Forbidden Forest
Mere minutes after Ian and Aurora were whisked away by the house-elf Rabby, the rhythmic pounding of hooves echoed through the dense woodland. A towering Centaur, unmistakably the leader, emerged into the clearing, flanked by seven or eight others. Their keen eyes scanned the now-deserted scene.
The air still carried the lingering traces of magic and blood, an unmistakable testament to the battle that had taken place. Every Centaur stood alert, muscles coiled like bowstrings, ready for action.
Clearly, Rabby's urgent warning to flee had not been mere bluster. The Centaur tribes of the Forbidden Forest almost universally regarded the vast expanse as their sovereign domain.
Classified as XXXX-level magical beings by the Ministry of Magic, Centaurs were formidable creatures. Their upper bodies bore the form of men, while their lower halves mirrored the strength and speed of fine stallions.
But beyond their physical prowess, their magic resistance, and their innate magical abilities, it was their tribal structure that made them a force few wizards could dare challenge alone.
"The disturbance originated here. A wizard engaged in fierce combat with something," one of the Centaurs observed as he stepped forward, his gaze sweeping the clearing.
Despite their intelligence being on par with humans, Centaurs did not claim the title of 'wizardkind.' They identified as 'beasts,' refusing to share classification with hags and vampires.
"I sensed dark magic… similar to Fiendfyre… and an intense flash of light."
The Centaur knelt beside the remains of the Manticore— its body cleaved into eight pieces, reduced to smoldering ash by Aurora's cursed fire. His expression remained inscrutable, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed unease.
Their abilities extended beyond mere physicality. The Centaurs were famed for their talents in divination, though their methods differed vastly from those of human wizards. They read the stars, interpreting celestial alignments and natural omens to foretell the course of fate itself.
"Human wizards are contemptible!" A younger Centaur spat, his eyes burning with fury as he spoke. "They trespass upon our land! They invoke dark magic to slaughter the creatures of the Forbidden Forest! We should march upon the castle and declare war!"
His outburst sent a ripple of discomfort through the gathered Centaurs. War with Hogwarts was a perilous notion, one that could doom their entire kind. Fortunately, their leader was no fool.
"Oba, our forebears forged a pact with the humans of that castle," The leader said sharply. His gaze bore down upon the young Centaur, who immediately averted his eyes in submission.
"I do not believe conflict with wizards is wise, not at such a precarious time." The Centaur who had examined the ashes rose to his hooves, brushing dust from his hands.
The charred remnants of the battlefield— the scorched earth, the bone-white ash— had escaped the Centaurs' notice. Their hooves left shallow but distinct impressions in the ground, marking their silent vigilance.
"Once the old wizard in that castle perishes, human magic will weaken," Oba muttered, his frustration barely concealed. His territorial instincts flared like embers in his eyes, the fire of war still burning within him.
"And how many are we, compared to them?" The leader's tone hardened, a warning laced within his words. "Discard your foolish notions— that is the only way to ensure survival."
Oba clenched his jaw but lowered his head in reluctant acknowledgment.
To quell any lingering unrest, the leader tilted his gaze toward the sky, his expression unreadable as he spoke in a voice of quiet command.
"We must tread carefully. Consider this: the old celestial omens have shattered. What force could possibly unravel such an ancient prophecy?"
The weight of his words silenced the group. A shiver passed through the gathered Centaurs, as though something beyond their understanding loomed just beyond the veil of reality.
"That's just a legend! Perhaps our ancestors wished only to frighten us!" Oba protested, his defiance mingled with disbelief. Yet, despite his skepticism, he dared not outright defy the leader's wisdom.
"Why would they deceive us?" Another Centaur retorted, eyes narrowing. "Mind your tongue, fool."
"Believe what you will," The leader murmured, turning his gaze skyward. "But all can see that the seven stars our ancestors foretold have ignited. This is an omen unlike any before it. None among us would wish to see our kind vanish from history, reduced to the same fate as the elves."
At his words, every Centaur lifted their gaze to the sky. The vast night sky stretched endlessly above them, an ocean of indigo where stars gleamed like pearls embedded in velvet. Among them, seven particular stars shone with an uncanny brilliance, ascending ever higher.
The pattern they formed defied description, yet to Centaur eyes, it spoke of ancient prophecies long buried in memory.
"Seven heralds shall sound their trumpets, and in the radiance of hope, suffering and exile shall be swept away… The will of the many cannot be halted."
The Centaurs stood in solemn silence, the reflections of stars glinting in their dark eyes. Perhaps only they could perceive the faint, shifting hues that shimmered around the seven celestial bodies.
No matter their divinatory prowess, one truth echoed in the minds of every Centaur present: their blood carried knowledge lost to human wizards. Their prophecies, however cryptic, often spoke of fates beyond mortal understanding.
"Now, Oba," The Centaur leader turned, his voice low but firm. "Study the sky. Observe the celestial omens and answer me this..."
He fixed the younger Centaur with an unyielding stare.
"This is a sign— a human wizard seeks to ascend beyond mortality. Whether they succeed or fail is immaterial. They dare to reach for divinity itself. Tell me, Oba, do you truly wish to challenge a species so unhinged in their ambition?"
In the quiet forest, the ancient oaks and evergreen shrubs swayed gently in the night breeze, casting elongated shadows across the mossy ground.
The Centaur leader's words were met with silence.
Contrary to their reputation for boldness, the gathered Centaurs showed no trace of bravery in that moment. Instead, a heavy stillness settled among them, barely concealing their unease and apprehension.
"May the so-called angel foretold by fate never be born within Hogwarts. Only then might we find some measure of peace amidst the coming upheaval."
...
After escorting Aurora back to the Slytherin common room, Ian silently memorized the password. One never knew when seemingly trivial knowledge might prove useful.
"See you tomorrow... and do try not to eat the house-elves. Who else would cook for us? Friendly creatures are off the menu— including those plump, round-faced chickens wandering Hogwarts."
Ian wasn't entirely sure whether Aurora had taken his repeated warnings to heart.
On his way back, Ian rummaged through his bulging robes. Aurora had handed him three eggs, each adorned with swirling greenish patterns.
In the dimly lit corridor, the eggs— only slightly larger than ordinary chicken eggs— emitted a faint glow, pulsating rhythmically as if breathing, giving off an uncanny sense of impending life.
Perhaps the Manticore had stolen these eggs for a midnight snack, or perhaps they were its own offspring. Ian found the latter explanation more likely.
After all, a Manticore that had lost its master— though technically free— shouldn't have attacked Aurora so fiercely, unless it had no prior knowledge of her presence.
"Protecting its eggs is the most logical explanation… but why are they glowing? Could they be imbued with latent magic?" Ian held one up to his nose and sniffed.
A peculiar aroma wafted from the shell. With his years of culinary experience, Ian had the distinct feeling that this scent would pair well with tomatoes and a bit of minced garlic.
"And just a sprinkle of chopped herbs…"
He swallowed hard, likely influenced by Aurora's peculiar eating habits.
If not for the high value of magical creature eggs, he might have considered a detour to the kitchen. It was only his empty pockets that prevented him from conceptualizing a new culinary series: 'Magical Creatures in the Cauldron'.
Returning to his dormitory without incident, Ian continued to examine the three peculiar eggs.
(To Be Continued…)
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