Within a few days, after various other experiments, Snape and Grubbly-Plank had learned that the Fatal Squirrel would not cross a line of salt which was broader than she could jump horizontally. For some unknown reason, she appeared to use her wings only to fly up or glide down, but she would not – or could not – employ her flying ability to move forward horizontally at ground level.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled when he learned of this peculiarity. "Excellent!" he declared. "It would seem that we might protect the castle itself by creating a giant salt ring upon the open grounds. The castle would be surrounded, and the Fatal Squirrels could not cross the salt barrier to enter the castle."

"Presumably so, Headmaster," Snape agreed cautiously. "However, seeing as we've had only a single squirrel to study, we do not yet know whether all of her kind are unable to fly horizontally at ground level."

Dumbledore waved a gnarled hand. "Quite so, Severus. However, in light of this development, I shall cast a salt barrier around the castle this very day. It's the best hypothesis we've developed thus far, and I intend to employ it. Better to err on the side of caution, and if it doesn't work, I daresay we shall learn that at some point."

Snape refrained from rolling his eyes. How presumptively overly-generous of Dumbledore to include himself in saying "we", when the old man had had nothing to do with formulating the hypothesis that salt would repel the Fatal Squirrels. As for finding out – the hard way – that the hypothesis might fail… Snape could only hope that the "we" would not suddenly segue into "you", meaning himself, or possibly the plural including Grubbly-Plank.

The two professors were standing with the Headmaster, silently observing the frustrated Fatal Squirrel in the two-hundred-foot- [65 metres-] long, twenty-foot- [6 metres-] tall glass enclosure stretching toward the shores of the Black Lake. A plethora of nuts, dried maize, and sunflower seeds were arranged near the far end of the enclosure, upwind of the squirrel, and a thirty-foot- [10 metres-] wide barrier of salt bisected the length of the enclosure. The squirrel had received no food for more than fifty hours, although she did have access to water. She kept running agitatedly in short bursts to and fro in her end of the long enclosure, approaching the salt barrier that separated her from her favorite foods, which she could clearly smell upon the light breeze. But the salt barrier repelled her advances every time. The glass walls were too smooth to climb, and she would not spread her wings to fly over the salt to reach the food she so desperately wanted.

At Dumbledore's nod, Snape conjured a rabbit into the far end of the enclosure, and upon detecting the scent of a warm-blooded creature, the famished squirrel's behavior became even more agitated. She ran from side to side in her end, desperately trying to climb the glass walls so as to get past the salt barrier, but she slid down the glass after every vertical leap.

"Vanish the glass ceiling, Severus," Dumbledore ordered. "I'll Accio the squirrel if she flies up out of the enclosure."

Professor Grubbly-Plank also stood tensely, her own wand at the ready, as the Potions Master Vanished the top of the glass enclosure.

The Fatal Squirrel seemed to sense the freedom above, but with no inviting treetop to encourage or entice her, she still did not fly upwards. Instead, she continued to fling herself bodily up the sheer glass walls, sliding down again and again in defeat.

"Fascinating," murmured Snape, intrigued with the complexity of the squirrel's behavior. "Apparently, she needs a nearby visual element to stimulate a flight response. The clear glass does not provide that. And yet, in the enclosure in Hagrid's hut, she has repeatedly flown up into the tree."

"Replace the ceiling," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. "I want to try something." As soon as the Fatal Squirrel was once again safely enclosed, the wizened Headmaster waved his wand, and the nest-bearing tree from inside Hagrid's hut appeared in the far end of the glass enclosure, poised above the nuts and the rabbit, which had begun nosing around in the pile of sunflower seeds.

The squirrel immediately spotted the tree and launched itself into renewed futile attempts to scale the glass walls.

"You thought the squirrel might fly toward the tree, Albus?" asked Grubbly-Plank. "Over the salt barrier?"

Dumbledore nodded. "It was a thought. And an idea which needed to be tested. But it would seem that a tree at that distance doesn't inspire horizontal flight. Now … let's try … this – " And he waved his wand once again, and suddenly the squirrel's familiar tree was in HER end of the enclosure.

Immediately, the verdigris creature flapped her wings to jerkily ascend into the lower branches overhead. She ran to the end of a limb, seemed to gauge the distance to cross over the salt, hesitated, then climbed quickly up the rough trunk to a higher limb. After rejecting that limb as well, she climbed to the very top of the tree, balanced precariously for a second, then – with her eyes blazing electric blue – she flung wide her leathery wings and glided from the treetop across her end of the enclosure, over the width of the salt barrier, and landed in the grass beyond.

Before the humans realized her intent, the Fatal Squirrel had leapt upon the hapless rabbit, causing it to scream in terror as needle-sharp fangs pierced its tender neck.

Grubbly-Plank gave a gasp of horror and conjured the bleeding rabbit out of the enclosure. While she set about trying to heal it, the Fatal Squirrel peered sharply around, seeking its missing meal. When it failed to spot the rabbit, the squirrel bounced over to devour the long-withheld feast of nuts and seeds.

Which suddenly Vanished. Including the cob of dried maize, which the squirrel had eagerly snatched up and begun gnawing.

Enraged, the squirrel screeched, sniffing frantically at the ground where the scent of food still lingered upon the grass. And then –

"She's spotted it," said Snape, who'd been almost as startled as the Fatal Squirrel when the pile of nuts had disappeared, only to reappear beneath the tree in the squirrel's original end of the enclosure.

Dumbledore nodded, pleased. "Now that she's had a taste of it, let's see if she'll fly back over the salt. She can see the tree, she knows the food is over here … how much visual incentive will that be this time?"

Grubbly-Plank had finished dressing the rabbit's wounds, hoping that the non-Magical creature would recover from injuries inflicted by a Dark-Magic creature. She stood silently beside Snape and Dumbledore, watching as the squirrel recommenced flinging her body up the glass walls to no avail.

At length, Dumbledore murmured, "One more thing…"

In increments, he slowly adjusted the food's position, moving it ever nearer the salt barrier. The squirrel's actions became increasingly frantic, but she did not attempt to fly across the salt

Back and forth she ran, from one glass wall to the other, repeatedly trying to climb, and failing miserably every time. The wizard returned the food pile to the far end of the enclosure.

"And finally…"

At Dumbledore's direction, the tree repositioned itself a few feet closer to the salt barrier. After a minute had passed, a few more feet. And a few more. The Fatal Squirrel began to contemplate the tree's position, crouching near the salt barrier, raising and lowering her body as she watched the tree's slow approach. Yet, she made no attempt to fly toward it until the tree had moved within twenty feet [6 metres] of the salt barrier, at which point the tree stood about fifty horizontal feet [16 metres] from the squirrel's side of the salt. Peering up at the inviting branches surrounding her nest, the Fatal Squirrel finally spread her wings and launched herself upwards to the safety of the treetop. But she paused for only a second or two on her favorite limb before gliding down to the far pile of walnuts and quickly snatched one up, ripping at the shell with her vampire fangs.

"Headmaster, if I might suggest…"

Dumbledore chuckled and repositioned the tree at the farthest end of the squirrel's side of the enclosure, where the green branches loomed over the feeding animal. Then, he pointed his wand and the Fatal Squirrel suddenly blinked out of existence, only to reappear a second later in the vacant end of the enclosure, separated once again from the nest-tree and food by the salt barrier. Startled, the squirrel hunkered down, frantically clutching her nut, but with a soft "pop", the nut itself Vanished from between her paws.

Screeching in furious dismay, the squirrel scouted around, desperately trying to locate the missing nut. When Dumbledore sent a gentle breeze toward her from the pile of food beneath the distant tree, the Fatal Squirrel raised her verdigris head and sniffed the air. Bat-ears twitching, tail jerking, she approached the salt barrier, but instead of flying over it as she had only moments earlier, she rasped an angry scolding before trying to climb the glass walls once again. Without a doubt, she was unwilling to fly horizontally toward a tree just over one hundred feet [30 metres] away.

"I guess that sums it up, Professors," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "This Fatal Squirrel does not fly horizontally over a salt barrier, so I shall endeavor to cast a broad salt ring around the castle grounds." His blue eyes twinkled brightly over his half-moon spectacles. "I would suggest allowing the squirrel to enjoy a long, uninterrupted meal, once she's returned to Hagrid's hut. She has certainly earned it!"

"I'll second that," agreed Grubbly-Plank, as Snape smirked.

So saying, the CMC professor waved her wand and relocated the nest-tree, the pile of nuts, maize, and seeds, and finally the Fatal Squirrel herself to the enclosure inside Hagrid's hut. When the people entered the hut, the greenish creature had already begun stuffing herself.

After watching in silence for a while, Snape frowned and commented, "I must say, Headmaster, that I was surprised when the squirrel attacked the rabbit even though her favorite plant-based foods were right in front of her. It was as if – once her hunger had surpassed a certain level – the blood-food took precedence over the nuts and seeds."

"I concur," said Dumbledore, his blue eyes suddenly very serious. "That IS disturbing."

-:- -:- -:-

Harry and his fellow Gryffindors had not been privy to the various experiments that the teaching staff had conducted upon the Fatal Squirrel. The area surrounding Hagrid's hut was now declared off limits unless the CMC class was actively in session, and Professor Grubbly-Plank had quietly advised Harry, Ron, and Hermione that she could no longer host Thursday afternoon tea. Or any other day of the week, she'd hastened to add before Harry had tried to find a loophole.

"They're probably torturing that poor squirrel and don't want any witnesses," Hermione said angrily, staring down from the Astronomy Tower at the three robed figures standing near the glass enclosure.

"Just try not to think about it," said Ron. "They need to find out all they can about the verdi-green squirrel, and we need to figure out what to do about the pink toad."

"Verdigris, Ronald. 'Verdi' means green. 'Gris' means gray. Essentially, you called it a green-green squirrel."

Harry adjusted his omnioculars, watching the tiny image of the Fatal Squirrel repeatedly hurling itself up the glass walls. "Take a look," he said, passing the omnioculars to Ron, who looked, then passed them in turn to Hermione.

"Poor little thing," she whispered.

Ron rolled his eyes. Harry shook his head.

Hermione watched the professors' various experiments in consternation as the tree was magically relocated time and again, and she punctuated her anger by slamming her hand down upon the stone parapet when the Fatal Squirrel attacked the hapless rabbit. "Take them!" she snarled, shoving the omnioculars back at Harry. "I don't want to watch anymore."

"I wonder where Hagrid is?" Harry mused, unconsciously rubbing Umbridge's scars on the back of his hand before raising the omnioculars to his eyes.

"I wonder what's for supper," Ron said, sniffing the breeze. "Sometimes I can catch a whiff of kitchen smells coming out of one of the chimneys when I'm up here."

"Now what's Dumbledore doing?" asked Hermione, for the elderly wizard had paused partway across the open grounds, standing with his arms spread wide, wand in hand, while his tangerine robes rippled in the breeze coming off the darkening lake.

The Headmaster, closely observed by Snape, whose own robes were rippling blackly in the breeze, began to chant something which the Gryffindors couldn't quite make out. But from Dumbledore's wand emerged an undulating, thick white stream, which took wing upon the breeze, snaking a glistening trail through the air, curving around the castle at some good distance.

"What IS he doing?" Harry pressed the omnioculars to his eyes. "It looks like… It's SALT! It has to be! Remember how Snape and Grubbly-Plank were going to run salt-based tests with the Fatal Squirrel?"

"It's a barrier!" squealed Hermione, running to the opposite edge of the Astronomy Tower. "See? Here it comes!"

Sure enough, the stream of salt had coursed around the entire castle, and it sped toward Dumbledore and Snape, who were being joined by Grubbly-Plank. The gigantic salt ring had even encompassed Hagrid's hut, far enough distant from the Forbidden Forest that no Fatal Squirrels could glide over the salt. Upon reaching Dumbledore, the head of the salt stream joined its own tail, hovering momentarily before Dumbledore gave a sharp downward motion with his wand, which caused the salt to fall to the ground, creating a thirty-foot- [10 metresr09;] wide barrier upon the grass.

Harry saw Snape and Grubbly-Plank nod in satisfaction before they followed the Headmaster up to the castle.

"Let's go," said Harry, and they pelted down the stairs, eventually joining other Gryffindors on their way from their Common Room to the Great Hall for supper.

Dumbledore's announcement before the House tables automatically filled with food gave the entire student body fodder for endless gossip and speculation.

"I have cast a large ring of salt around the castle to form a barrier against the Fatal Squirrels," he said, his eyes devoid of any hint of twinkle. "We HOPE this barrier will be sufficient to repel the squirrels, if they should happen to approach the castle. It goes without saying that no student or staff member is to tamper with the salt ring." His eyes seemed to slide from one end of the Slytherin table to the other, before crossing the Hall to settle upon the Weasley twins. "The salt barrier is in place to help protect lives. Any attempt – magical or otherwise – to circumvent this protection will be dealt with MOST severely." He looked sternly down the full length of each House table to allow his words time to sink in. "And now, Professor Snape has an announcement."

As Snape stood, a pillar of ebony beside the Headmaster's bright robes, the students stared at the dark man expectantly.

"I would ask all students, in addition to becoming proficient in casting the Aguamenti Charm, to practice a second, more challenging Charm. The incantation is 'Eruptum Sal', and the wand movement – " He demonstrated a whipping blackslash motion of his wand, and a stream of salt spurted from its tip, cascading over the Head Table. "Needless to say, this Saltburst Charm is NOT to be used in the Great Hall, or in any classroom, except for practice during Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Nor is it allowed in the dormitories, Common Rooms, or corridors. Or stairwells." He glared ominously at the student body for emphasis.

Harry muttered under his breath, "As if Umbridge would permit us to practice in her class…" He sneered in disgust, before adding in a barely-audible saccharine falsetto, "There's NOTHING out there, dear! Especially not vampire-squirrels. Wands away!"

Ron snorted in agreement with Harry's sentiments toward Umbridge, and even Hermione unbent enough to add a quiet snicker.

"'Eruptum Sal' is permitted in the paved exterior courtyard only," Snape continued. "And ALL participants and observers MUST wear protective goggles at all times. These goggles will be distributed to all Common Rooms before classes begin tomorrow. It is your responsibility to take them to the appropriate classes and courtyard for practice."

Snape watched the students exchange glances with each other before he expounded in more detail. "We have learned that salt will burn a Fatal Squirrel's skin on contact, and it is particularly effective on the pads of their feet. A squirrel's thick fur will make it more difficult for salt to penetrate all the way to the skin. However, our experiments have shown that two people – one casting Eruptum Sal and the other Aguamenti – may prove an effective team in … disabling … a Fatal Squirrel."

"Disabling?" hissed Ron. "What's he – "

"Be warned! This type of defense is to be used ONLY if you have no other recourse. Always retreat to the castle first, cast Aguamenti second, to slow the squirrels down, and cast Eruptum Sal if you have no other means of defense. For the inexperienced caster, a Fatal Squirrel would have to be nearly on top of you before you could cast sufficient salt to be effective against attack. And remember, it would require an accompanying Aguamenti to wet down the squirrel's fur to help the salt penetrate to the skin."

Snape's black eyes seemed to lock momentarily with each and every student's, even though there were hundreds seated in the Great Hall. "Be warned…" he repeated, this time in a voice so low that the students almost had to strain to hear him. "The results of Eruptum Sal can be … disturbing … to witness. The squirrel will experience extreme pain. It will vocalize. You well may find it overwhelming to witness. But never forget – your very life may be at stake. DO NOT RELENT."

Without a further word, Snape Vanished the salt which he had spewed across the Head Table and reseated himself. Dumbledore waved his usual grand gesture, the food appeared, and then the Headmaster also sat as conversation rose to a louder-than-average hubbub over the dinner tables.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked from Snape to Dumbledore; both men's faces bore unusually grim expressions. Then Hermione whispered, "I KNEW they were torturing that poor squirrel. And it must have been awful! Look at Professor Grubbly-Plank."

The CMC professor's face had gone a sickly shade of green.

-:- -:- -:-

The Fifth Year Gryffindors did not have Charms until afternoon, but they packed their new goggles into their school bags before heading down to Care of Magical Creatures on the following morning, right after breakfast. The salt ring gleamed whitely in the distance, and beyond it, late autumn leaves colored the canopy of the Forbidden Forest. A thin mist crept from the Black Lake, seeping slowly toward Hagrid's pumpkin patch. Less than a week before Halloween, Hagrid's chimney stood as a smokeless, cold sentinel over the sloping roof of his hut.

"Where could he be?" asked Harry for the hundredth time that term, but before anyone could answer, the students heard a woman's anguished sobs pervading the chilly mist.

"Is that – Professor Grubbly-Plank?" gasped Hermione.

The sobs continued – raw, despairing, and rising in volume.

"Behind the hut!" urged Harry. "Hurry!"

The CMC students – Gryffindors and Slytherins alike – rushed down the remainder of the steep, narrow path and hurtled around the side of Hagrid's hut, only to stop dead at the sight which met their horrified eyes.

Professor Grubbly-Plank was kneeling on the ground, hunched over a wailing child who seemed covered with blood.

"It's a centaur," whispered one of the Slytherin girls.

And indeed, two grown centaurs hovered above the professor, anxiously shifting their hooves. The female centaur continued to sob uncontrollably, as the male put his steadying arms around her bleeding shoulders. "Please!" she gasped, reaching out imploringly toward the keening child, whose shrill sobs each seemed to end in a frail, despairing whinny. "Please help him!"

Grubbly-Plank grabbed her wand in a bloody hand and cast three Niffler Patroni, which zoomed upward through the mist toward the castle. Several more flicks of her wand Summoned vials and bandages from her CMC stores inside the hut.

"She said they came out of nowhere," the white-blond male centaur informed Grubbly-Plank in a low voice. "Without any warning. They also attacked her husband, but he fought them off to give Fayleene and their foal a chance to escape. They stumbled into my glen about an hour later, and I brought them here. Their wounds are too numerous and beyond my skill to heal."

"You did right, Firenze," said Grubbly-Plank in a soothing tone. Although the male centaur's torso was also bloodstained, it was not his own blood, but that of the mother and her child. Still, his own voice shook in reaction to the devastating situation.

The female centaur had a most beautiful face, framed by long, waving chestnut hair. But her features crumpled with grief as she sobbed anew, trembling all over from head to tail.

Most of the female students had begun to weep sympathetically, and Harry could see that many of the male students of both Houses wore expressions of helpless anger on their faces at whatever could have attacked the centaur family so viciously.

Grubbly-Plank's hands moved gently as she worked on the whimpering foal. Horrible gouges had been ripped into the baby's tender flesh, both on his skin-covered torso and arms, as well as his roan-hided haunches. The gray-haired witch had cast spells to stop the bleeding, and now she was trying to urge him to swallow a centaur-formula variant of Blood-Replenishing Potion. The tiny foal kept turning his head away, screaming his reaction to the potion's foul taste. Grubbly-Plank looked up at the mother. "Please – he needs to swallow this. He's lost far too much blood."

The female centaur carefully lowered herself to the ground, cradling her baby in her bleeding arms. "You must drink, my son. It will help you to heal." The tiny foal whimpered and shook his head, but Fayleene insisted, "You must drink. Here, I'll hold it for you." Tears flowed down her anguished face as Grubbly-Plank handed her the vial. "Shh … mother is here, Braeden. Drink quickly and it will be all gone." She held the vial to her son's clamped lips with a trembling, bloodstained hand. "Hold your breath and swallow quickly, my love," she whispered, her voice catching. "There's a good boy…"

The roan foal took two quick breaths, held the third, gulped down the Blood Replenisher, and burst into tears again. "Mama…" His helpless, desperate whinny rent the air, and Fayleene tucked his sobbing face against the bloodied, laced turquoise vest she wore. "Mother's here, Mother's here," she crooned, her tears wetting her son's pale red hair.

Footsteps pounded around the corner of the hut, followed by a lighter set. Snape and Madame Pomfrey had arrived, and they were followed mere seconds later by Dumbledore.

"It was the Fatal Squirrels, Albus," said Grubbly-Plank without preamble, ignoring the horrified gasps from several of the students as they realized what had caused the carnage before them.

Pomfrey quickly knelt down and began casting diagnostics with a wand which Harry – despite his numerous stays in the Hospital Wing – had never seen before.

"Firenze said Fayleene, her husband, and their son were all attacked without warning. The child is…" The CMC professor looked at Pomfrey, whose tight expression was not encouraging.

"The bite gouges are too numerous for dittany," said the Medi-witch. "He could never stand that degree of pain. The child is already in shock, and that could…" Pomfrey's voice trailed off.

Fayleene sobbed in anguish and clutched baby Braeden to her breast. "Oh, please! Please! Somebody help him! Somehow … somehow…"

Dumbledore clapped his hands once, causing everyone to flinch at the loud crack. And in the next second, Fawkes appeared in a burst of golden flame, alighting on the Headmaster's arm. The elderly wizard carried the crimson Phoenix over to where Fayleene lay embracing her son.

"My lady," he said gently, "Fawkes would be pleased to assist your child."

Wordlessly, the beautiful centaur nodded, biting her lip lest sudden hope be thwarted. Fawkes balanced carefully on Dumbledore's wrist and let drop a single tear upon each of the foal's ragged wounds. Before their very eyes, the ripped flesh began to heal, both in his skin as well as his pale roan hide.

At length, little Braeden looked up into his mother's clear turquoise eyes and sniffled, "No hurt, Mama." He managed to hook his small thumb between rosebud lips before he sagged in exhaustion, and – drawing his tiny hooves up beneath him – fell asleep.

"Oh, thank you! Thank you!" Fayleene choked out, caressing her son's soft red curls. "Thank you so much!"

Before anyone could speak, Fawkes had tilted his head and trilled musically to get Fayleene's attention. Carefully, he hopped onto her chestnut equine body and began healing her wounds, one tear at a time. The centaur mother began weeping her own tears of gratitude as her pain finally began to subside.

"WHAT is going on here?"

The sleeping foal excepted, everyone turned to see Dolores Umbridge standing imperiously at the corner of Hagrid's hut. As the morning sun's rays lit her bright fuchsia suit, students, staff, and centaurs alike squinted against the blinding pink glare.

Dumbledore approached the self-proclaimed High Inquisitor. "We've made the unfortunate discovery, this morning, that the Fatal Squirrels have arrived in the Forbidden Forest. A centaur family was attacked, and the child suffered serious injury."

"Serious, you say?" Umbridge strode over and sneered down at the sleeping foal. "I fail to see anything I would call a 'serious' injury, Dumbledore. Merely a few smears of blood."

"He was too injured!" burst out Harry. "He was covered with bite wounds – " A hand on his shoulder cut off his protest. To his shock, he realized the pressure he'd felt was Snape's hand, but it was gone just as quickly, even as the dark man's frown urged caution.

Snape spoke up quietly, his voice carefully neutral. "The Headmaster did not overstate the case, Professor. As you can see, his Phoenix is still in the process of healing the child's mother."

Umbridge scoffed as she dismissed Fawkes' efforts. "I don't understand why that senseless bird would even bother. Centaurs may be creatures of near-human intelligence, but they're hardly worth the waste of Phoenix tears."

Behind the Headmaster, Firenze's jaw clenched and his hands knotted into fists over the toad-woman's insults. Behind Umbridge, many of the students' jaws had clenched, and suddenly, numerous wands had appeared, not quite pointing at Umbridge's back, but only because the students exerted extreme self-control. Their show of solidarity did not escape Firenze's notice, or anyone's notice, except for Umbridge herself. And, of course, baby Braeden.

"Fawkes heals as he pleases," Dumbledore stated firmly. "If he did not feel someone deserved help, his eyes would remain dry."

Hoofbeats cut short Umbridge's response, and all turned to see another male centaur galloping toward Hagrid's hut.

"Bane!" called Firenze, lifting his arm in greeting, but his expression fell when he saw the grim countenance on the approaching black-haired centaur. He glanced down at Fayleene and saw equal dread suffusing her tearstained features.

Bane slowed to a trot before walking the final few steps to the female of his herd. Bowing his head, he said quietly, "My deepest condolences on your loss."

Many of the students looked momentarily confused, as baby Braeden continued to slumber peacefully, but then they realized that Fayleene had begun gasping for breath, her face white with shock, and probably only the child sleeping in her arms kept her from screaming aloud. "Paltarre…" she moaned, "Oh, Paltarre…" Her tears flowed hot and heavy, despite Fawkes trilling gently as he rubbed his crimson head against her bare shoulder.

"Where did it happen?" Dumbledore addressed Bane.

"About six miles south, a mile or so inland from the eastern shore," Bane responded, his black tail slapping his dark haunches agitatedly. "After Firenze raised the alarm, we went to search for Paltarre, but it was too late when we found … him. What was left of him," he added in a barely-audible voice, glancing at the weeping widow.

Dumbledore nodded at Snape to follow as Bane and Firenze walked a few steps away to converse with the wizards privately. Harry would have given anything for a pair of Extendable Ears, though they would have been impractical in this situation. A quick lift of the breeze did carry a snatch of the low-toned conversation between the centaurs and wizards, and Harry wasn't the only student who caught Bane's "…stripped near to the bones…" before the breeze died down.

A muffled "mmphh!" caused several horror-stricken students to turn around, and to Harry's surprise, Draco Malfoy had clapped his hand over Pansy's mouth, cutting off what would have been some shriek invoking Merlin. Before he could think, Harry nodded at Draco for his consideration for Fayleene, and Draco responded by rolling his eyes and shrugging, as if to say in regard to Pansy, "Women!"

"…far fewer nuts this year … trees stripped … stored for winter … local squirrels…" Dumbledore's quiet observations rose and fell, subject to the vagaries of the breeze. "…turning to blood food … salt ring … herd welcome at Hogwarts – "

"Excuse me, Dumbledore – did I just overhear you saying that a … centaur HERD … would be welcome at Hogwarts?" Dolores Umbridge's aghast expression reflected her initial disbelief, but seconds later, her jaw set and her eyes held a glint of steel.

The Headmaster turned to face the pink-robed High Inquisitor. "Yes, indeed, Dolores. Hogwarts has a centuries-long history of offering refuge to those in need – "

"To wizards, Dumbledore," Umbridge interrupted. "Not to half-breed animals."

Bane's face darkened as he took two threatening paces toward the offensive human, but Firenze grasped Bane's arm in warning. Bane shook off his grip, but he allowed Dumbledore to interpose himself between the centaurs and the pink toad.

"Dolores, the situation in the Forbidden Forest has grown extremely critical. As Headmaster, I offer hospitality to those in need. Hogwarts is open to ALL of those who seek shelter from the Fatal Squirrels."

The High Inquisitor smirked, distorting her face into a visage ugly enough to be worthy of a Muggle Halloween mask. "Enjoy your position, Dumbledore … while you can." She sniffed disdainfully, her upper lip curling as the breeze carried the centaurs' scent in her direction. "The Minister shall hear of your ridiculous idea of hospitality before the day is out. I shouldn't be surprised if he decides to put someone more responsible in charge of this school."

As the students, staff, and centaurs watched silently, Umbridge whirled on one pink-shod heel and began marching toward the castle, only to stop abruptly at a high-pitched screech coming from within Hagrid's hut.

"What, in Merlin's name, is that unearthly noise?" she demanded, striding over to stand in the open doorway. The morning sun glared a blinding pink off her fuchsia suit and robes, but the light failed to penetrate the still-shadowed interior of the hut, where the frantic screeching rose into ear-splitting shrieks of fury.

Grubbly-Plank shoved past Umbridge, followed closely by Snape and Dumbledore. Keeping their distance from Umbridge, the students edged toward the vicinity of the doorway so they could hear what transpired within. After giving several affronted "harumphhs", Umbridge herself entered the hut, shouting to be heard over the shrieks. "WHAT is going on, Dumbledore?! I demand an explanation!"

The Headmaster and the other two professors stared at the Fatal Squirrel, who had launched herself at the wire mesh of the enclosure, her eyes blazing electric blue as she darted this way and that across the mesh, shrieking so loudly within the confines of the hut that the adult wizards winced to hear her.

"I don't understand it, Dolores," Dumbledore shouted into the toad-woman's ear. "I've never seen her behave this way before."

Umbridge's lips twisted. "Another useless half-breed taking up space at Hogwarts," she sneered. "Destroy it." And she turned to make a hasty exit from the hut.

Amazingly, the moment Umbridge had disappeared from sight, the Fatal Squirrel calmed, her eyes darkening toward a normal shade. She clung to the mesh for another moment or so, then hopped down to retrieve a walnut from her pile. Spreading her leathery wings, she jerkily propelled herself upwards into her nest-tree, where she began gnawing at the nutshell as if nothing untoward had just happened.

"It's as if she carried some personal grudge against Umbridge," remarked Snape, and the other adults laughed, echoed quietly by several of the listening students.

Grubbly-Plank gestured toward the Fatal Squirrel. "Do I obey her orders, Albus? Do I destroy it?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Not yet. I need to have a word with Cornelius…" So saying, he took a handful of Floo powder from Hagrid's mantel crock and tossed it into the cold fireplace, where green flames erupted from thin air. "Minister of Magic's office," Dumbledore called into the flames.

In a moment, Cornelius Fudge's harried face appeared, asking abruptly, "Yes, Dumbledore? I'm in a meeting – this had better be important."

Dumbledore smiled. "In fact, Cornelius, this matter IS quite urgent."

"Yes? Well, go on – what is it?" The Minister turned his head, glancing impatiently at the unseen occupants in the office behind him.

"The Fatal Squirrels have reached the Forbidden Forest," Dumbledore informed him, watching the Minister's Floo-green complexion go as pale as a Fatal Squirrel's belly. "They killed an adult male centaur and badly mauled a female and their foal. As a result of this tragedy, I have informed the centaurs that their herd may seek protection at Hogwarts as long as this deadly threat remains in the Forest."

Fudge was nodding, "Yes, yes – very generous of you, I'm sure. Was there anything else, Dumbledore?"

The Headmaster's features hardened. "Yes, I'm afraid there is. Dolores Umbridge took exception to the centaurs being offered refuge. She implied that she would have me fired for taking such protective measures on the herd's behalf." Before Fudge could say anything, Dumbledore continued, "In addition, Dolores became upset when our only test subject screeched at her from within the security of its cage. Despite the fact that it remains absolutely imperative that we learn everything we can about Fatal Squirrels from this test animal, Dolores arbitrarily ordered us to destroy it. She seemed to feel that she spoke for the Ministry in this matter?" Dumbledore's face gentled into a mildly-inquiring expression. "However," he held up a forefinger, "I thought I should double-check with you, Cornelius, before I rashly destroyed our only firsthand source of information. It could be that the Fatal Squirrel's screech simply made Dolores' ears ring temporarily."

Dumbledore contrived to appear crestfallen, while Snape turned his back to the green flames, his black robes shaking slightly with a silent chuckle. Harry grinned at Snape, amused to see that the man actually did have a sense of the absurd, and the Potions Master returned an unexpected wry smile. Between the two men, Grubbly-Plank snorted audibly, causing the other students pressed into the doorway to snicker.

"Merlin's beard, Dumbledore! The Ministry has always left it up to the Headmaster's discretion as to whom to offer refuge at Hogwarts, and as for the test squirrel – I can't believe Dolores would be so irrespon – as unwise as to suggest its destruction. Keep that Fatal Squirrel alive at all costs, until we have learned how to defeat them all."

"Yes, Minister. Thank you very much." Dumbledore smiled broadly. "Have a pleasant day."

Cornelius Fudge simply rolled his eyes, grimacing as he withdrew his head. The green flames died upon the cold grate.

"Nice going, Albus," Grubbly-Plank stated admiringly.

But Dumbledore frowned. "It might work only this once," he warned. "If I continue to go over Dolores' head, it may quickly prove counterproductive. But this – " He waved his hand at the Fatal Squirrel, then out the door at the waiting centaurs. "This was crucial."

He swept through the open doorway, students scattering out of his way, and approached Bane and Firenze. "The Minister of Magic has overruled Professor Umbridge's opinion about the suitability of the centaurs seeking shelter at Hogwarts during the Fatal Squirrels crisis. All of your people are welcome."

Bane gave a loud, equine snort. "What about the restrictions the Ministry has imposed on our territory, Dumbledore? What of that?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Fudge did not offer any comment. But for the moment, I think it best to fight one battle at a time, and the Fatal Squirrels pose a far greater threat than a territorial dispute."

With a toss of his head, Bane shook his long mane of black hair over his shoulders. "I shall inform my herd of your offer, Dumbledore," he said, a fierce light burning in his eyes. "But I doubt many will accept. We look after our own and refrain from meddling in the affairs of men." Half rearing, he spun on his hind hooves and galloped away into the thinning mist, disappearing at last into the ominous cover of the Forbidden Forest.

Dumbledore turned to Firenze and Fayleene, who still cradled little Braeden in her embrace. "All of you are welcome in the castle. Or, if you prefer, on the open grounds within the perimeter of salt. We believe that the Fatal Squirrels will be unable to cross the salt barrier."

The centaurs exchanged searching looks before Fayleene nodded and said shakily, "Thank you, Professor Dumbledore. I accept your kind offer of hospitality for my son's sake. I've already lost…" Her voice choked into a mere whisper. "I can't lose Braeden, too." She looked at the open grounds with its distant gleam of salt. "I'd feel safer inside the castle, if that's acceptable? I've heard tell that your doors can be locked against intruders… I'd feel safer behind a locked door. I know that sounds silly – "

"Not at all," Dumbledore assured her. "We have many vacant rooms on the ground floor, and I'll see that appropriate accommodations are arranged immediately."

The centaur mother nodded wordless thanks.

"And you, Firenze?" inquired the Headmaster.

Firenze hesitated, his blue eyes troubled. "I may accept your invitation later, but for the time being, I should like to see if I can persuade other members of the herd to accept. I agree with Bane's sentiments in general. However, when lives are at stake, I believe we should avail ourselves of assistance when it is offered, even if it does come from men. Several other foals were born this year, though they are all slightly older than Braeden. Perhaps I may persuade their mothers to bring them to the castle. The females could provide company for Fayleene, as well."

"Excellent," said Dumbledore, a hint of a twinkle showing above his spectacles. "Just inform Professors Grubbly-Plank or Snape, if I'm not around when they arrive."

Firenze nodded, laid a gentle hand on Fayleene's shoulder, and after a quick whisper in her ear, turned his palomino body and slowly cantered away, his long pale hair bouncing rhythmically against his tanned back, which caused a number of the Fifth Year girls to sigh in admiration.

Meanwhile, Dumbledore extended his hand to Fayleene, who quickly gathered her hooves beneath her and gracefully rose, baby Braeden still cradled snugly in her strong arms.

"If you would allow me to assist you, my lady?" Dumbledore waved his wand and levitated the sleeping foal to float between them, relieving Fayleene of his awkward weight.

"How old is your son?" asked Hermione, curious, but wondering if she should even speak at such a time.

The centaur turned her head, looking down to meet the girl's brown eyes with her own turquoise ones. "Almost three months."

Hermione's eyebrows rose in surprise. "And he's already talking?"

Fayleene gave a sad smile as she looked down upon her sleeping foal. "He would be the equivalent of approximately one year old in a human," she explained. "He has acquired a few words. His father loves to teach… Loved…" Her voice trailed away.

"I'm so sorry," Hermione whispered, and Fayleene nodded silently as she followed Dumbledore and the floating foal away from the group of students up to the castle, negotiating the steep hill with surprising ease.

Professor Grubbly-Plank cast a quick Tempus, then shook her head. "Class dismissed. Review the assignment we should have covered today for next time. We'll try to make it up then." Amidst a chorus of "Good-bye, Professor" and "Have a nice day, Professor", the CMC professor bustled back into Hagrid's hut to tend to the reprieved Fatal Squirrel.

"Professor Snape?"

The Potions Master, who had been lost in thought as he watched Dumbledore and the centaurs, jerked slightly and turned his head to glare down at the waiting Gryffindor.

"Yes, Potter?"

Harry's green eyes stared up at the dour man. "Um … I had a question?"

"So I would presume." Snape folded his arms across his chest, waiting.

The three inseparable Gryffindors exchanged glances, before Harry continued. "We were wondering, Professor, if the Fatal Squirrels will attack the unicorns, too?"

Snape's eyebrows rose momentarily as he considered. It was actually quite a good question, especially considering it had come from Potter, he decided. As for the answer…

"I would surmise … possibly not," he said somewhat cautiously. This was uncertain territory, but based on known facts, he was willing to offer reasoned conjecture.

"But unicorns are horse-like mammals, aren't they?" Harry asked, frowning. "And the squirrels – packs of them – have killed regular horses, haven't they?"

Snape nodded slowly, but he held up a forestalling hand. "There have been several incidents involving larger mammals, including two horses, but unicorns may not offer the same type of lure to the squirrels as ordinary horses, or even centaurs. Can anyone tell me why?"

Harry heard Ron mutter something that sounded like, "If we knew that, we wouldn't be asking…" He could only hope Snape himself hadn't heard the barely-audible comment.

"But they're Magical," Harry insisted, his mind working in a different direction than the one upon which Snape seemed to be focused. "The squirrels seem to go after Magical animals and people first, right?"

The dark professor cast his eyes around the tight knot of students, Gryffindors and Slytherins alike, none of whom had yet left after being dismissed by his colleague.

"Consider the unicorn's blood." Snape automatically slipped into lecture mode. "Unicorns do not share the same type of blood as horses, centaurs, or any other creatures – including humans – Magical or non-Magical. I believe several of you had occasion to see the spilled blood of a wounded unicorn during your First Year. Others of you may have seen this precious liquid at an apothecary shop, or perhaps in my personal stores." His lips described a flat line at the last part of his statement. "What color is unicorn blood? Mr. Malfoy?"

"Silver, sir. It looks like liquid silver."

"Quite," agreed Snape. "And why is it silver?"

Silence.

"Any educated guesses?"

More silence.

"Any wild ideas?"

As the silence continued, Snape frowned in annoyance. "Miss Granger?"

Hermione jumped. "I didn't raise my hand, Professor."

"Wonders never cease," the Potions Master sneered nastily as Hermione's cheeks reddened.

"So, why IS unicorn blood silver, Professor?" Harry asked quickly, trying to divert the man's attention from his fellow Gryffindor.

Snape regarded the waiting CMC class. "Unicorns' blood is absolutely pure. Unlike other Magical creatures, unicorns are comprised of pure Light Magic, not the combination of Light and Dark carried by other creatures, including witches and wizards. The blood of a unicorn is purest Light Magic in liquid form. For an ordinary creature – or person – to drink the blood of a unicorn condemns the imbiber to a half-life. Due to the presence of a certain degree of Light Magic within all of us, we would not be instantly annihilated by the pureness of the unicorn's blood, were we unwise enough to drink it. However, due to the accompanying presence of Darkness within us, we are condemned for our villainy."

The students stared at Snape in wide-eyed silence, the original question still lurking just below the surface.

"I do not believe that the Fatal Squirrels will put the unicorns at risk," Snape said at last, "given that the squirrels were primarily fabricated through the use of Dark Magic and Dark Potions. The Fatal Squirrels carry far more Dark Magic within them than does the average Magical creature. As a result, I seriously doubt whether these squirrels could tolerate the blood of such a pure Light Magical creature as the unicorn. Most likely, the Fatal Squirrels will even go out of their way to avoid unicorns."

"Like they're repulsed by the opposite kind of Magic?" asked Harry. "Like two magnets pushing away from each other?"

Again, Snape's eyebrow rose, but he conceded the point that the black-haired boy was making. "A somewhat inexact comparison, Potter, but one could generalize that the idea is parallel."

Harry's jaw dropped. Snape had practically offered him a compliment! Of course, he did not expect the man to follow up with points awarded to Gryffindor…

Almost as if he could read Harry's thoughts, Snape sneered very slightly as he said, "Twenty points to Slytherin for Mr. Malfoy's correct answer regarding the color of unicorn blood."

When no further points appeared to be forthcoming, Hermione asked, "So, the unicorns will be safe, due to the purity of their blood?"

"I believe that is what we have concluded, Miss Granger."

The group of students exhaled as one, most looking visibly relieved.

Snape cast a Tempus and smirked with pleasure. "Five points per person per minute for every minute that he or she is late for Potions."

Gasping in dismay, the students fell over their own feet and each others', scrambling up the steep path to the castle, through the tall main doors, down the stairways, through the dungeons, their shoes pounding the stone floors in a frantic stampede. As they burst through the doorway into the dimly-lit Potions dungeon, Snape was already seated calmly at his desk, pointedly looking at the ticking wall clock.

"Greasy git!" groused Ron, flinging his school bag onto the lab table and himself onto his stool. "He must have Flooed from Hagrid's fireplace!"