The Other Divination Teacher

by The Centaur Ground

In an alternative universe the centaurs agreed to send one of their number to take Divination classes. His approach to the job was different to that which Firenze adopted.

3. Lesson Three

Lesson Three.

Classroom eleven, Harry was not surprised to discover when he and his friends arrived there for their third Divination lesson with the centaur Tarahin, had once more taken on the aspect of a ruin. On this occasion a playful breeze was blowing through it, sending the dapples of sunlight dancing across the grassy classroom floor and teasing the falls of hair of Tarahin's mane and tail.

The centaur was standing in his usual place, in the centre of the ruined room, with the students in a half-circle in front of him. With a graceful nod he acknowledged the new arrivals. An unhurried sweep of his arm indicated that they should take their place among the rest of the class. They did so. A trickle of latecomers arrived, Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson among them. Satisfied that everyone was now present who should have been, the centaur made a casual gesture and closed the door from a distance.

"Young Daughters of Eve. Young Sons of Adam. Be-ye welcome," he bade in a quiet voice, as was his wont, looking along the row of faces.

"Have you had the results of Professor Umbridge's inspection yet, sir?" Pansy asked, smirking.

"I am given to understand that your Ministry of Magic received a glowing report about me, Pansy Parkinson," he responded with solemn courtesy, taking no notice of the smirk or of the incredulous expression which superseded it. He paused, and continued a touch apologetically, "Word also has it that after glowing for a short while the report burst into flames, to the alarm of the official who was attempting to peruse it. It is unfortunate, perhaps, but there the matter lies. For better or worse, I remain on the staff of Hogwarts school for the time being."

"Oh." Pansy seemed unenthused at the prospect. Her lack of enthusiasm had no effect upon him whatsoever.

"I trust ye every found time to carry out your homework task. Yes?" he enquired, glancing at the assembled pupils.

"Yes, sir," came a rather ragged chorus.

"It is well. We shall begin by examining that homework. Padma Patil, do-you set a first hoof to the path by presenting your findings to us."

"Me, sir? Oh. Right." Padma opened her book and found the right page. "I, um, I had a look at a spoon, one of the ones in the common room, one of the ones we use for stirring drinks. It was made of a silver-coloured metal, and it was almost exactly five inches long. The handle of it tapered to meet the bowl, which was just over an inch long and about a quarter of an inch deep. There was a line of dots around the edge of the handle, which looked like they'd been hammered in – they were a bit crudely done. And there was a thing like a coat-of-arms at the end. I thought it was going to be something to do with Ravenclaw, but it didn't seem to be. It was a bit too worn for me to make it out properly, but it looked like some kind of animal – a fox, perhaps – under some bushes. It looked old – the spoon, I mean. The silver colour had worn through in places, leaving patches of bronzy colour. The surface of it was too dull to reflect much, though it still felt quite smooth, but where it caught the light of candles the bowl of it seemed to spread the light on the outer curved surface and concentrate it on the inner. It smelled kind of metallic, if you see what I mean, and it tasted that way too. And the sound it made when I hit it with another spoon was quite sharp. And that was about it, really."

"Excellent." Tarahin stamped a hind-hoof in approval. "You used every one of your senses, you subjected your chosen object to a suitably close examination, and you discovered aspects of it which had hitherto escaped you. Stoutly done, Padma Patil. – Millicent Bulstrode, do-you set before us the fruits of your examining."

Millicent Bulstrode, to the surprise of most of the other people in the class, turned out to have done an adequate job of inspecting her chosen object, a small table in the Slytherin common room. She earned a few wondering glances from her fellow students, and, when her account wound to its close, a word of praise from the centaur.

"Stoutly done also, Millicent Bulstrode. That is a most adequate account. – Now you, Neville Longbottom."

One by one the members of the class reported their findings. The overall standard of their work was unexpectedly good, and even the worst were more than passable. Everyone had spent at least the required ten minutes upon the task, the objects selected were widely varied, and the descriptions were pleasingly detailed.

"Ye have done well, ye every," said Tarahin evenly, after bestowing a word of praise upon the final student to report, Seamus Finnigan, for his account of a tiny spider that he had found spinning a web in the corner of one of the corridor windows. He glanced around the class with approval. "I am encouraged to hope that ye Two-leg foals have a greater capacity for awareness than I had hitherto imagined. I suggest to ye that it will enrich ye if throughout your lives ye make a practise of pausing every now and anew to take a familiar object and devote your attentions to it for a short while, allowing it to communicate aught of itself to ye. Ye dwell in a world of marvels, where even the meanest thing is redolent with glory, but humans are generally reared to live hurried, careless lives, and thus the wonder of creation most often passes ye by. If every so often ye find occasion to stop galloping around heedless and instead bring your senses to bear on the world through which ye are hurrying ye may find a depth to your living of which, I sorrow to tell it, your kind are highmost often unaware. I say not that such will aid ye to pass examinations; mostlike it will not. Butyet at the ending of your lives, when your gods ask of ye "What do ye reck of Our creation?" ye shall not embarrass yourselves by having to admit "I did not notice it." – Has any among ye a question?"

Susan Bone raised a somewhat tentative hand. He noticed, and inclined his head gravely in her direction.

"Even so," he said. "Aright, we step on. For the next part of this lesson we require a volunteer. It must needs be –"

"Um. Susan has a question, sir." Ernie Macmillan ventured to interrupt.

"Such I see, Ernie Macmillan," the centaur responded with grave patience. "As I were saying, for the next part of this lesson we require a volunteer. It must needs – "

"But – I mean – aren't you going to listen to her question, sir?" Ernie persevered.

Tarahin's left eyebrow lifted fractionally. "I asked if any among ye had a question, Ernie Macmillan. I did not say that I wished to hear those questions. – We step on. For the next part of this lesson we require a volunteer." He paused, noted with well-hidden amusement the fact that perplexity was registering on many faces, and made a show of relenting. "Butyet perahap ere we step it wun'na go ill to give ear to Susan Bones's question. – Susan Bones?" He looked towards Susan and raised his eyebrow again, this time in invitation.

"Er. I just wondered, sir. About gods. Do you think there actually are any?" she asked.

"Gods..." He ran a thoughtful thumb up and down the cleft of his chin, and was silent for a few moments. Then he spoke, quietly.

"Upon a time, longwhiles since, a tribe of Two-legs heard the song of a bird. They thought that it was the most delightful sound that they had ever heard, and they wished to hear it always. To that end they decided to capture the bird. Therefore they set about constructing a cage for it. As it was intended to hold a creature that were capable of singing with such incomparable sweetness, they lavished every attention and every effort upon the cage, fashioning its bars with exquisitely wrought gold, embellishing it with gemstones of greatest rarity and highest quality, and lining its floor with flawless diamonds. The cage was a wonder to behold, and people came from great distances to admire it. "What manner of bird must it be, to merit such a cage?" they asked one another. "Surely it must be the brightest, the biggest, the wisest, the most powerful, the most fearful, the most wonderful bird of all!" And they sang songs, hymning the bird's praises.

"Came a time, however, and there were reports that another tribe of Two-legs had also fashioned a cage for the bird; a cage which was said to be the equal in grandeur of that of the first. Great was the wrath of the first tribe when they heard this. They raised an army and went to war with the other tribe, seeking to establish which of them had the right to cage the bird. Many people were slain, and great were the horror and bloodshed, but in the end the army of the first tribe was victorious. It returned home in triumph; there was great feasting, and much rejoicing. Out of gratitude to the bird, and to its greater glory, the cage was expanded, and was festooned with jewels until the eye could scarcely bear to look upon the splendour of it. When one among the tribe's number said "But I do not see the bird in it," the rest fell upon her and slew her for her impiety. Butyet her telling was truth. Every effort and highmost wealth had been devoted to the construction of the cage, yet almost from the first days its original purpose had been forgotten. What need has any folk of a bird, when they possess such a marvellous cage?"

With that, he looked around at his hearers, who were silent for a while.

"Er. I'm nae sure ye've rilly answered Susan's question, sir," said Morag MacDougal at last, rather apologetically.

"Happen nay, Morag MacDougal." Tarahin admitted as much, with one of his horsey head-up-slanted-and-lowered nods.

"I mean, do you think there rilly is a birdie?"

The centaur considered again, briefly. "Now and anew I hear aught that registers upon my spirit as a song of such complexity, simplicity and beauty that atimes I feel I may dissolve into it," he said quietly. "Sayless, other people may not hear it as a song, though they may be at one with me in appreciation of it. Nor is the beauty of a bird's song any indication of the appearance of the bird itself. The most lyrical, liquid melodies may pour from the throat of a bird that is to casual sight tiny, dull and utterly unremarkable. With those two considerations in mind, therefore, I am content to wait and see if there is a bird and what it is like. There may indeed not be a bird. Butyet I am not persuaded that the quest for one is folly. – I accept that such does not answer your question, Susan Bones," he added, inclining his head towards Susan, "but I would have you credit that it is as much of an answer as any one of my kind would feel enabled to give."

"Fair enough, sir." Susan nodded.

"We step on." Tarahin took a breath that made his flanks heave. He thrashed his tail in a businesslike manner, and continued in less serious tones, "For the next part of this lesson we require a volunteer. It must needs be a strong-minded person, and widely known; one whose character invites differing opinions among their fellow students. Thus our volunteer is – "

Harry grimaced, and shifted about, ready to stand up.

" – Draco Malfoy."

Surprised but relieved, Harry settled down again and pretended that he'd just been stretching.

Draco looked equally surprised, and anything but relieved. "Me?"

"You, Draco Malfoy. Do-you come here and stand yonder." Tarahin pointed to a spot a centaur's body-length to his left.

"I don't remember volunteering. – Sir."

Tarahin regarded him calmly. "Do you believe that your volunteering or the lack of it makes the slightest difference, Draco Malfoy?" he asked, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

"I suppose not. – Sir," grunted Malfoy.

"It would appear that you are benefiting from my Divination classes already, Draco Malfoy. You divined such with great accuracy." He pointed to the spot again, with an authoritative finger.

Scowling, Malfoy slouched out and stood where the centaur was pointing.

"For this, ye shall divide into groups of three, the same groups that ye divided into for your attempt at prediction, that first lesson; save that Ronald Weasley shall join Dean Thomas and Zacharias Smith. Gregory Goyle and Seamus Finnigan must needs be contented to work alone, upon this occasion. Assemble-ye in your groups."

There was a certain amount of getting up and moving around as the students rearranged themselves into their groups of three. Tarahin watched them, tolerantly.

"So. For the nexting. In the last lesson ye looked at a blot of ink and divined several discrete patterns in it. Then in your homework ye discovered that objects thought to be familiar reveal unnoticed aspects of themselves when they are studied with all attention. It is for ye now to bring those two wisdoms together. Our volunteer, Draco Malfoy, is known to each of ye, superficially at least. Ye shall now pay to his form the attention ye paid to your familiar objects. Ye shall study him attentively, and ye shall write down in your notebooks what ye observe. To that end..." He turned towards Malfoy and crooked a finger.

Malfoy glared at him. "Don't you 'people' have any manners?" he demanded, as insolently as he dared.

"We Childer of the Forest are not renowned for our manners, Draco Malfoy," came the soft-spoken reply. "Butyet I was not beckoning to you."

Malfoy shivered. As he did so, a copy of him stepped out of him and stood in front of the centaur. He stared at his duplicate, slack jawed. It was perfect in every detail; even its clothing was accurately reproduced.

"Bloo-dy hell!" Ron was deeply impressed. To judge by the expressions on the faces of his classmates, he wasn't the only one. Even Hermione sat up and paid attention.

"Corporeal Iteration," she murmured, as much to herself as to Parvati and Theodore, the other members of her group. "Now, that's magic!"

"You are for the first group, O! Simulacrum." Tarahin addressed the duplicate Malfoy gravely, and pointed towards Neville's group. It turned, walked over to where Neville, Michael and Hannah were sitting, and stood in front of them, expressionless and mindlessly patient.

A second beckoning produced a second copy of Malfoy, which was sent to the second group; other beckonings resulted in other Malfoys, until every group had its own Malfoy to study.

"Praise be to our Divination teacher, the great, the good!" exclaimed Harry. He had intended to say 'All those Malfoys – I've died and gone to hell,' and he had intended it only for the ears of Lisa and Anthony, the other members of his group. To his embarrassment he discovered that the centaur's hex upon derisive remarks, about which he had forgotten, still held. Everybody looked at him, curiously. He reddened.

The centaur regarded him, dispassionate of face. "Whilst I accept that my magical skills may compel your admiration, Harry Potter," he said without apparent irony, "I must remind you that expressions of such are out of place during lessons. As indeed are observations which may be regarded as being dismissive of other students." He laid slight emphasis on these last words.

"Yes, sir. Sorry sir. I kind of – forgot."

"Forget-you not again, Harry Potter. – You may rejoin the members of your group, Draco Malfoy."

A somewhat stunned air to him, Malfoy did as Tarahin bade. The centaur waited until he was back in his place. Then he addressed the class.

"The simulacrae ye see before ye are to be treated with respect," he told them. "There may be other lessons where other simulacrae are required for study. A person who fails to show appropriate respect now shall be considered to have volunteered to provide simulacrae then. Ye are mindful of such; yes?"

"Yes, sir," chorused the class.

"It is well. Your simulacrum will obey simple orders, politely phrased – "

"Praise be to our Divination teacher, the great, the good!" sang out Ron. He had meant to say 'Which is more than the original will do,' and he'd only meant Dean to hear it. Finding himself the focus of everybody's eyes he blushed even redder than Harry had done.

"Ronald Weasley. I would have you pay heed to the words which I addressed to Harry Potter moments ago." Tarahin fixed him with an imperious eye.

"Right, sir. Sorry."

"The same applies to every among ye, let it be noted. For more, I would advise ye that for the remainder of this lesson any future praises shall be accompanied by a salaam."

"By a what?" demanded Millicent Bulstrode of Justin Finch-Fletchley, in what she supposed was a whisper.

"A salaam. It's kind of a hands-in-the-air bowing down," he supplied. "Shhh!" he added, as Tarahin's eyes flickered in his direction.

Millicent shushed, as indeed did everybody else. Nobody wanted to be the first to salaam to the centaur.

"As ye see," continued Tarahin, "the simulacrae are clothed. They shall remain so. For more, any requests to borrow a simulacrum for homework purposes shall be accompanied by a salaam and shall meet with a blunt refusal." The word 'NO!' glowed in the air for a few moments, in the same golden letters which had written a 'Thwack' on the seat of Dean's trousers during the course of a previous lesson. It was followed briefly by a fiery red 'AWFUL AGONIES'. The students put two and two together, as it were, and came up with the correct answer.

"Can we touch them, sir?" asked Mandy Brocklehurst. "I mean, nowhere private, obviously."

"Ye may touch them, Mandy Brocklehurst. Nowhere private, sayless. Among ye humans, touch is a sense that is underemployed and little appreciated, for the most part."

"Can they speak, sir?" Terry Boot wanted to know.

"They can speak, Terry Boot, and they shall do so at your requesting. Thus ye may study their voices. They shall, however, but repeat words that ye bid they repeat. They shall not speak of their own volition."

"I see."

"Ye shall study each part of your simulacrum, paying most attention to the unclothed parts. Ye shall make a note of your observations, each in your own individual book. I would have ye make your observations accurate physically, but perhaps more important I would have ye write down the impression that the simulacrum's features make upon ye. To give but one example its eyes might perhaps be seen as 'icy', or 'commanding', or 'limpid', though anyone describing them as 'limpid' should be prepared to define that word; I give ye warning, it is not a kind of shellfish with a cold in its head. Needless to say, if any among ye are unwise enough to descend to stupid, spiteful descriptions they shall in a future lesson find themselves in a position where Draco Malfoy shall be able to be amply revenged upon them. The like, for any who bid a simulacrum utter words that are an affront to its dignity. I shall not have students in my class demeaned. Yes?"

"Yes, sir." There was no doubting the sincerity of the centaur's words, softly-spoken though they were.

"It is well. I am assured that none among ye is foolish enough to test such for yourselves." Tarahin nodded. "Set-ye to it, then. I suggest that, as we have mentioned the eyes, ye begin with them."

The students regarded the simulacrae, at something of a loss. Stolidly, the simulacrae returned their gazes.

"Um. How should we talk to them, sir? To tell them what to do, I mean," enquired Parvati, dubiously.

"Ye shall but bid them, Parvati Patil. Address-ye them as 'O! Simulacrum," came the answer.

"Oh. Right. Um. – Look this way, please, O! Simulacrum." With an understandable lack of assurance Parvati followed the centaur's instructions. Her group's simulacrum turned its head towards her. Being stared at by a copy of Draco Malfoy was somewhat unnerving, but she steeled herself to it. "It works," she reported to Hermione and to Theodore Nott, the other members of her group. "Perhaps it'll be easiest if I have first go and you two take it in turns after me. Is that all right?" Neither Theodore nor Hermione made any objection. "Right, then. Eyes..." And, not without a certain amount of self-consciousness, she studied the eyes of the imitation Malfoy.

Work on the simulacrae proceeded in an admirably diligent manner. It took a while for the initial discomfort of issuing orders to a copy of Draco Malfoy to wear off – particularly for Draco himself – but before long the class warmed to its work, and indeed became quite absorbed in it. Tarahin wandered from group to group, offering words of direction and encouragement where necessary. Nobody was daft enough to put to the test his warnings about not treating the simulacrae respectfully: the prospect of volunteering to provide the next set of simulacrae was enough to rein-in the wildest of spirits, even that of Dean Thomas.

"Such will suffice, for our purposes," said the centaur eventually, making his way back to the centre of the classroom glade. "We have sufficient material upon which to work. Do-you step here, Draco Malfoy, and be reunited with yourselves. – You should but stand stilly, facing me, your arms at your sides," he added, as Draco came to stand in front of the class. "Such is well. You are ready?"

"Yes, sir." Draco nodded nervously.

"It shall swift be done. – Ye simulacrae shall line up behind Draco Malfoy, and be one with him again. And ye shall do such now."

As one the simulacrae stood up. They turned towards Tarahin, and made everybody jump by chorusing, "Don't tell me what to do, half-breed!" Their defiance voiced, they formed a line behind Malfoy; then, one by one, they marched into him, and merged with him. He shuddered involuntarily as they did so.

"It is done," the centaur told him quietly, when the final simulacrum had disappeared. "You are well?" It was more of a statement than a question.

Under other circumstances Malfoy might have been tempted to exaggerate any discomfort he had felt, but at that moment relief at being the only one of himself in the room kept any thoughts of possible mischief-making far from his mind.

"Yes. Sir." He nodded.

"It is well. For your assistance in this lesson I award ten points to your house."

Malfoy managed a grin. It was destined to be short lived.

" – And for your having rude simulacrae I subtract nine points from your house," continued Tarahin.

"Nine points, sir?"

"Nine points, Draco Malfoy."

"So I've still got one?"

"You still have one, Draco Malfoy. Butyet, for your questioning the manners of the Childer of the Forest, earlier..."

"You subtract a point from my house," finished Malfoy, sounding almost amused.

"Divination suits you, Draco Malfoy. You have a definite talent for seeing into the future. Be-sat you." There was a distant 'ping' as an emerald disappeared from the Slytherin house glass.

Malfoy shook his head ruefully, and took his place among the other students.

"Sir?" A censorious expression on her face, Hermione stuck her hand into the air.

"Yes, Hermione Granger?" Tarahin surveyed her in his usual imperturbable manner, and scratched at his belly with an idle hind-hoof.

"I don't think you're taking the house system seriously enough, sir," she complained. "I mean, every point you've awarded so far, you've taken away again."

"The second part of your observation is accurate," he accepted. "Yet with regard to the first part: one of the aspects of ye humans that I find baffling is your propensity to divide yourselves into competing groups. Ye seize upon each and every difference with your fellow humans, ye define yourselves by those differences, and then ye use them as a reason to belittle one another, or even to make war amongst yourselves. I would wager that if a spell was cast upon ye so that ye looked alike in every other way except that some of ye were tall and the others short there would be war between the talls and the shorts within a decade.

"Your school house system is born of that propensity. What gain ye from it? It binds some of ye closer together, but at the cost of pushing the others further away. It provides ye with another fount of division and misliking, when to the eye of an outsider ye are already over-laden with divisions and mislikings. Each of your houses has its own strength, but instead of bringing those strengths together and uniting them the houses serve as wedges betwixt ye and force your strengths apart. Imagine-ye a school whose students cultivated in themselves the intelligence of Ravenclaw, the practicality of Hufflepuff, the ambition of Slytherin and the courage of Gryffindor – what could they not accomplish?

"I am not against your house system. On the contrary, I am glad that it exists. As a non-human I would be extremely worried if I thought that there was any possibility of humans overcoming their antipathies and working together in a common cause. United amongst yourselves, ye might well need to invent an enemy for ye to strike against, and non-human magical beings would be an obvious candidate for that position. That ye continue to be divided into houses, even in a school led by the most enlightened of headmasters, encourages me to believe that there is no prospect of such a unity happening in the foreseeable future. While ye devote your energies to fighting amongst yourselves ye are less likely to think of fighting against us."

"I don't think we'd do that, sir," said Zacharias Smith, in rather defensive tones.

"Do you not, Zacharias Smith?" Tarahin regarded him steadily. "Are you of the opinion that most among your kind make any distinction between the terms 'non-human' and 'sub-human'?"

"I – I don't know, sir."

"I do not know either, Zacharias Smith. But history discourages me from crediting that they do. Many among ye seem to need to despise others. They give them a derogatory name, they proclaim that they are naturally inferior, that they are less than properly human. And then they use that supposed sub-humanity as an excuse to persecute and even to destroy them. For this reason, therefore, I welcome the divisions among ye, of which your houses are but a sign. While ye are busied setting Slytherin against Gryffindor, pure-blood against mud-blood, 'muggle' against 'freak', and the like, ye shall have little time or energy to devote to setting humans against non-humans."

"We're not all like that," Hermione said defiantly. "And going by what Dean said the other day, you centaurs aren't exactly perfect!"

"No, Hermione Granger, ye are not all like that. But enough of ye are like that to cause grave problems for your own kind, let alone for other kinds. For more, your history suggests that those among ye who are like that tend to rise in your society, to attain positions of power where they can cause great hurt. I do not doubt that your Ministry of Magic was set up to serve a noble purpose, and that the majority of people who work in it are well-intentioned. Yet what little I know of its officials makes me glad that we Childer of the Forest are beyond its remit. – Centaur magic, as you may know, is different from human magic," he added, the faintest glint of humour in his eye. "As for we centaurs not being perfect, such I grant you. All that I would claim is that we are honest, that there is no deception in us. We do not pretend to be other than we are. How many of ye humans can claim such?"

"Is that why centaurs and humans don't mix, sir?" Lavender wanted to know. "Us being a bit – unpredictable, and a bit grabby, I mean."

"It is one of the reasons, Lavender Brown." Tarahin nodded. "We centaurs are so – " he clasped his hands together and shook them briefly to emphasise that they were firmly bonded together – "while ye humans are so." Freeing his grasp he bunched his hands into fists and banged them together sharply. "Ye hide your nakedness and parade your folly. Ye apologize for your farting and belching, the while ye make a boast of your greed and your cruelties. Ye chase after riches and power, and ye piss on the true riches of life which are available free to anyfolk that seeks them. It is as though ye are prone to a madness, in some kind. Many among ye are well enough, such I shall grant, and some among ye are high well. Such given, those that are ungood among ye seem to have an influence and a destructive power that is out of all proportion to their numbers. That is why we Childer of the Forest tend to regard your kind with suspicion. If that suspicion is often flavoured with distaste, as it is, I would ask ye to accept that such is not without cause. – Butyet we digress. We are occupied here not with the nature of humanity but with the nature of one particular human, Draco Malfoy. Ye every have written in your books a description of his several aspects. To those descriptions we shall now turn. We shall start at the very beginning, which, I am assured, is a very good place to start. See-we your descriptions of Draco Malfoy's hair."

At a casual flick of his finger the students' notebooks wriggled and ejected the appropriate descriptions, which stretched, jumped into the air and came together in a shoal beside him. He regarded them benevolently.

"Again, for the purposes of study, they are best enlarged, coloured and grouped like with like."

As he spoke the words grew in size, adopted a variety of bright colours, and divided into several separate shoals.

"So. – It can be seen that there is unanimity with regard to your description of the colouring of Draco Malfoy's hair." Tarahin pointed to where a large shoal of 'fair's and 'blonde's were shimmering placidly together. "Butyet if ye examine the other parts of your descriptions ye shall see that there is a measure of differentiation. Several amongst ye reported that the hair was 'silky', or words approximating to such." He pointed, and a handful of glittering silver 'silky's and terms similar to that swam upwards to hover above the other words. "Two, however, reported the opposite." At another pointing a small brown 'dry' and a larger but equally dully-coloured 'a bit stringy' descended from the group and drifted below it. "In like fashion, we have three 'fine's and a 'rather coarse'. The scent of the hair, which is due to Draco Malfoy's choice of hair care products, also divided opinion. We have some 'smells nice's and an equal number of 'doesn't smell particularly nice's." As he named them, the words separated from the main shoal, like again grouping with like. "Finally I award a house point to the three of ye who were intrepid enough to employ your sense of taste: it is well to see that ye are attempting to extend the range of your sense experiences. Sadly, two of ye incorrectly attributed the taste to the hair itself rather than to the use of hair care products. Equally sadly, while attributing the taste correctly the third of ye misspelled the word 'yucky'. Thus I am driven to subtract a house point from ye each."

"Surprise, surprise," somebody muttered.

"Are you indeed surprised, Michael Corner?" Tarahin identified the culprit effortlessly, and raised an eyebrow at him.

"Er. – Not really, sir," admitted Michael, pinkening but standing his ground.

"I rejoice to hear it. The fact that so many of ye are forecasting the future accurately encourages me to hope that ye may take more from these lessons than I had anticipated. – Your patience a moment." To the surprise of the students he sat down, rolled onto his back and wriggled about, making a grunting sound as he did so, his hoofs waving in the air. Having relieved the itch in his back he rolled over, stood upright and shook himself vigorously. A horse-like snort and a careless flick of his tail, and he was ready to continue. "We step on. Ye every examined Draco Malfoy's hair, on the heads of his simulacrae. It was the same on every head. Yet we have a variety of comments upon it, not all of which correspond. Indeed, several are in opposition. Someone coming into this class now would read that Draco Malfoy had hair which, amongst its other attributes, was silky, fine, gorgeous, nice-smelling, not particularly nice-smelling, dry, rather coarse, and a bit stringy. Without carrying out their own examination, is there any way in which they might determine which of the descriptions was accurate?"

Terry Boot raised a hand. "Could they sort of take an average, sir?" he suggested, when the centaur invited him to speak. "Ignore the extreme ones, and see what most people thought?"

"That would be a reasonable way of proceeding, Terry Boot," Tarahin agreed, with one of his horsey nods. "Given, of course, that they were aware of the nature of the group which was discussing Draco Malfoy's hair. If it was a meeting of a 'We Hate Draco Malfoy' society, or contrariwise of the – what is your expression? – of the Draco Malfoy Fanny Club, the average opinion might be less than dependable."

"It's – um. 'Fan Club', sir." Blushing, Parvati offered a tentative correction, over a certain amount of restrained tittering. "'Fanny' is – something else."

"Even so?" He made a gracious nod in her direction and corrected himself. "The Draco Malfoy Fan Club, then."

"A point from Centaur house," said Hermione under her breath.

"And a point from Gryffindor house for lack of respect for a teacher, Hermione Granger." Tarahin aimed what was supposed to be a reproving cocked eyebrow in her direction.

"Ears like a bat!" Ron mouthed a sympathetic but silent comment. Discreet though it was, it failed to escape the centaur's notice.

"And eyes like a hawk, Ronald Weasley," he said calmly. "Wisdom of ye every to be aware of such when ye are in class. Yes?"

"Er. It might be an idea, sir, yes," admitted Ron, reddening.

"A point to Gryffindor house for your gaining wisdom, Ronald Weasley." Having balanced the points once more, Tarahin returned to the matter in hand. "Averages are well, but ye must needs be aware of a potential for bias. You suggested eliminating the more extreme views on either side, Terry Boot. Why was this?"

"Um. – Because they're likely to come from people who particularly like Malfoy or dislike him, sir," explained Terry. "It'd be the same as making allowances for the 'Hate Club' and the 'Fan Club'."

"Even so. It is a logical step to take. And yet it is not always reliable. Would you eliminate the description 'a bit stringy' as coming from one of Draco Malfoy's mislikers?"

"Er. – Yes. I think so, sir."

Tarahin glanced around the class. "If you are not disinclined to do so, would the person who penned that description of Draco Malfoy's hair raise a hand, of your grace?"

There was a pause. Then, to everybody's astonishment, Malfoy himself put his hand up. He sat, looking both defiant and slightly sheepish.

Harry opened his mouth, intending to mutter "Blimey! Malfoy doesn't think he's perfect!". He felt a twitch in his arms, however, and in the nick of time remembered Taram's warning about the salaams. He closed his mouth again, hurriedly. A calm glance from the centaur confirmed that he had been wise to do so.

"My thanks, Draco Malfoy." Tarahin gave another gracious nod, this time in Malfoy's direction. "A point to Slytherin house for your courage."

Malfoy managed a rather twisted smile. "And a point from Slytherin for – ?"

"For proving your teacher wrong when he doubted that you possessed that courage. Teachers do not like to be proved wrong."

Malfoy's smile became less twisted.

"As ye see, then, an apparent bias may not be actual, which renders allowing for biases problematic," continued Tarahin, turning to the other students. "We step on, to examine your accounts of Draco Malfoy's eyes." At a sweep of his hand the shoals of descriptions vanished. The books quivered, and spat out a fresh set of words, which took the place of the old ones. And the lesson continued.

Opinions about Malfoy's eyes turned out to be as divided as those about his hair had been, but they were dealt with more briefly. His ears, voice and hands received equally wide-ranging comments; again, the centaur dealt with them briskly.

"We have no need to analyse the rest of Draco Malfoy's form," he said, after banishing the final shoal of words. "The point, which I trust ye have registered, is that judgements are unreliable. Most often, they are clouded by the attitude of the judger towards that which is being judged. If, in future, ye are called upon to examine courses of action, or people, and to decide between them, it would be wisdom of ye to strive to be aware of your own attitudes, of the biases ye bring to your judgement; for biases there shall be. – How do you reckon that humans come to a decision about something, Mandy Brocklehurst?"

"Er – ." Mandy was startled at being called upon, but she gave the question rapid consideration and supplied an answer. "We get all the facts together, and we look at them, and we weigh them up. And then we make our decision. Sir."

"Ye every would concur with such?" Tarahin glanced around the class.

"Yes, sir." There was general nodding of heads.

"For the first part of your homework, then, I would have ye consider this proposition: that the way in which most humans reach a decision is that they first decide what they want to do, perhaps without realizing such; that they then look for facts which support that decision and embellish them, or even invent them if they are lacking; and that finally they disparage or ignore facts which tell against what they want to do."

"That's not true, sir," protested Anthony Goldstein, affronted. As Ravenclaws tend to do, he prided himself upon having a logical, disinterested approach to matters of fact.

"Have you assembled all the evidence and looked at it before reaching that conclusion, Anthony Goldstein? Or is it merely what you wish to believe?" The centaur surveyed him mildly before adding, as the bell for the end of class rang, "The second part of your homework is that again ye select a familiar object, pay attention to it for ten minutes, and list your findings in your notebooks. Ye Daughters of Eve, ye Sons of Adam; fair parting." With a flowing sweep of his arm he indicated the door at the back of the classroom. It swung open with a creak, and the class poured out of it. Hermione, however, hung back. Harry and Ron noticed, and stayed with her.

"Hermione Granger?" A lift of Tarahin's eyebrow invited her to speak.

"Um. – I – I won't be coming to any more Divination classes, sir," she said, hesitantly but with determination. "I'm having extra Arithmancy instead."

"Even so. I understood from Minerva McGonagall that your attendance was voluntary and that it was only temporary." The centaur inclined his head in acceptance of that fact.

"I just wanted you to know that it's nothing personal, sir."

"I am sure that it is not, Hermione Granger." There was a faint curve at the corner of his mouth. It was as near to a smile as any of the students had seen him come.

"Parts of your lessons have actually been quite interesting. – If you see what I mean," she added hastily, aware that what had been intended as a compliment hadn't quite sounded that way.

"I take your meaning." The curve at the corner of his mouth became more pronounced.

"It's just this 'parting the veils of the future' stuff, and being doomed to die horribly because Mars and Venus were in opposition when you were born." Hermione ploughed on. "I think it's ridiculous, and I can't see any point in it."

"I tend to agree with you, Hermione Granger." Another inclination of his head.

She stared at him. "But it's your subject! You're supposed to be teaching it," she said, with pardonable irritation.

"As Dolores Umbridge would no doubt remind you, I am not a professor as such. Therefore I do not have a 'subject'," he responded calmly, with a flick of his tail. "Albus Dumbledore asked of me that I attempt to make ye better fitted to divine your possible futures and to choose between them wisely. As a part of that attempt I seek first to establish ye firmly in your presents. The position at any given time of planets tens of millions of miles away seems to me to be highly unlikely to have any effect upon your futures; while at the other flank, your possessing greater awareness of the state of your minds is highly likely to have a bearing on them. Thus I choose to ignore the former and concentrate upon the latter. It is not, I grant you, Divination as your Ministry of Magic would recognize it. Butyet Albus Dumbledore seems to be of the opinion that it may be of more use to the students of Hogwarts than an examination certificate would be. Of course, it may be merely that he sees my presence here as performing the dual functions of filling a gap in the teaching staff and annoying officials at your Ministry of Magic, and that my teaching, such as it is, is unimportant. Such is a risk that I am willing to take. – I wish you well in your pursuit of Arithmancy, be it or nay. And in your determining your future, of course. A fair path to your hoofs."

"Thank you, sir." Hermione accepted the well-wishing with good grace.

"Sir?" Ron seized the opportunity to ask a question that had been nagging at him. "You know last lesson, when Professor Umbridge was there. If she'd agreed to – you know – when you suggested it, would you have – er – ?" At a loss for a polite expression, he stopped short.

"Ronald Weasley; when he invited me to teach here Albus Dumbledore was most specific about my not you-knowing with anyone at Hogwarts, be they staff, students, employees, or somebody named 'Mrs. Norris'," Tarahin said gravely, but with a glimmer of humour in his eyes. "The reputation of the Childer of the Forest had come to his notice. I have generally striven to observe the boundaries which he outlined, but on that one occasion it may be that my lusts overwhelmed my discretion."

"Or you might just have been trying to get rid of her, sir," suggested Harry. It seemed a more likely motivation.

The centaur's eyebrow lifted fractionally. "That is another possibility, Harry Potter. Butyet I remind you of the examples which Dean Thomas set before the class. Is there aught in them which suggests to you that I would not have you-knowed with her if she had consented to such?"

"Um. Not – not really, sir."

"There ye have it. 'One man's mate is another man's poison', as your sages put it."

"Er. That should be 'meat', sir," Harry corrected him.

"Even so? 'One man's mate is another man's meat' then. It sounds a little strange to my ears, but you humans have your own ways."

"No. I meant – never mind." Harry noticed that the curve had reappeared at the corner of the centaur's mouth again, and he guessed that Tarahin knew perfectly well what the correct saying was.

"Be it or nay. With regard to Dolores Umbridge and myself, I invite ye to weigh up the evidence and divine your own conclusions. – Ye should step, or ye shall be late for your next lessons."

"Right. We'll see you next time, sir. – Come on, Ron; Hermione."

"Ronald Weasley; Hermione Granger; Harry Potter." Tarahin named them, politely. He watched them hurry out of the room, and with a flick of his finger he magicked the door shut behind them. As it closed he allowed the curve at the corner of his mouth to develop into a grin, and then into a chuckle.

"Tugging the tails of Two-leg foals!" he said to himself with a shake of his head. "I suppose I shouldn't. But there is some sport to be had from it!" He heaved a sigh of amusement that shook his flanks. Then he thrashed his tail, turned, and cantered off into the forest.