Chapter 234

After these centaurs appeared, Hagrid went on high alert, his massive body firmly shielding Wizard Sean Green behind him, gripping a bow and arrow tightly in his hands.

With no moonlight visible, the Forbidden Forest grew pitch-black; not far away, a centaur snapped a branch, the sound startling in the silence.

“Firenze, don’t think we don’t know what you’re trying to do!”

That centaur spoke again.

“Bane, can you not see? Neptune is so bright—we must accept the coming change.”

Firenze spoke calmly and slowly.

Neptune?

Before asking Hagrid to deliver a message, Wizard Sean had already prepared—he pulled from his bag a book so old its pages were nearly crumbling.

This book had been in his bag since his first month at Hogwarts, and now, finally, he could uncover some secrets of Astral Magic.

“Neptune represents ideals, illusions, and obsession. Anything touched by Neptune makes us yearn to transcend mundane reality, breaking through the limits and boundaries imposed by daily life.”

“The planets it touches carry a quality of longing. We refuse to accept things as they are, which leaves us dissatisfied or unwilling to accept things in their original state.”

As Wizard Sean read this explanation, he seemed to grasp something—yet the conversation in the Forbidden Forest continued.

“This is betrayal of the herd! Spreading our knowledge and secrets among humans—this flattery is an unforgivable shame! Are you going to become a human slave?!”

A gray centaur with sharp, angular facial features said.

Like Hagrid, he carried weapons—a quiver of arrows and a longbow slung over his shoulder.

“Slave?!”

Hagrid shouted.

At that moment, the centaur named Bane turned his head toward Hagrid and said:

“You should leave, Hagrid. I’ll spare you today because you’re with your young—”

“Not his!”

The gray-furred centaur interrupted scornfully,

“He’s a student, Bane—a student from that school above! He’s a decent—”

“Regardless,”

Magorian said calmly,

“Harming a young one is a terrible sin—especially one whose star shines brightly. We do not harm the innocent. Hagrid, you may pass today. But if you make such an impertinent request again, you will lose our friendship.”

As soon as the centaurs finished speaking, they surrounded Firenze, whose expression remained calm, unchanged.

After quietly urging Wizard Sean to hide, Hagrid barged between them—the centaurs had already raised their hooves, as if ready to punish Firenze.

“Slave? What are you joking about? At Hogwarts, teaching knowledge is what professors do!”

Even in the midst of rising tension, Hagrid remained carefree.

Bane fell silent for a moment:

“We spent countless ages to gain this ability. We respect this wizard, but we do not interfere with the path of fate.”

“What if our actions are part of fate itself? Can you not see Saturn’s aspect? That is the aspect of excessive defense.”

Firenze spoke after gazing at the sky for a long while.

The other centaurs observed the night sky for a while, their expressions growing increasingly uneasy.

They were clearly shaken.

A large group of centaurs arrived swiftly and departed just as quickly.

Soft, dappled beams of moonlight poured again over the clearing, resting upon the soft moss beneath the leafy trees.

Hagrid had already left—he was off to feed the Thestrals.

He trusted Firenze, and had left Fang behind, who was now playing endlessly with a bone that threw itself.

Wizard Sean heard the sound of birds—sparrows, perhaps—taking flight in the distance, then, holding anticipation, he approached at Firenze’s signal.

The centaurs’ story was not hard to understand: they predicted the future through astronomy and obeyed it.

But to blindly obey, to believe in fate, means fate will govern everything—even if it is not what they wish to see.

“Wizard Sean Green, do not fear. Centaurs never harm the innocent or the young.”

“Yet—the innocent are always the first to suffer. This has never changed in thousands of years.”

Firenze said.

“Lie down here. We still have time to observe the stars.”

So Wizard Sean lay down upon the soft moss.

“I know that in your Astronomy class, you have learned the names of these planets and their moons,”

Firenze said calmly,

“and you have charted the movements of the stars across the sky. Centaurs, over centuries, have uncovered the secrets behind these motions. Our research tells us that from the sky above us, we may glimpse the future—”

He spoke quietly; Wizard Sean listened quietly.

As if guided by the stars, the centaurs were willing to teach him Astral Magic—a rare and precious opportunity.

“Have you learned anything yet?”

Firenze asked.

“Yes. I’ve seen many divination books, like this one. It’s said Mars causes accidents and burns—when it forms an angle with Saturn, like this—”

Wizard Sean tapped his wand lightly, sparks tracing a right angle in the air,

“—meaning people must be extra careful when handling hot objects—”

“That’s human nonsense.”

Firenze said.

Wizard Sean silently decided to return his copy of *Seeing the Future* to the library later.

“Minor injuries, insignificant human accidents,”

Firenze said, his hooves thudding against the mossy ground,

“are as trivial as crawling ants compared to the vastness of the universe—unaffected by planetary movements.”

It made sense. Wizard Sean’s feather pen automatically took notes.

“Some wizards, like Sybill Trelawney. I’m not certain whether she can truly foresee the future,”

Firenze continued; Wizard Sean heard him pacing, his tail swishing,

“but she wastes nearly all her time on self-aggrandizing drivel—what humans call fortune-telling.”

Wizard Sean agreed. If Professor Trelawney didn’t constantly bluff—say, if she made at least one true death prophecy per year—people wouldn’t have to sift through ninety-nine false ones to find the one real one.

Firenze’s voice resumed:

“What I will explain here is the centaurs’ objective, impartial insight.

We observe the sky, watching for significant signs of disaster or change—sometimes the heavens mark these movements. It may take ten years to confirm what we see.”