Harry Potter: Returning from Azeroth

"Is that their shaman?" Harry suddenly asked.

He was referring to an elderly centaur who had finally made an appearance. The fur covering his lower body was no longer as glossy as that of the younger centaurs; instead, it had dulled to a dreary gray. His bare upper torso was adorned with strings of bone ornaments—centaurs rejected clothing, believing that remaining unadorned brought them closer to nature.

"Yes, that's their shaman." Hagrid glanced down at Harry and joked, "Which makes him your fellow shaman. Compared to him, you're practically a newborn."

"That's a good thing," Harry murmured.

The presence of an elderly centaur meant that their kind did not abandon their aged members—something that would be unthinkable among the centaur tribes of Azeroth.

In the centaur clans of Azeroth, the old and the weak were quickly eliminated by the younger and stronger members. It wouldn't be long before a weakened centaur was slain and replaced by a more vigorous successor. In times of famine, they would even resort to killing and consuming the weak among their own.

As Harry silently evaluated this race, he considered what he would do if they proved to be savage and dangerous. If they posed a threat, he wouldn't hesitate to wipe out the entire centaur population of the Forbidden Forest.

But based on his observations so far, he was both pleased and, to some extent, regretful that these centaurs were not mindless beasts devoid of culture or inheritance.

At least this meant he wouldn't have to spend the night explaining to Dumbledore why an entire centaur tribe had mysteriously vanished from the Forbidden Forest.

The elderly centaur shaman reached into a pouch hanging from his side, taking out handfuls of sage and hyssop, which he tossed into the bonfire before him. In an instant, a dense, fragrant smoke filled the air—pungent yet invigorating.

The shaman gazed into the flickering flames and the rising smoke for a long time before finally turning to the younger centaurs beside him, speaking in hushed tones. They listened attentively, heads bowed in deference. Occasionally, one of them would interject, but the atmosphere remained calm and reverent.

Harry quickly recognized what was happening—the centaur shaman was divining the tribe's future, determining whether they should migrate and whether the coming year would bring danger.

"Can we move closer?" Harry turned his head and asked. "We're a bit too far; I want to see exactly how he performs the divination."

"Oh, no." Hagrid waved his hand and wrinkled his nose in distaste. "They don't allow outsiders to come near during this part. And, honestly, I don't want you seeing what happens next up close."

"You should know, Harry, I may be allowed to attend centaur rituals whenever I want, but I usually choose not to. And there's a reason for that." Hagrid sighed. "If I hadn't promised to bring you here, I wouldn't have come tonight."

"What do you mean?" Harry tilted his head.

"The centaurs still uphold very... traditional rituals." Newt Scamander answered in Hagrid's stead. He repeated, "Very, very traditional."

No further explanation was needed, for at that moment, a centaur led a deer before the shaman.

Bowing his head, the shaman pressed his forehead against the deer's and muttered an incantation, his hands continuously stroking its head and neck. Then, in a sudden motion, he slit the deer's throat.

As the steaming blood gushed forth, he dipped his fingers into it and smeared it onto his cheeks and forehead. Each centaur stepped forward to repeat the ritual.

When the deer finally collapsed lifelessly to the ground, the shaman folded his legs beneath him and knelt before it, gently closing its eyes with his hands.

He raised his arms high three times and bowed low three times. Then, in a loud chant, he invoked ancient words in the centaur tongue. On the third rising, he took a sharp blade and cut open the deer's chest.

With practiced hands, he widened the incision, even snapping apart the ribs on both sides. He then examined the organs inside, running his fingers over the deer's intestines, heart, lungs, and liver...

"Haruspicy," Harry murmured, identifying the divination method.

"You really are far too knowledgeable for a child, Harry." Newt patted his shoulder. "The centaurs have preserved this... rather brutal form of divination."

Haruspicy, the practice of divining the future by examining the entrails of a sacrificed animal, was something Harry had encountered before. He had once traveled to Kul Tiras at Jaina's invitation, where he had witnessed a similar ritual in Drustvar—an event that had greatly troubled Daelin Proudmoore.

"Do centaurs only use animals for haruspicy?" Harry asked. "From what I understand, the more spiritually significant the sacrifice, the more accurate the divination."

And humans... humans were the most spiritually significant beings of all. Using a human for haruspicy would yield the most precise results—provided one could set aside the minor inconvenience of morality and public decency.

"Of course," Newt replied in a hushed tone. "I don't know where you've heard that, but centaurs only use animals—deer, for instance, are highly intelligent creatures."

The deer's lifeless body was soon carried away. The ceremony seemed to be an all-night affair, with the centaurs mainly spending their time gazing up at the night sky by the bonfire.

That was for the common centaurs. The shaman, however, had begun receiving the wizards who had come seeking divination.

Newt and Hagrid led Harry closer. It was clear that Newt was well-regarded among the centaurs; many greeted him with respectful nods and smiles. Hagrid, however—Harry could tell that his relationship with the centaur tribe was... complicated. At the very least, they weren't exactly close friends.

Some centaurs eyed Hagrid with suspicion.

A large handful of incense was tossed into the fire—more than just sage and hyssop. No wonder Hagrid had mentioned how costly centaur divination was. The thick, acrid smoke filled the entire tent, making it hard to keep one's eyes open.

Harry clearly saw the wizard currently receiving a divination—tears streaming down his face from the overpowering smoke, unable to wipe them away fast enough. Anyone unaware of the situation might have thought something terrible had happened to him.

"Shackles," the centaur shaman rasped. "The smoke is sinking, about to solidify... Heavy restraints. Cold. Suffocation."

"W-what does that mean?" The wizard stammered, visibly shaken. "Is it an omen of misfortune?"

The shaman gave no answer. Instead, he lifted his gaze past the tent's edge, staring into the sky in prolonged silence.

The wizard dared not interrupt, sweating profusely as he anxiously awaited further explanation.

"Saturn shines so brightly, in opposition, aligned with Pluto..." The shaman finally spoke again, fixing his gaze upon the wizard. "Saturn is growing brighter."

"What?" The wizard's eyes widened in shock, yearning for further clarification. But the shaman refused to say more.

There was no room for protest. Two centaur warriors, armed with bows, stood at the tent's entrance, watching closely.

In the end, the wizard had no choice but to leave dejectedly. As he passed Harry, he muttered under his breath about how his money had been wasted.

Harry watched as the wizard slumped toward the camp's edge and Disapparated.

"This is how centaurs conduct divinations?" Harry turned to ask, unable to suppress his curiosity.

If nothing else, he was certain that if an orc shaman ever gave such vague and cryptic prophecies, they'd find an axe embedded in their skull before they finished speaking.

After all, what kind of shaman performs divinations without wearing a helmet?

Generally speaking, these vague and cryptic messages often come from the elements or the ancestors, conveying their will to the shaman. Sometimes, they are fragmented glimpses of the future, scattered and incomplete.

And it is the shaman's duty to interpret these messages and fragments—things incomprehensible to ordinary people—and transform them into guidance that those seeking answers can understand. At the very least, the tribe must be able to grasp what they should and shouldn't do.

A shaman who can only mutter cryptic nonsense that no one understands would be deemed unqualified, incapable of deciphering the will of the elements and ancestors, let alone predicting the future. The best outcome for such a shaman is being branded a fraud and banished from the tribe.

The worst? A hole in the head.

"What else would it be?" Hagrid looked at Harry, bewildered. "Divination is like this, isn't it? A bunch of mysterious, incomprehensible words—centaurs are exactly like that."

"No, no, this is just outright failing to communicate at all," Harry couldn't hold back. "If divination doesn't help the seeker understand what to do next, then what's the point of it?"

"Young foal," a voice suddenly rang out. The centaur shaman had stepped out of his tent without anyone noticing. He stood before Harry, gazing at him intently. "The boy of House Potter... even among centaurs, your name is well known."

"Thanks, I didn't realize I was a legend among centaurs too," Harry's voice carried a hint of irritation. He had noticed that with the centaur shaman's appearance, the surrounding centaur warriors had begun closing in. Even Hagrid had grown tense.

He looked like he wanted to reach for his bow, but Newt restrained him.

"Harry? Harry! Shh!!" Hagrid called out in a hushed but urgent tone.

Newt, for his part, didn't look any more at ease. He placed his suitcase on the ground, pressing one foot against it.

—But neither Harry nor the centaur shaman paid them any attention.

"I doubt that wizard was pleased," Harry glanced in the direction the wizard had left. "He paid you a hefty sum of Galleons seeking guidance, yet he didn't get the answer he wanted. He didn't voice his complaints—not because he accepted your wisdom, but because of the presence of your strong warriors."

"Your story is no legend, child of Potter," the centaur shaman murmured. "As for that wizard... he lacks the gift of divination."

"So you didn't even bother to interpret the prophecy for him?" Harry took a deep breath.

"That was an astrological prophecy. We saw it, and we swore—swore never to defy the will of the heavens." The centaur shaman shook his head.

"Never defy the will of the heavens?" Harry, who took pride in his craft, couldn't hold back his scorn. "Since the very first day divination was born, its purpose has been to help the seeker avoid misfortune. If it can't even do that, it wouldn't have lasted until today!"

"The more one tries to escape fate, the more deeply they are ensnared by it. This is an unbreakable law." The centaur shaman shook his head. "Centaurs only observe the stars of fate; we do not intervene."

"So you just deceive people with vague, meaningless words?" Harry snapped. "Taking a wizard's Galleons but failing to clear their confusion or guide their future—how is that any different from fraud?"

"At the very least, you should tell him what he can and cannot do in the near future, or what he should avoid, shouldn't you?"

"How dare you insult centaur divination!!"

A sudden roar erupted as a burly, bearded centaur burst from the group. His black fur bristled, and he exuded a wild, untamed pride.

He charged at Harry with a fierce, menacing expression, as if he intended to trample him then and there. But just as he neared Harry, he abruptly slowed—clearly, his intent was only to scare him rather than actually attack.

Unfortunately, Harry had no such reservations.

Or rather, the centaur's actions triggered something deep in his instincts.

The moment the burly centaur lunged at him, Harry instinctively tore the totem from his back, gripping it with both arms before swinging it in a wide arc—

BANG!!

Years of training and the effects of shamanic potions had strengthened Harry's body immensely. His large totem not only compensated for his height but also carried considerable weight and force.

The charging centaur collapsed on impact, his legs twitching, unable to get back up.

He wasn't dead, but he'd certainly be unconscious for half a day.

"Bane!!!"

A commotion erupted among the centaurs as shocked cries rang out.

The brutal truth was undeniable—Bane, a centaur with a striking coat of black fur, had gone down in an instant. His body crumpled as soon as he charged, completely unresponsive.

And his assailant? A little foal, shorter than Bane's chest, clutching a totem nearly as tall as himself.

"The wizard killed Bane!!"

"The foal killed Bane!!!"

"Kill them!!!"

The centaurs' shouts surged like a tide, and more enraged centaurs rushed at Harry.

The herd—the crowd—was in chaos. No centaur used a bow; either they deemed it too difficult to hit Harry, or the sheer disorder made it impossible to aim. The wild little foal was far more agile than they had expected, leaping nimbly and using his totem to strike centaurs in the head and chest.

Whoever took a solid hit from him would drop to the ground, twitching and unable to rise.

This furious, untamed foal moved as if he had eyes in the back of his head. Some centaurs did try to take aim with their bows, but Harry seemed to sense it every time—either dodging behind his totem or leaping onto the back of another centaur, forcing the archers to lower their bows in frustration.

"Merlin's beard! Harry!! We came here to observe, not fight!!!" Amidst the chaos, Hagrid howled in despair. "How am I supposed to explain this to Professor Dumbledore?!"

THUMP!!

As he wailed, Hagrid punched an oncoming centaur squarely in the head. The centaur crumpled instantly, out cold.

Like a battle god, Hagrid even managed to grab another centaur under one arm. Then, bringing his massive arms together, he slammed two centaur heads against each other. They slumped to the ground, unconscious.

"...Still alive," Newt muttered, withdrawing his fingers from the nose of a centaur who had just collapsed at Hagrid's hands. For someone of his age, Newt moved with surprising agility, sidestepping an oncoming centaur with a quick hop.

—Although Harry had struck first, the majority of centaurs seemed to target Hagrid and Newt, the two adult wizards standing with him.

Just as Newt regained his footing, another centaur charged at him. With a swift kick, he popped open the latch on his suitcase. A pair of thick, red-furred limbs shot out—

A moment later, the attacking centaur was effortlessly grabbed by the legs and flung aside.

Before the third leg could emerge from the box, Newt hastily tapped the red-furred foot with his wand. The other two legs flailed wildly, as if ticklish, before retreating back into the box.

With agility far surpassing that of an ordinary old man, Newt lunged forward, snapping the latches shut in an instant.

For a brief two seconds, the atmosphere seemed to freeze. Newt, slightly out of breath, looked up at Hagrid. Covering his mouth with his fist, he coughed twice before saying,

"Well, I suppose Tina would be pleased—at least I followed her instructions to exercise after meals."

"Merlin's big boots!" Hagrid gasped belatedly in awe. "That was—a Quintaped?!"

"No—uh, I mean—yes." Newt instinctively denied it at first but then sighed in resignation. "Promise me, Hagrid, keep it quiet."

"Of course!! If the Ministry found out, they'd go mad." Hagrid's admiration was genuine. "No wonder it's you, Newt—uh, I mean, can I have a look? You know, once everything's settled."

Thud!

A centaur struck Hagrid on the head with a wooden club. Yet, as if unfazed, Hagrid simply rubbed his head, then knocked the centaur out with a single punch—all the while never taking his eyes off Newt… or rather, the suitcase beneath him.

"Of course," Newt replied, exasperated but resigned—after all, they had been friends for years, and he was well aware of Hagrid's particular interests. "But for now, I think we should first deal with this… commotion."

Hagrid, who adored magical creatures—especially the ones with sharp teeth, armored scales, and the nastier their temperament, the better—was absolutely thrilled.

"No problem at all!"

Hagrid was ecstatic. At this moment, he was practically bursting with boundless energy.

As for Harry?

Right now, he felt nothing short of exhilarated.

A fight? Hell yes!

Fighting centaurs? Even better!!

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