The fiercely whistling wind blew songs of old into the crowns of the woods, where the oaks grew thickly and the spruces were scarce. Leafs turned ruby and golden danced on its rhythm, as if they knew their life was soon to end with autumn. Few left their branches to continue this ballet in the air, where they circled around each other until they had to rest upon the grass. Even the lake felt every movement in the sky and the surface was no longer smooth like a mirror, but rippled and brutal. All that was reflected in the water now became something of monstrous proportions and even the rain-filled clouds turned into grotesque creatures.
Inside the castle however the students took no notice of the vile breeze that tugged at the towers possessively. After all, their classes were over for the day and they did not need to worry about pesky things such as a stroke of bad weather – at least not until the morrow. Inside their Common Rooms they sat in front of the merry fires that ate away the wood in the hearth. None of the people who had been so lucky to find themselves inside were aware that a mere stroll away another fire was burning inside the dark depths of the Forbidden Forest.
Oh, it was most likely Dumbledore knew – or his Keeper of the Keys, Hagrid – for there was little the headmaster did not have knowledge of. And surely Hagrid knew everything that happened on these grounds encircled by the magically protected walls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Nevertheless, neither of these two men would want to disturb the source of this particular camp fire. Though they surely dared, they saw no reason for such an unwise action as bothering the Centaurs unless it was absolutely necessary.
And unwise it would be indeed! These fabulous creatures, which considered themselves neither beast nor human, were not keen on any contact with wizards or witches. In fact there had once been a time when the polished wooden bows they wielded had been the main reason the Forest was Forbidden. But now, content with the solitude Albus Dumbledore had granted them, the half-men half-horses had watched their vicious hatred for the wizard kind vanish until there was nothing but indifference.
At the moment of which I speak now, the Centaurs huddled around the fire they had made of fallen twigs and branches. Though they considered the forest their own no one would even think of cutting down the trees for such a luxury as warmth and rather let nature take care of that on its own. Nevertheless, while they were no arrogant wizards, no one could resist the heat of the flames when the cold was setting in their bones. Especially the old Chiron, whom was said to be the last descendant of the Chiron who taught heroes like Heracles and Achilles, felt not proud enough to deny the comfort of it.
As the old creature looked around, finding pleasure in following the few foals that still skipped about while they listened to the tune of another stroking a fine harp, he had to heave a long sigh for none of these youngsters could he call his own. He had no sons or daughters and he was sensing that his old hooves were starting to burden the rest of his group. The only reason he was still there, resting on a comfortable bed of leafs whilst others looked for food, was the respect and esteem he had gained for being the offspring of the famous Chiron of Greece.
Another sigh was heaved; he wondered whether it were merely his old age that made him see the world as he did. It seemed quite impossible that no other creature could sense the beauty of the world in which they lived the way he was aware of every single dying leaf left in the trees and the sound they made when another gush of wind stroked them. The grass, still vibrant and green as emeralds where it hadn't been trampled, was glowing with diamonds of water drops from that day's downpour. While the approaching nightfall was bitter and filled with chill, he couldn't help but be amazed at the pink sun that had set and cast a magic over the woods beyond any wizard's spell. Each evening he was sure he had never seen such a beautiful sunset in all of his life, and each morning when the great star rose brightly again he told himself nothing was more precious.
"Chiron," a foal had come to him in a keen gallop and found himself disturbing the old Centaur's thoughts, "Chiron, I heard that you know how the first Centaurs were born."
The ancient creature blinked his tired eyes and stared at the foal.
"Indeed I do," he replied with a smile hidden behind a thick long beard, "But I must warn you, young one. I may look ancient to you, but I surely was not there to witness it. So it would do you well not to take the word of this old Centaur too seriously."
And so did the foals gather around Chiron, as did many older ones who had already heard the story times to spare. With a bit of effort he stood up, shaking some dirt from his tail until it was clean and white again. Though his coat was withered and grey – and perhaps not as shiny as it used to be – he still made a striking image with his wide shoulders and muscled chest; for he, too, had once been a fit and strong young Centaur like the ones looking up to him now.
He began his tale as he always did, be striding around the fire and glancing at each and every eager listener the way only Chiron could. Their faces, ready with anticipation, shone brilliantly in the yellow light and Chiron's stalling only added to that keenness. He had told many stories in his life, but out of all of them this was the one he liked the most. Thus it was with great pleasure he finally started when his ritual was over.
Asking why a Centaur is what he is, is like wondering why a bird has wings and a fish has not. We are what we are: the most noble creatures the forests have known and will in the future. We posses the wisdom of ages, the guidance of the stars and the strength nature has given us. For that power we were feared by wizards who, owning the arrogance we lack, have banished us from their world of inferior magic. Yet, what they don't know is that we Centaurs posses the greatest spells and curses of them all: knowledge that is as ancient as it is invincible. However it was still a wizard who in the age before bronze but after stone used his lightening and might to create the gracious Centaur.
People back then were people as now; fearing and admiring these wizards who used their powers to reign and indulge in all their lusts. No one knew where their powers came from, but they all agreed that they must have been gods.
For them it indeed was so, for the sorcerer I am going to speak of now was perhaps the strongest wizard in history as we know it. His name was Zeus. Now, people deny he ever existed and that he was merely an idea of non-magical people to explain the unexplainable – but we know better. Zeus and his brothers, sisters, children and carefully chosen friends were real – as real, in fact, as you and I both.
His daughter, Aphrodite, had the gift of charms and potions that mock love and she feared not to use this on people for her amusement; again a wizardly arrogance. She was a beauty – oh, yes! – but also a proud and vain woman who could care only for herself.
Zeus' other daughter, Athena, on the other hand was bright and wise, and always eager to learn. Her power sprouted from wisdom and – had she had the lower body of a horse – she would have made a beautiful Centaur.
Then there was Hermes, a minion of Zeus who was as quick and swift as he was eager to fly. Back then there had not been talk of flying on brooms yet and witches and wizards alike had to content themselves with being earthbound like Muggles. Though not a very powerful wizard himself, he begged Zeus to grant him the opportunity to fly. Always eager to flaunt his magic the greatest wizard of all transfigured Hermes' sandals so they bore wings and granted him the image of a god in the eyes of the people. Certainly, Zeus loved to indulge in his superiority and the feeling of power.
But let me not bore you much longer with mere wizards, for I know that only the Centaurs matter. In my story, however, there is one last that needs mentioning: Hades, a brother who had not inherited Zeus' charm or strength, but only his arrogance. He was a wizard with a bitter character, who loathed the fact Muggles looked to his brother – who was younger no less! – as a god, while he was left standing in the shadows. Whereas Zeus wanted merely to enjoy himself by teasing non-magical people and look at them from his home on the mountain Olympus, his brother Hades found his place in a cave where he grew pale and sickly from the water of River Styx. He found pleasure in killing and used his magic for little else. It is so that Hades was the first wizard to create dementors and ordered them to feast on souls as they pleased.
And thus the gap between the two brothers had come to pass and grew stronger.
It is here that, with the information I have given, I shall continue the tale that you really wanted to hear.
Aphrodite, as beautiful as she was selfish, had numerous admirers throughout the ages she lived. Many fought for her, but in their folly did not realise they had in fact better fought against her. The ones she had preyed upon herself, however, were nothing short of kings. They were the handsomest noblemen of whole Greece, but they shall remain nameless for they died young and in thoughtless battle. Thoughtless, because they, too, were men who fought for Aphrodite.
Alas, that is man's greatest weakness: to love foolishly.
There is not much known about these kings. Some have said they had been the rulers of the two most powerful city-states of Greece and that they were in fact both tricked into falling for Aphrodite by bordering cities who felt threatened. Others have claimed they were brothers who had been looking for an excuse to attack each other to gain the other's land and power. But I believe they were merely two young men, struck by the power of an adoration so all-consuming they went into battle, not thinking of their own lives or those of their men.
They went in with horses and cars, dressed in heavy armours fitted with gold, and carried the swords their fathers had used before them. As all men in those days they had bodies of gods, much like ours are now. Their skin shone bronze, their faces were strong and handsome, and they wielded bows and swords alike. Both armies seemed to be equal to each other, yet there was something that made one king superior to the other: horses that did not pull cars, but which could be ridden by man.
Not only were these horses the most beautiful creatures ever seen, each the embodiment of perfection, they were also strong and fierce. They let the soldier balance on their backs in seats of leather and, because one man was lighter than a chariot with two, they would speed across the fields like shadows. Even the amazons of Sarmatia could not ride their animals like these men. This cavalry was the best formation of warriors that ever existed – so has been told.
As you might imagine when these two forces faced each other and fought for their goddess of Love as fiercely as if she were made of pure gold the result was horrifying. Many men died on that battlefield at the feet of Olympus, where Aphrodite was watching with much delight and where the wizard Ares for the first time noticed how much she loved the sight of blood. This pleased the latter exceedingly, for he himself found pleasure in carnage as only wizards do and had always felt drawn to Zeus' beautiful daughter as most men did.
All had fought with heart and soul, yet the handsome kings had died alongside their men before anyone could be called the winner. For the first time Athena could step into battle, where she used her wisdom to end what remained of the fight. Hundreds of owls she conjured to restrain the men that were not yet dead, and told them to go home and bring forth the message of the kings' death since there was nothing left to fight for. She gravely looked at the field, knowing there was not a single spell in the world that could revive the dead. The ones who were dying she tried to help, but it was Hades with his ghastly dementors that reached these poor unfortunate souls first. From afar he had smelled the blood and with his creatures of the underworld he collected the spirits of the dying for his collection in the river Styx, where he named them Inferi and would control them as a puppeteer. Enraged, Athena sent Hades away, hurling curses after him and forbidding him from ever coming back. After that very incident Zeus saw very little of his brother, who so earned the name "the unseen one", and there was much rejoicing at Olympus.
However, a faint cry here and there made Athena's heart jump; there had still been some men left alive after Hades' raid! She called in the help of her father Zeus and so the companion of heroes that was Athena managed to find the remaining warriors. All of the survivors had been part of the cavalry.
Unfortunately, magic was not as advanced back then as it is now and even these powerful sorcerers had no knowledge of healing. This was something magic could not solve, it seemed. But then the wise witch heard the soft neighing of the horses, all of them still healthy as ever. The animals had easily found their way back to their riders and now seemed to be grieving the loss they felt approaching. During the countless battles these soldiers had won, a strong bond of love and trust between animal and man had been formed, for on the field each was dependent on the other for victory.
Having listened to his daughter's idea Zeus – with a great deal of complicated wand-waving – connected horse and man together so they would share mind and body even more so than they had before. They had the beautiful muscled torso of a warrior, but the strong fast legs of a horse. Their mind was attuned to nature and keen with instinct, yet capable of storing the knowledge of the world. In due time, the strength of the horses healed their masters, but when Athena offered to undo this union the men did not want to return to their previous state since they had no human family to go back to or a king left to fight for. Henceforth their unity would be called the Centaur, almighty above Muggles and more noble than wizards.
In honour of these warriors we used to be, we still wear our bows as they did hundreds of years ago. As for our wisdom, we use it as Athena would want us to; for the sake of knowledge and therefore indifferent to war. War, as every Centaur realises, has only once brought forth a good thing. And that is the Centaurs himself.