Chapter 11 Star Walker

The morning of October 30th dawned crisp and clear, the Hogwarts grounds painted in autumnal hues of gold and russet. Jonathan Blackwood, however, was far from appreciating the scenery. He was crouched under his four-poster bed, engaged in a battle of wills with a most formidable opponent.

"Come on, Mr. Whiskers," Jonathan pleaded, brandishing a half-eaten tuna sandwich. "We've got classes. You can't stay under there all day."

The cat, a majestic tabby with an ego to match, merely yawned, his yellow eyes regarding Jonathan with what could only be described as feline disdain.

"What's the holdup?" Ron Weasley's voice called from the other side of the room. "We're going to miss breakfast!"

"It's Mr. Whiskers," Jonathan groaned. "He's sulking because I didn't let him come to Charms Club last night."

Harry Potter poked his head around the bedpost, his glasses slightly askew. "Can't you just... you know, levitate him out?"

Jonathan shook his head. "Last time I tried that, he shredded my Transfiguration essay. McGonagall didn't buy the 'my cat ate my homework' excuse, even when I showed her the cat-clawed parchment."

"Oi, give me that," Ron said, grabbing the tuna sandwich. He crouched down, making a series of bizarre meowing sounds. To Jonathan's amazement, Mr. Whiskers perked up, darted out, and began rubbing against Ron's legs.

"How did you..." Jonathan gaped.

Ron grinned, scratching Mr. Whiskers behind the ears. "Grew up with pet's, didn't I? You learn a thing or two. Now come on, I'm starving!"

As they raced down to the Great Hall, Mr. Whiskers trotting regally behind them ("He thinks he's escorting us," Ron chuckled), Jonathan's mind was already racing ahead. Halloween was tomorrow. The troll, the bathroom, Hermione. He'd been practicing his modified Imperturbable Charm, but would it be enough?

His worries were momentarily forgotten as they slid into seats at the Gryffindor table. Hermione was already there, a book propped against the milk jug. "There you are!" she exclaimed. "I've been reading about your charm, Jonathan. The applications are fascinating! I think with some tweaking, we could even use it for-"

"Oi, Granger," Ron interrupted through a mouthful of sausage. "It's too early for magical theory. Some of us are still digesting."

Hermione huffed, but her eyes twinkled. Over the past weeks, she and Ron had developed a sort of bickering camaraderie. It wasn't quite the friendship forged in troll-battling that Jonathan remembered from the books, but it was a start.

As owls swooped in with the morning mail, a familiar large, shabby bird landed with a thump in front of Harry, nearly upending the porridge. "Hagrid's asked us down," Harry said, reading the note. "Says he's got something to show us in the Forest."

"The Forbidden Forest?" Hermione squeaked. "But it's... well, forbidden!"

"Since when has that stopped us?" Ron grinned. Then, seeing Hermione's glare, he added hastily, "I mean, it's Hagrid. What's the worst that could happen?"

Jonathan nearly choked on his pumpkin juice. In his experience, that question was basically a cosmic dare.

After a quick Charms lesson (where Jonathan's Imperturbable Charm now had the added effect of making thrown objects bounce back at the thrower - much to Malfoy's dismay when his paper airplane zoomed back and gave him a spectacular paper cut), the trio made their way down to Hagrid's hut.

The gamekeeper was waiting, Fang at his side and a massive crossbow in hand. "Glad yeh could make it!" he boomed. "Got a bit of a situation in the Forest. Thought yeh might like ter help."

"Define 'situation,'" Jonathan said warily. In Hagrid-speak, that could mean anything from a lost unicorn to a tap-dancing troll.

"Oh, nothin' too bad," Hagrid assured them, which was not at all assuring. "Just a little problem with the centaurs. They're all in a tizzy 'bout somethin'. Figured we'd pop in, say hello, maybe bring 'em some apples as a peace offerin'."

And so, armed with Hagrid's crossbow, a sack of slightly bruised apples, and in Jonathan's case, a wand and a newfound mastery of selective sound barriers, they ventured into the Forbidden Forest. Mr. Whiskers, much to Ron's amusement and Hermione's exasperation, trotted along behind them, his tail high like a furry periscope.

"Are you sure it's wise to bring a cat into a forest full of predators?" Hermione whispered.

"You kiddin'?" Hagrid chuckled. "That cat's got more moxie than most wizards. Saw 'im stare down a hippogriff last week. Didn't even blink!"

Jonathan glanced back at Mr. Whiskers, who was now batting at a low-hanging branch as if it had personally offended him. Well, at least one of them was enjoying this expedition.

They walked deeper into the Forest, the trees looming closer, blocking out the afternoon sun. Strange rustlings and distant howls made Hermione jump, and even Ron looked a bit pale. Jonathan kept his wand out, the sigil of the Imperturbable Charm dancing in his mind.

Suddenly, Mr. Whiskers stopped. His ears flattened, his tail twitched. "Uh-oh," Ron muttered. "Cat's got his Auror face on."

A moment later, they heard it: the clip-clop of hooves. Hagrid raised his crossbow, but the look on his face was relief, not fear. "It's alright," he called out. "It's just me, Hagrid. And some friends!"

The centaurs emerged from the shadows like living statues, their human torsos proud, their horse bodies gleaming. Jonathan recognized Ronan and Bane from the books, but their leader...

"Magorian," Hagrid said, bowing his head slightly. "We've brought apples, as a token of-"

But Magorian wasn't looking at Hagrid, or the apples. His gaze was fixed on Jonathan, his eyes wide with what looked like... awe?

"The star-walker," Magorian breathed. "You have come."

Jonathan blinked. "I'm sorry, the what now?"

Bane snorted, pawing the ground. "Impossible. He is a mere foal, not the one foretold by the celestial dance!"

"Um, excuse me," Hermione interjected, her voice only shaking a little. "But what exactly is a 'star-walker'?"

It was Ronan who answered, his voice dreamy. "One who treads paths unseen, whose steps echo across the cosmos. The centaur astronomers have long watched for such a sign."

Jonathan's mind was reeling. Star-walker? Celestial dance? Was this about his sorcery, his dimension-hopping, or just some really bizarre centaur astrology?

Before he could ask, Mr. Whiskers let out a yowl that could've woken the dead. And then they heard it: a skittering, clicking sound, like a thousand knives being sharpened at once.

"Acromantulas!" Hagrid boomed, swinging his crossbow around. "Back, all of yeh!"