Adventures of Harriet Potter

The Centaur and the Sneak

"I'll bet you wish you hadn't given up Divination now, don't you, Hermione?" asked Parvati, smirking. It was breakfast time a few days after the sacking of Professor Trelawney, and Parvati was curling her eyelashes around her wand and examining the effect in the back of her spoon. They were to have their first lesson with Firenze that morning. "Not really," said Hermione indifferently, who was reading the Daily Prophet. "I've never really liked horses." She turned a page of the newspaper, scanning its columns. "He's not a horse, he's a centaur!" said Lavender, sounding shocked. "A gorgeous centaur . . ." sighed Parvati. "Either way, he's still got four legs," said Hermione coolly. "Anyway, I thought you two were all upset that Trelawney had gone?"
"We are!" Lavender assured her. "We went up to her office to see her, we took her some daffodils — not the honking ones that Sprout's got, nice ones . . ." Sounding genuinely kind for once instead of like she was hunting for gossip. "How is she?" asked Harriet. "Not very good, poor thing," said Lavender sympathetically. "She was crying and saying she'd rather leave the castle forever than stay here if Umbridge is still here, and I don't blame her. Umbridge was horrible to her, wasn't she?"
"I've got a feeling Umbridge has only just started being horrible," said Hermione darkly. "Impossible," said Ron, who was tucking into a large plate of eggs and bacon. "She can't get any worse than she's been already." Harriet shuddered as she knew first hand that Ron was wrong, in her latest detentions Umbridge had threatened, indirectly, to punish her unborn baby for its mother's "lies" after realizing how impossible it would be for Harriet to prepare for motherhood if she couldn't go to Hogsmeade — and seemingly was terrified of the idea of hearing the baby cry over such lack of preparation. "You mark my words, she's going to want revenge on Dumbledore for appointing a new teacher without consulting her," said Hermione, closing the newspaper. "Especially another part-human. You saw the look on her face when she saw Firenze . . ."
After breakfast Hermione departed for her Arithmancy class and Harriet and Ron followed Parvati and Lavender into the entrance hall, heading for Divination. "Aren't we going up to North Tower?" asked Ron, looking puzzled, as Parvati bypassed the marble staircase. Harriet had been told it was too late into OWL curriculum to officially add Divination to her schedule, though Professor McGonagall had said — in no uncertain terms — that Harriet was free to spend her free period wherever she liked in order to study and prepare for her exams.
Parvati looked scornfully over her shoulder at him. "How d'you expect Firenze to climb that ladder? We're in classroom eleven now, it was on the notice board yesterday." she said as if Ron was needlessly thick instead of too lazy to check the notice board himself. Classroom eleven was situated in the ground-floor corridor leading off the entrance hall on the opposite side to the Great Hall. Harriet knew it to be one of those classrooms that were never used regularly, and that it therefore had the slightly neglected feeling of a cupboard or storeroom. When she entered it right behind Ron, and found herself right in the middle of a forest clearing, she was therefore momentarily stunned.
"What the — ?" The classroom floor had become springily mossy and trees were growing out of it; their leafy branches fanned across the ceiling and windows, so that the room was full of slanting shafts of soft, dappled, green light. The students who had already arrived were sitting on the earthy floor with their backs resting against tree trunks or boulders, arms wrapped around their knees or folded tightly across their chests, looking rather nervous. In the middle of the room, where there were no trees, stood Firenze.
"Harriet Potter," he said, holding out a hand when Harriet entered. "Er — hi," said Harriet, shaking hands with the centaur, who surveyed her unblinkingly through those astonishingly blue eyes but did not smile. "Er — good to see you . . ." She was certain by the look in his eyes that their meeting under these circumstances wasn't a surprise to him. "And you," said the centaur, inclining his white-blond head. "It was foretold that we would meet again."
Harriet noticed that there was the shadow of a hoof-shaped bruise on Firenze's chest, and that he looked like he was sorry she was pregnant. As she turned to join the class upon the floor, she saw that they were all looking at her with awe, apparently deeply impressed that she was on speaking terms with Firenze, whom they seemed to find intimidating.
When the door was closed and the last student had sat down upon a tree stump beside the wastepaper basket, Firenze gestured around the room. "Professor Dumbledore has kindly arranged this classroom for us," said Firenze, when everyone had settled down, "in imitation of my natural habitat. I would have preferred to teach you in the Forbidden Forest, which was — until Monday — my home . . . but this is not possible."
"Please — er — sir —" said Parvati breathlessly, raising her hand, "why not? We've been in there with Hagrid, we're not frightened!" Harriet shook her head from her position on a rather comfortable log that looked like it had fallen over, understanding more than her classmates could hope from her extracurricular readings in the library. "It is not a question of your bravery," said Firenze, "but of my position. I can no longer return to the forest. My herd has banished me."
"Herd?" said Lavender in a confused voice, and Harriet knew she was thinking of cows. "What — oh!" Comprehension dawned on her face. "There are more of you?" she said, stunned. "Did Hagrid breed you, like the thestrals?" asked Dean eagerly. Firenze turned his head very slowly to face Dean, who seemed to realize at once that he had said something very offensive. "I didn't — I meant — sorry," he finished in a hushed voice. "Centaurs are not the servants or playthings of humans," said Firenze quietly. There was a pause, then Parvati raised her hand again.
"Please, sir . . . why have the other centaurs banished you?" she asked, something Harriet felt she herself already knew from her encounter nearly four years ago. "Because I have agreed to work for Professor Dumbledore," said Firenze. "They see this as a betrayal of our kind." Harriet remembered how, nearly four years ago, the centaur Bane had shouted at Firenze for allowing Harriet to ride to safety upon his back, calling him a "common mule." She wondered whether it had been Bane who had kicked Firenze in the chest. "Let us begin," said Firenze. He swished his long palomino tail, raised his hand toward the leafy canopy overhead then lowered it slowly, and as he did so, the light in the room dimmed, so that they now seemed to be sitting in a forest clearing by twilight, and stars emerged upon the ceiling. There were oohs and gasps, and Ron said audibly, "Blimey!"
"Lie back upon the floor," said Firenze in his calm voice, "and observe the heavens. Here is written, for those who can see, the fortune of our races." Harriet stretched out on her back and gazed upward at the ceiling. A twinkling red star winked at her from overhead. "I know that you have learned the names of the planets and their moons in Astronomy," said Firenze's calm voice, "and that you have mapped the stars' progress through the heavens. Centaurs have unraveled the mysteries of these movements over centuries. Our findings teach us that the future may be glimpsed in the sky above us . . ."
"Professor Trelawney did Astrology with us!" said Parvati excitedly, raising her hand in front of her so that it stuck up in the air as she lay on her back. "Mars causes accidents and burns and things like that, and when it makes an angle to Saturn, like now" — she drew a right angle in the air above her — "that means that people need to be extra careful when handling hot things —"
"That," said Firenze calmly, "is human nonsense." Parvati's hand fell limply to her side. "Trivial hurts, tiny human accidents," said Firenze, as his hooves thudded over the mossy floor. "These are of no more significance than the scurryings of ants to the wide universe, and are unaffected by planetary movements."
"Professor Trelawney —" began Parvati, in a hurt and indignant voice. "— is a human," said Firenze simply. "And is therefore blinkered and fettered by the limitations of your kind." Harriet turned her head very slightly to look at Parvati. She looked very offended, as did several of the people surrounding her. "Sybill Trelawney may have Seen, I do not know," continued Firenze, and Harry heard the swishing of his tail again as he walked up and down before them, "but she wastes her time, in the main, on the self-flattering nonsense humans call fortune-telling. I, however, am here to explain the wisdom of centaurs, which is impersonal and impartial. We watch the skies for the great tides of evil or change that are sometimes marked there. It may take ten years to be sure of what we are seeing." Firenze pointed to the red star directly above Harriet. "In the past decade, the indications have been that Wizard-kind is living through nothing more than a brief calm between two wars. Mars, bringer of battle, shines brightly above us, suggesting that the fight must break out again soon. How soon, centaurs may attempt to divine by the burning of certain herbs and leaves, by the observation of fume and flame . . ."
It was the most unusual lesson Harriet had ever attended, though she was technically just sitting in on it. They did indeed burn sage and mallowsweet there on the classroom floor, and Firenze told them to look for certain shapes and symbols in the pungent fumes, but he seemed perfectly unconcerned that not one of them could see any of the signs he described, telling them that humans were hardly ever good at this, that it took centaurs years and years to become competent, and finished by telling them that it was foolish to put too much faith in such things anyway, because even centaurs sometimes read them wrongly. He was nothing like any human teacher Harriet had ever had. His priority did not seem to be to teach them what he knew, but rather to impress upon them that nothing, not even centaurs' knowledge, was foolproof.
"He's not very definite on anything, is he?" said Ron in a low voice, as they put out their mallowsweet fire. "I mean, I could do with a few more details about this war we're about to have, couldn't you?" The bell rang right outside the classroom door and everyone jumped; Harriet had completely forgotten that they were still inside the castle, quite convinced that she was really in the forest. The class filed out, looking slightly perplexed; Harriet and Ron were on the point of following them when Firenze called, "Harriet Potter, a word, please."
Harriet turned. The centaur advanced a little toward her. Ron hesitated. "You may stay," Firenze told him. "But close the door, please." Ron hastened to obey. "Harriet Potter, you are a friend of Hagrid's, are you not?" said the centaur. "Yes," said Harriet. "Then give him a warning from me. His attempt is not working. He would do better to abandon it." he said firmly. "His attempt is not working?" Harriet repeated blankly, cradling her belly. "And he would do better to abandon it," said Firenze, nodding. "I would warn Hagrid myself, but I am banished — it would be unwise for me to go too near the forest now — Hagrid has troubles enough, without a centaurs' battle."
"But — what's Hagrid attempting to do?" said Harriet nervously. Firenze looked at Harriet impassively. "Hagrid has recently rendered me a great service," said Firenze, "and he has long since earned my respect for the care he shows all living creatures. I shall not betray his secret. But he must be brought to his senses. The attempt is not working. Tell him, Harriet Potter. Good day to you."