
  walk when you exited the classroom." Minerva's voice was tart.

  "Um - that wasn't hurting, it was..."

  "Yes, Potter, I know quite well what it was." There was a long pause, and
  Minerva stared down at her blotter. "These things always happen, you know.
  During war. I'm actually surprised all of the seventh years haven't moved
  into each others' dormitories by now."

  Harry choked. "Are you saying-?"

  "I am saying, as you would know if you cared to listen, that you are an
  adult, and quite capable of making your own decisions. The...impropriety of
  the situation, given that Firenze is your teacher, can be overlooked under
  the circumstances." She gave him a tight smile. "Just don't let it distract
  you. I think-"

  She was interrupted by a flare from the small fireplace that stood across the
  room. As both Harry and Minerva turned to look at it, Dumbledore's head
  appeared within its confines. "Minerva. Harry. You will both wait where you
  are, please, until I arrive." With those few words, the head disappeared.

  There was a short silence, and then Minerva, looking dazed, held out the
  traditional tartan tin. "Biscuit?"

  "Mmm..." Harry took one, and looked at it. "Maybe you'd better have one too,
  Professor."

  "I think I shall," she said mirthlessly, and took one.

  There was nothing but the sound of crunching in the room for a moment, and
  then Harry said, "He sounded angry, didn't he?"

  Minerva irritably gave him another biscuit. "He has just discovered that you,
  whom he sees as a son, are being buggered by a centaur, and that I have given
  my approval to the affair. How do you expect him to sound?"

  "Ah." They didn't speak any more, until the door to Minerva's office swung
  open, and Albus Dumbledore entered the room, looking as grave as either of
  them had ever seen him.

  Dumbledore sat down in a chair beside Harry, ignoring Minerva, who stood
  nervously, silently offering him her chair. "I think," he began slowly, "that
  you both know how disappointed I am in you. Harry, you lied to me. I know
  that this is not the first time that you have done so, but it grieves me none
  the less. And you, Minerva, were planning to keep this from me, I believe.
  That, I could never have expected."

  Minerva looked torn between sorrow and impatience, between begging for
  forgiveness and telling Dumbledore to come to the bloody point. She did
  neither, just shot a sympathetic glance at Harry.

  Dumbledore noticed the glance, and his face grew stern. "Harry, do you trust
  me?"

  "Sir?" Of all the things Harry had expected to be asked, that wasn't among
  them. But Dumbledore didn't repeat himself, just kept looking at him with
  those solemn, sorry eyes. "I do trust you. And," he added, rallying himself,
  "I didn't lie to you. When you asked, we weren't. Now we are. And I don't see
  why she has to tell you every little thing. She's my Head of House, doesn't
  she have authority over me?" Harry's voice was defiant.

  Minerva began to correct him, but Dumbledore raised his hand, cutting her
  off. "Professor McGonagall does indeed have authority over you, but in a
  situation of such...gravity, I would have expected to be consulted on the
  matter." He stared at boy and woman for a long moment, seeing a comparable
  stoicism in both faces. Tired, he looked away. "Harry, this must stop. Now.
  If you cannot control yourself, Firenze will have to leave the castle."

  "No! The other centaurs, they'll hurt him-"

  "Then I would suggest that you control yourself, for love of him, if not from
  any obedience to my wishes." Dumbledore's voice was nearly cruel.

  "But Professor, please, I need-"

  "What you need right now, Harry, is to focus on your task. The reason that
  Professor McGonagall was looking for you in the first place was to tell you
  that we have determined to launch a final assault against Voldemort the day
  after tomorrow. In all the excitement, however, it seems to have slipped her
  mind."

  "And after it's over? If I'm still alive? What then?" Harry demanded.

  "You will still be a student, and Firenze will still be your professor, and
  any relationship between you will still be forbidden."

  Minerva made an impatient sound. "Albus, a word." She stood up, and led him
  over to a corner of her office, where she began speaking in a low, angry
  whisper. Harry could just make out the words "Grindelwald...sixteen years
  old...professor then...even after...lose him, Albus..."

  A long, private, unfathomable look passed between Dumbledore and McGonagall,
  and then Dumbledore turned to face Harry again, the lines on his face far
  softer than before. "Harry, much as it grieves me that you felt forced to
  seek out Firenze in such a manner, I am forced to concur with Professor
  McGonagall in that there are extraordinary circumstances at work here. As
  long as you maintain proper discretion, I will not hinder you." He stared at
  Harry for a moment, as if rearranging all his ideas of Harry's needs and
  innocence. "You had better go to bed now. There will be much to do tomorrow."

  Harry nodded quickly, and left the room. There had been something going on
  between the two staff members that he hadn't understood, but it didn't
  matter. If he could stay alive for the next two days, everything would be all
  right. Yet another instance of being grateful for small mercies, Harry
  thought, with a grim smile, and went to bed.

  *****

  Two days later, Harry woke up in the dark, gray early morning. Neville and
  Ron were stirring at the same time. The three of them had been dosed with a
  sleeping draught the night before, as Dumbledore knew all too well that sleep
  wouldn't come without it.

  They began dressing, silently, and after Harry had pulled on his robes, he
  sat down, and stared blankly across the room. He wasn't used to planned
  assaults, wasn't used to knowing ahead of time that he might die that day. In
  the past, it had simply occurred on the spur of the moment. Harry decided
  that he definitely preferred not knowing.

  His reverie was broken by Ron sitting down next to him. Harry looked at him,
  surprised. He wondered, really, why Ron was going with him. Ron had hardly
  spoken to him in months. "So...today," he said, unable to think of anything
  else.

  "Yeah." Ron scowled for a moment. "Harry, you - you know you're still my best
  friend, right? And even if you weren't - I mean, this is Voldemort we're
  facing. I'm with you. No matter what."

  Harry's spirits soared meteorically. He hadn't realized how much the
  situation with Ron had been bothering him - there had been too much else on
  his mind. "I don't think I did know. But...I'm glad you told me."

  Ron stared down at the ground, then smiled. "Had to. Otherwise you might get
  a bit pissy when I tell you to tie your bleeding shoes."

  Harry looked down, and realized that his laces were still flopping limply on
  the floor. "Just what I need, to trip over my own feet. Probably kill myself
  for them." He began knotting the laces carefully. "So you don't mind about
  the other?"

  "I do," Ron said frankly. "But...at least I know Firenze'll be watching your
  arse." He grinned briefly, punched Harry on the arm and stood up. "C'mon,
  let's get some breakfast."

  *****

  An hour later, everyone involved in the assault was gathered outside
  Hogwarts, waiting for the signal to enter the Forbidden Forest, where
  Voldemort was amassing his forces. Harry stood close to Firenze. The centaur
  looked down at him. "Are you frightened?"

  Harry glanced down at Gryffindor's sword, clasped tightly in his hand.
  "Yeah."

  Firenze thought for a moment. "There is a Muggle saying that I have heard
  Albus Dumbledore quote...let me see if I can recall it." He closed his eyes
  briefly. "I remember little of it. There is a special providence in the fall
  of a sparrow...the readiness is all."

  "Do centaurs believe that?" Harry asked curiously.

  "Not at all," Firenze replied promptly. "Centaurs are realists. But it might
  comfort you."

  Harry dared to rub his cheek against Firenze's smooth shoulder. "I think it
  would comfort me more if you promised to make love to me tonight."

  "What if you are tired tonight?"

  "Don't care. I want you inside me."

  "What if you are in the hospital wing?"

  "Have someone levitate you up the stairs and make Madame Pomfrey go away."

  Firenze laughed. "Very well, then. I promise that tonight, I shall make love
  to you."

  Harry was about to reply, but the sight of a shower of green sparks coming up
  from the Forbidden Forest distracted him. "Come on. That's the signal."

  *****

  The battle lasted all day long. It took until late afternoon just to get
  through to the inner circle of the Death Eaters. The casualties, remarkably,
  were few, though every loss was painful. Hestia Jones. Mundungus Fletcher.
  Fred and George Weasley, dropped in the same instant.

  But they struggled on, and the last rays of afternoon sunshine found Harry
  sitting on the ground, absently wiping off his sword. It was over. He was
  free. Suddenly, a dark shadow fell over him. Harry looked up. It was Firenze.
  "Hullo." And he smiled a lopsided smile. "I love you, did you know?"

  A soft chuckle. "I knew. And I love you as well, my Harry. I must go up to
  the castle now. It is not safe for me to linger here, even now. Will you
  come?"

  "I certainly hope so," Harry said cheekily, but then his face fell. "But the
  others - Fred and George..."

  "There will be time tomorrow to mourn them. Come now." Firenze dropped to his
  knees and looked at Harry. "Once more you may ride on my back."

  Harry climbed on and wrapped his arms tightly around Firenze's waist, letting
  his cheek rest on the centaur's shoulder as he was carried out of the forest.
  He didn't talk, there was no need to.

  When they returned to the castle, Firenze carried him into his quarters and
  laid him upon the soft pile of leaves. "You should rest now, Harry."

  "You promised," Harry said firmly.

  "But you need to rest." Firenze frowned.

  "You promised anyway."

  A small sigh. "Ita vero."

  Harry looked a bit anxious. "Unless you're too tired. You aren't hurt, are
  you?"

  "Not in the least." Firenze ran gentle, reassuring hands over Harry's body,
  undressing him carefully.

  "Oh, good. Because I just - I need to feel you inside me."

  "You shall," Firenze said gently, moving to lie beside Harry, oddly sprawled
  on his side. He pulled Harry close, so that they were chest to chest, and
  rested his cheek against Harry's. "I love you so." His hands strayed down,
  cupping and kneading Harry's bottom.

  "Love you too," Harry whispered, pressing small kisses to Firenze's neck. "So
  much."

  Firenze reached out a lazy arm and found the lubricant, then began gently
  working the cream into Harry's entrance, teasing and rubbing until he could
  feel Harry's gasps against his skin. "Patience." He let one finger slide
  carefully inside him.

  Harry arched his back, making a low sound deep in his throat. "To hell with
  patience," he muttered. "Want you now."

  In deference to the urgency of Harry's desire, Firenze inserted another
  finger, then moaned himself as Harry's impatient hands found his cock and
  began rubbing it, bringing it to full hardness. Firenze held out the jar of
  lubricant to him, and Harry rubbed a greedy handful over the hard length.

  Harry pressed a searing kiss to Firenze's lips, his mouth hot and demanding.
  After a moment, though, he pulled away. "Now," he insisted, rolling onto his
  stomach.

  Firenze nodded, and moved behind Harry, his legs neatly tucked up under him.
  He tugged at Harry's hips, positioning him on his hands and knees. "So
  beautiful," he whispered, pressing forwards. "My Harry."

  Harry gasped as his muscles stretched out, but responded immediately. "Yours.
  Only yours."

  Firenze moved slowly, as Harry's urgency had become lost in the slow,
  powerful rhythm. His hands stroked Harry gently, touching his cock, making
  him moan and press backwards. With every thrust he pressed in deeper, and
  every time Harry pushed back, wanting more.

  Soon, with Firenze's hand gripping his cock, Harry found himself ready to
  come, but he tried to hold off. "Fuck," he nearly sobbed. "Don't want it to
  stop. Not ever."

  Firenze hushed him gently. "Let it come, Harry. There will be tomorrow, and
  another tomorrow, and a thousand tomorrows after that. Let go, my love."

  "Yes..." Shaking, Harry spilled himself hard, his head falling forward,
  panting.

  The tight clenching in Harry's arse was enough to make Firenze lose control
  as well, and his teeth once again found Harry's shoulder roughly as he
  spilled deep inside the boy.

  When they were both curled side by side once again, Harry pulled back and
  smiled at Firenze faintly. "Did you mean it? A thousand tomorrows?" He rubbed
  at his shoulder slightly. "Going to be permanently marked, I think."

  "You should be," Firenze said dryly. "And no, I didn't mean it. I meant a
  hundred thousand."

  "Ah," Harry sighed, burying his face in the centaur's chest. "That's better,
  then."

  THE END
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