A Grim

Down in the village of Hogsmeade, there are dozens upon dozens of picturesque cottages with smoke trailing from their chimneys in the early hours of the morning. The sun rises brightly indicating that it will be a warm day. The villagers begin to wander about especially the shopkeepers preparing for the arrival of the ravenous horde.

The sound of trotting hoofs can be heard on the cobblestone as a handsome, muscular centaur with red hair and heard moves forward with his chestnut horse body trotting forward with his long, reddish tail swishing behind him. On his back sits his bonded partner, Sybill Patricia Trelawney wearing a leaf green cloak with a silver pin inherited from her great-great-grandmother, Cassandra Trelawney, a famous seer. Sybill's dark hair is loosely pulled back causing her spectacles to magnify her eyes several times their natural size. Thin as ever, she wears simple clothing with only a few simple ornaments such as an amethyst ring, an amber pendant, and a moonstone bracelet.

The villagers up and out on the streets peer at Ronan with curiosity but none bother the strange couple. Their romance had been made known by the Daily Prophet and other newspapers. There were plenty of curious onlookers and countless supporters of their romance. However, there are always a few that opposed their bonding calling it disgusting, an abomination against nature, etc.

At the edge of town, there is a rather large cottage that is only on one floor. The entryway is rather large, large enough to accommodate a centaur. Through the gate and up the path, Sybill easily slides off Ronan's back and reaches up to hold his hand. Hand in hand the two of them approach the door and knock.

Greatly resembling her daughter Sybill except without the glasses, Edith Trelawney happily opens her arms wide to embrace her daughter. "You look so lovely and in love, Sybill," Edith crooned pulling back to admire the pink flush on her daughter's face.

"Mother!" Sybill protested in embarrassment.

"Welcome Ronan," Edith smiled reaching over to hug her son-in-law to only barely reach his waist. Chuckling in good nature with a twinkle in her eye, she says, "I can easily see why Sybill chooses you, Ronan," adding a roguish wink.

"Mother!" Sybill squawked in utter mortification covering her burning face with her hands.

"I'm just teasing," Edith giggled before welcoming her daughter and husband inside.

Sybill glances around the house filled with family heirlooms. "How was the move, Mother?"

"All went very well, pumpkin," Edith said. "Your grandmother and I set everything to right, so don't you worry." Before turning to shout down the hallway corridor, "Mother, Sybill is here with Ronan."

"I'm coming, there is no need to get your knickers in a knot," rasped an elderly witch's voice. Leaning heavily on a cane wearing a twinkling shawl and large bug-like glasses, Cressida Trelawney heavily limps down the hallway. Her thin, white hair is pulled back in a bun causing her eyes to look that much larger.

"Come give grandma a hug, Pumpkin," Cressida rasped slightly out of breath.

Sybil hurried over to give her elderly grandmother a hug. Cressida embraces her granddaughter, before letting out a tired wheezing cough. Glancing over at the muscular centaur, Cressida wags her gnarled, crooked finger at him. "I am still displeased about the handfasting ceremony, young man."

"The tribe would not have permitted outsiders," Ronan replied bending down to greet the elderly witch. "However, Sybill wishes to hold a small private wedding ceremony so that mother-in-law and grandmother-in-law may be present."

"Ah, this charmer," Cressida cackled reaching up to pinch Ronan's cheek fondly, before releasing him. Old and weary, she waddled over to the nearest chair and slumped down to rest. "Well, what are you waiting for, Edith! Go get the family wedding dress out, we have some tailoring to do!"

"Yes, mother," Edith replied with some reservations glancing pointedly at her daughter to keep Cressida company.

Sybill sits down in a chair, while Ronan sits down on folded legs like a horse typically does next to Sybill. Sybill had only just removed her cloak and hung it on the back of the chair when Cressida asks, "Can I expect a great-grandchild fairly soon?"

"Grandmother!" Sybill sputtered lobster red in mortification.

"It's a perfectly honest question," Cressida said without any shame or embarrassment. She was much too old to worry about such things.

Seeing that Sybill is unable to speak, Ronan reaches over to cradle his wife's hand. Sybill visibly relaxes at her husband's touch. Gently squeezing his wife's hand, Ronan turns to face his grandmother-in-law. "Grandmother," he gravely started, "though it is possible for Sybill and me to conceive a child, there may be many stillbirths in between. A witch can only safely conceive a human child to completion while a centaur babe will be lost as the body of a witch is ill-equipped to bear a centaur babe."

"Had our roles been reversed," Ronan quietly continued, "a centaur or human child could easily be conceived and be safely born."

The wrinkled folds of Cressida's cheeks shook with strong emotions, but before she can speak to her daughter, Edith returns with an old wedding dress with ruffles and tussles. "Your great-grandmother used it, your grandmother, and so did I. The dress is old, but we can tailor it to match your size, Sybill."

"Yes, mother," Sybill numbly replied as she and her mother got to work on the dress. Ronan sat silently on the side observing while Cressida sipped a lukewarm pot of tea. The closer she got to the bottom the more she could see the tea leaves. On a whim, she set her cup down and permitted the tea to settle down first before practicing Tessomancy, (the art of reading tea leaves to predict the future).

Cressida must have dozed off because by the time she woke up the sun is brightly streaming through the windowpanes. Through the windowpanes, she can see her daughter and granddaughter along with her centaur grounds resting under the shade of a large tree in the front of the yard. Feeling her mouth dry from the warmth, she gulps down the remaining cold tea.

Snapping her lips together, Cressida peers at the murky tea leaves only to spot the clear distinctive figure of a Grim, a spectral dog, an omen of death. Her spotted hand violently shakes and the teacup crashes into the floor in Aichmomancy, (a divination that uses sharp objects for divination). Yet even the scattered shards form the same distinctive figure again, the Grim.

Clutching her opal necklace, Cressida mutters in an ancient tongue. Yet the ill feeling does not go away. The opal stones are powerful protections but even they were weak against Death. For Death is near.