Prongs sped towards the source of the squeaky yet strong voice getting louder and louder, struggling, thrashing, until he desisted in a flurry of beats.  First to meet his eyes was a quivering child, though, he comprehended with a start, that this child was indeed so, but the second half of his body was white; a centaur. 

The boy stamped wildly with his forelegs, the other two trying to pull away, his hair and arms tangled in a web of tree branches, one arm over his eyes.  Beneath him, the largest serpent the depths of his imagination could ever conceive.  The snake slithered near, shying back each time the centaur stamped with his white legs, winding closer each time. 

Prongs wasted no more time than this; his forelegs raised high he leapt into the struggle, landing hard on the serpent's body.  It hissed violently but he took no notice; using his antlers he scooped its long, coiled body and hurled it in the opposite direction with a formidable blow. 

The black-purple, lethal creature now rose, viciously spitting in his direction as he stamped wildly, raising his forelegs and kicking his hind ones, shaking his head, a silent battle waged between them.  It was easy to see where the stag had landed its body; thick, purple blood oozed out from the deep wound, and yet it still threatened him furiously, daring him to inch closer.  Prongs threw his head and charged again; it recoiled to the side, and, when the courageous beast hit the ground with his forelegs, sank its venomous teeth into his hind legs.  Prongs faltered, shaking his head wildly still, his injured leg starting to give into the weight.  The deadly reptile hissed once more, retreating while the stag was injured, back into the depths from which it resided. 

The centaur still struggled, however mildly, when Prongs had managed to limp towards him.  The boy uncovered his eyes, a clear, vivid color, and his thrashing ceased.

"You saved me."  He said in his facile voice, astonished, his gaze aimlessly heading up to the clouds.  "I must have read the stars wrong..." 

The stag transformed then, back to James, who knelt on the ground, his weak leg drizzling out crimson blood.  The young centaur, however, seemed to contain no feeling of surprise, his pale hair flickering in the sunlight.

"THERE YOU ARE!"

It was then that three other centaurs appeared in the dense of the wood; two, bold, black-bodied centaurs with long coal-colored manes, and one with long red hair and a chestnut body.  Their gazes transfixed upon James first, then to the smallest, fairest of the bunch, the one with the livid blue eyes, sparkling as he turned to them, an innocent, child-like smile upon his facade.

"Hello Ames.  Bane and Ronan." 

The larger of the two dark centaurs reared on his hind legs, kicking in anger.  James cast a troubled glance between them; while Ames, as the little one had called him, exploded in a flash of anger, the white-bodied half horse half boy simply stared more at the sky, the glimmer of his smile playing across his face.

"Firenze, what trouble have you fixed upon?!"  Firenze never took his eyes away from the heavens.

"I was attacked by a great serpent," he said slowly, "and this human, in the form of a stag, rescued me."

"Did I not tell you,"  Ames growled, approaching Firenze with simmering rage, as though he'd not heard a word, "to stay within our grounds?  Did I not show our entirety the unique brightness of Mercury?"  He raised his hand to strike him, but the hand of the red haired one, Ronan, stopped him.

"Ames, I'm sure he was led amiss by the heavens.  There is no need to scold him more."  Ames jerked his hand away, glaring at the bantam centaur, who, if afraid at any moment, had not shown it. 

"It is better," he growled, sending a glare of sure peril at James who, at the moment, struggled to stand on his weak leg, "that he have died by the serpent, than be rescued by a human." 

Ames stormed off with a violent stamp of his legs, galloping off in the direction of which he came.  The other dark-colored one, Bane, charged after him.  Ronan, however, lingered to watch as Firenze finally broke his gaze away from the clouds and helped James to his feet. 

"He's injured,"  Said the palomino centaur matter-of-factly, allowing James to lean on white back, "the serpent poisoned him." 

Ronan pawed the ground nervously, apprehensively, torn between what was right and what was law. 

"Be quick, Firenze."  And with that, he trotted off in the relative direction as the others.

"You must get you back to the castle." 

            "Thank you." James could only manage a weak reply, his eyelids heavy, straining himself to stay conscious.

The adolescent centaur's eyes shimmer at this human, whom did not appear so as Ames had once described.  His eyes were not feral, he carried no armaments, no axes or animal skins.  He appeared, in a sense, as one of his own kind who had suffered wounds in the past; this human...he seemed both compassionate and courageous, for had he not these qualities at least he would not have braved the wrath of a Basilisk.

            "What is your name?" 

            James opened his eyes then closed them, consciousness slipping through his fingers.  A dull pain throbbed in his skull; concentrating impaired any other thought.  The poison seeped in his blood and rapidly seemed to overpower him; what was his name…his name…

            "James...James Potter..." 

            "How old are you, James Potter?"  He had a feeling that this centaur, this Firenze, was more intelligent than he had first appeared, struggling as he was such, his voice seeming entirely more rational than their first intervention.  His head throbbed even more so.

            "Sixteen…"

            "We're almost there, James.  Just try and stay awake until then."  He could barely comprehend his words; stay awake, don't fall asleep, that's all that matters. 

            A light in the clearing appeared suddenly, before him, the repetitive motion of Firenze moving steadily along, James almost fully supported on his palomino back but not quite, journeying straightforward.  And then, in a flash, they reached the forest's edge, Hogwarts lay before them, gleaming, yet James could not see it nor could he care.

            "This is where I leave you, James Potter."  He carefully laid James to rest on the grassy ground. 

            "I am greatly indebted to you."  Firenze said in a lower tone.  "And I swear by my honor that I will return this favor someday."  James's glassy brown eyes seemed to lighten softly with a vague understanding and, just knowing he might remember the next day, Firenze galloped off into the depths of the forest.

            Lily saw it.  She heard it.  But she could not believe it.  Her emerald eyes flickered at the white centaur as it galloped out of sight, but her shock lie with poor, sweet fallen James. 

His face was pale, his dusky tresses more unruly than usual, his breath, even from her remoteness, appeared ragged and hoarse.  More foreboding, his right leg, which drained an oozing scarlet liquid, his own blood, onto the earth below him.  The witch underwent a sudden dizziness without a hesitation of time, but no, no, assist James, she thought, her legs buckling beneath her, her stomach aching to regurgitate, no, help James, rescue James, she stumbled beneath her own robes, help him, save him, go to him.

He labored to stand up, arms wobbling, and fell, his face hitting the dirt.  The world before him was a vague, distant blur.  My glasses must be broken, he thought, or rather, something thought, because he, James…was that his name?  James was too busy fighting to rise. 

It caught his attention then; black, swaying black and red, closely approaching.  Black, something thought, and red, red eyes…an Acromantula…

His hand slid into his pocket.  Attack it, James, something thought, attack. 
            "St…"  His knees bent beneath him, and stiffened slowly, rising.  The black and red velocitating faster and faster towards him.  Attack, James, hurry.  Attack.