CH23 - Centaur Tribe

December announced its presence with a bang. The first day of the month was heralded by falling snow, blanketing the entirety of the Scottish highlands. In the early morning light, the world seemed quiet and peaceful. It was the type of weather best enjoyed sitting inside by the fireplace, looking outside the windows. Unfortunately for the students of Hogwarts, their teachers did not care much for their excitement. Classes carried on as usual, and everyone was forced to push back their desires till the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend.

It was around this time Harry Potter might have originally received the Marauder's Map. The boy would have used the device to sneak into Hogsmeade, uncaring about those around him advising caution.

But things were different now.

A tropical bird had flown into the great hall one morning in mid-November, drawing everyone's attention. To Harry's visible surprise, it had landed in front of him, dropping a massive furl of papers. Whatever was written within had clearly pleased him, evidenced by the wide smile that had graced his features. Harry had run up to McGonagall at the high table with a small form, handing it over to her with a pleading look.

On the next Hogsmeade trip in November, Harry had been present alongside his friends taking the Thestral carriages into the village.

Seeing how the events played out reassured Edmund that his course of action was the correct one. Not that it mattered all that much to him. Even if things hadn't gone as well as they did, he likely still wouldn't have regretted stealing the map.

Being caught out past curfew while sneaking somewhere? Needing to check that no one was around before using a secret passage or entering the Room of Requirement? Locating anyone within the castle?

None of it was an issue with the Marauder's Map in Edmund's possession.

The luxury of being able to satisfy his paranoia so easily was gratifying for Edmund, and that wasn't to mention the other benefits.

After several weeks of thorough experimentation, Edmund had finally discovered how to stretch the map's capabilities to extend past the boundaries of Hogwarts into the woods.

Of course, tracking other people's locations in the Forbidden Forest using the map was an impossibility. With no wards encompassing the woods, the Homonculous Charm powering that aspect of the map became useless. Still, it was worth it for the map's cartographical capabilities alone. Each new section of the Forbidden Forest that Edmund explored would be filled in on the map automatically and marked down forever. Knowing where he was relative to other parts of the woods would be a great asset for him, one that he would test for the first time tonight.

Although he hadn't dared to explore the forest during the night of the full moon, he was excited to see what he could find now that it had passed.

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Rather than thoroughly explore a new area, Edmund elected to walk in a straight line to get a better idea of just how big the forest was. The variety of different biomes he had trudged through spoke of the biodiversity of the woods, and the no doubt millions of different species that it housed.

He was mindlessly weaving between a patch of especially tall trees when Edmund heard voices that broke him out of his trance.

'Another human being in the forest?' he questioned, curious about who was brave enough to venture so deep.

As he stood still and observed, his eyes widened, before narrowing in fascination.

'I stand corrected. No humans here at all,' he thought in awe, gazing at the centaur tribe trudging past him.

To the waist, they were human, and below that, a horse. Their bodies were covered in gleaming fur, their heads with elaborate manes. The males all had long beards that adorned their chins, while the females had decorated their braids with various flowers. With each step they took, their tails flicked in the opposite direction. Altogether, they were a perfect picture of grace.

According to the literature, centaurs were social creatures, separated into various nomadic colonies all throughout Europe. Their path was dictated by the stars. They went wherever their divinations directed them, and game was plenty.

If the ministry were consulted, they would proudly declare that the centaurs of the Forbidden Forest had been granted lands where they could live on. In reality, the wizards of Britain had no idea where the centaurs roamed, and the centaurs had no intention of informing them.

Both the British Ministry of Magic and the centaur tribe were supremacists. Each despised the other and thought of the other as lower than dirt. The relationship between the two had never been cordial, and never would be.

One of the few wizards that had gained the opportunity to observe centaurs in their everyday life in their natural habits was Newt Scamander. The entirety of his attained knowledge, which didn't amount to much, had been published in his now-famous book, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.

Edmund shuffled closer, wanting to look at the magical beings he had only seen before in illustrations.

The rear of the herd was covered by what ought to have been the hunters. These members were responsible for feeding the tribe, ensuring each individual had enough sustenance. With their massive wooden bows tied to their backs, they were especially distinctive. As they walked, their heads flicked to the sides, scanning for any dangers.

One of them, a black-haired and black-bodied male, drew an arrow from its quiver, firing it into the dark bushes without wasting a moment to aim. As he lugged his prey over his shoulder, another member clapped him on the back.

"A good shot Bane," the same centaur with long hair and a permanent proud smirk said loudly.

"You honour me, Magorian," Bane said humbly. "It means a lot coming from the speaker's consort."

The now-identified Magorian's face fell quickly before he chose to reply.

"Quiet Bane!" he hissed, frantically looking around to make sure no one had heard. "The speaker has made no such mention of a thing! The words coming out of your mouth could have your head removed. Keep your tongue in your mouth, or I will relieve you of it!"

"Yes leader," Bane accepted the reprimand hastily, bowing down in subservience.

'Magorian and Bane,' Edmund noted, 'The leader of the hunters and his follower, also a hunter.'

Moving his attention away from the back of the pack, Edmund continued his inspection.

The hunters were preceded by a group of centaurs with pouches around their necks, releasing the scents of various herbs. These were the diviners, who were the pathfinders of the tribe. It was their responsibility to assess where prey could be found and to lead the centaurs there. Most of this group was older, composed of those who were no longer in their prime fighting age. Dependence on others was not a concept in the colony, and each member had to make themself useful in some way. The tribe demanded it, but more importantly, each individual centaur's pride demanded it.

Sandwiched between the hunters and the diviners were the children of the tribe, as well as the sole healer.

"Ronan!" a small child cried, wincing as she limped slowly to a stop.

Ronan, the centaur draped with tens of satchels, immediately galloped over to the child, lifting her hoof gently to assess it. Soothing her, Ronan applied a chewed-up poultice over the small wound, whispering assurances. With a wave of Ronan's hand over the affected area, the cut on the hoof shrunk to a small slit, before vanishing completely.

"There there, Clio," Ronan said calmly, a smile on his face now. "Is that better?"

Clio beamed up at him, nodding her tiny head eagerly.

Ronan chuckled, before leaning over to run his hands through Clio's locks. She leaned into the affection, nuzzling his palm. Until with a sudden movement, he grabbed her right ear, twisting it harshly.

"You wouldn't have gotten hurt at all if you hadn't decided to imitate the elder children's training routine," Ronan scolded as Clio yelped, tears threatening to fall from her face.

"That's not true! I wasn't, I would never! How could you even—" she began ranting before she cut herself off.

Ronan was still staring at her impassively, clearly not buying what she was selling. Immediately, Clio's tactics switched.

"It's not fair! Just because they're a couple of years older, they get to learn how to hunt and shoot, while I get to do nothing," she complained.

"Oh? Fair, huh? Well, unfortunately, life isn't very fair at all," Ronan replied dismissively. "You are lucky to have me here with you. You are even luckier that we live in a forest where the herbs I need for healing are readily available. Injury is avoided for a good reason. The smallest cut can lead to infection, and infection will lead to death. If you want to learn what the older kids are learning, you will need to demonstrate responsibility. That is the opposite of what you have accomplished with your actions."

Under his completely dispassionate gaze, Clio could only squirm helplessly. After several silent minutes, Ronan left her side again, giving her a small nudge in departure.

From there, Edmund finally turned to the one member of the tribe he hadn't looked at yet. The speaker.

With a muscular frame and tall stature, the speaker was the oddest look centaur Edmund had ever seen. She had bone-carved relics strewn across her body, forming various necklaces and bracelets. Her eyes were bright white, beacons in the otherwise dark night. The light from her pupils vaguely illuminated her face, showing off her elaborate red face paint, composed entirely of blood.

The speaker was the leader of the herd and by far the most important member of the colony. The leader of a centaur tribe was not decided by strength, but rather by their other qualities. Only the wisest and most talented star-gazer was given the title of the speaker, and they had to earn their leadership several times over. The speaker was responsible for educating the children, guiding the tribe, and making decisions about war and alliance.

They were revered by their followers, as they believed that the extent of the connection between the speaker and the stars was unmatched. Centaurs followed no religion, but they were spiritual. If they were to worship someone or something, it would be their speaker.

Edmund knew from a single look that this was not someone to be trifled with. He did not want to make enemies without a reason, especially not powerful ones. Turning around, Edmund slowly crept back to Hogwarts, content with what he had seen that night.

He never noticed the speaker of the centaur tribe looking straight at his back, a look of intrigue flashing on her aged face before it disappeared soon after.