Several more weeks had passed since Dumbledore's Army had been active. At Malfoy Manor, nestled in the countryside far from the city, autumn seemed to arrive earlier than it did elsewhere; the trees of the surrounding mountains and forests had already turned vivid shades of red and yellow. But unlike the fateful course of nature, the activities of the D.A. made little progress. Neither Eisenbein nor the Dawn Breakers had been seen anywhere in the Wizarding world. The members who had initially enthusiastically teamed up to search for suspicious people had gradually grown weary of their fruitless endeavors on patrol. Harry, who had been living in the largest and most luxurious spare bedroom at the mansion, was no better off. A deep addiction to the taste of alcohol had engulfed him since he had lived in number four, Privet Drive, and he spent most of his time drunk in a squashy armchair.
Waking lazily around noon that day, Harry slid out of bed and dragged his feet in his fluffy slippers out into the hallway and down the stairs. His throat burned when he downed the last of the firewhisky in one gulp. At first glance, there were no other members in the house. Perhaps they were on another unsuccessful hunt or investigation. It was a good thing, actually, since the main reason Harry started his day so late was to avoid running into the others. As he searched for a trash can to dispose of the empty bottle, he passed the parlor with its door wide open. In it was Malfoy, seated with his back to him, reading a newspaper open and alone. He was presumably left here, as was Harry, because none of the members wanted to pair up with him.
Harry muffled his footsteps to avoid running into Malfoy, tossed the empty bottle into a nearby trash can, and headed for the cellar to retrieve a fresh bottle of whiskey. He opened the door and staggered down the steep staircase that led below. His vision was blurred by the alcohol and he could have broken his neck if he fell, but he managed to make it to the heavy door at the bottom. He stumbled down the steep stairs in a drunken stupor, and fortunately made it to the sturdy door below without breaking his neck. Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out the key he'd packed, unlocking the lock and stepping into the dank, musty cellar. What had once been a simple cell where he and his friends, captured long ago by the Snatchers, had been held, was now a liquor cellar, with shelves lining the walls filled with various wines and whiskeys.
It was strange to be back in this place of his own accord, considering the amount of effort he had put in to escape from it in the past, even resorting to Dobby's sacrifice. Harry picked up the bottles and shook them one by one to find the strongest liquor to suit his melancholy mood, finally settling on Ogden's Old Firewhisky and heading back upstairs. But when he reached the top floor, he saw an unwelcome face. Leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, Draco Malfoy's pale, pointed face was scowling.
"Having another drink, Potter?"
"What if I do?" said Harry coldly and tried to push past him, but Malfoy took a step to block his path.
"Stand aside if you don't want to get hit by a bottle," Harry snapped at Malfoy.
"So you're staying in my house as a guest and going to hit me with my own bottle?" sneered Malfoy. "How did you get to be such a drunk, Potter?"
"Didn't you invite me to use this as headquarters in the first place, Malfoy?" Harry shot back, glaring at him. Old anger and hatred for Malfoy stirred within him as if awakened from long hibernation. "If you don't like me staying, we can always move out. None of us are staying here because we like you."
"Why are you here at all?" asked Malfoy, his drawling voice quickening a bit with anger. "You said you wanted to save the kidnapped Slytherins, and now you don't care about them?"
"Well, what if your son hadn't been kidnapped? Would we have had the opportunity to see the greatness of Draco Malfoy's selflessness?" retorted Harry. "Wouldn't you have sat quietly in this dreary palace if your son hadn't been involved, just waiting for the immediate crisis to pass, like your parents did, would you?"
"Watch your mouth, Potter!" Malfoy snapped, drawing his wand and pointing it in Harry's face. "Don't you dare talk about my parents like that!"
"A devoted son, aren't you?" Harry said. His head felt hot, even though he hadn't been drinking, as his old hatred and anger toward Draco Malfoy resurfaced. "And still, you've done your best to insult other people's parents at every opportunity."
Malfoy glared at Harry even harder, his gray eyes as cold as a blizzard. But in the end, no attack came from his wand. Harry pushed Malfoy aside with his shoulder and walked out the front door, not wanting to be in the same space as him. Once out in the yard, Harry kicked at the gravel on the ground to release his anger.
Turning away from the sun that beat down on his face like a rebuke, he walked to the graveyard at the edge of the garden, where the bushes grew thicker and the tombstones of the Malfoy's ancestors rose to mark their burials, generation after generation. Lucius and Narcissus Malfoy had contracted Dragon Pox together a few years ago and died at about the same time; he could see the white marble headstone with their names on it.
Now that he was being ridiculed by Draco Malfoy for his drinking habits, it seemed that he had finally hit rock bottom. Sitting down on a tree stump near the graves, Harry uncapped the Firewhisky and took a big swig. A burning sensation started in his throat and worked its way down, as if he'd swallowed a fireball, but after a few more sips the intoxication kicked in and everything seemed more bearable.
Malfoy wasn't in a great position anyway; he and his family had fallen out of favor with everyone in the Wizarding world. Even the pure-blood supremacists, their former allies, shuddered at the sight of a Malfoy, thanks to the fact that his father, Lucius, had testified in court against Voldemort's sympathizers after cutting a deal to be forgiven for his sins. Still, Scorpius Malfoy was a decent boy, and also Albus's closest friend, said a small voice in his head, not yet in a whiskey-induced stupor.
"So what the hell can I do for him?" said Harry out loud, and his inner voice immediately fell silent.
As he realized the helpless state he had momentarily forgotten, it felt as though the alcohol-induced numbness that had taken over their body was dissipating. What would happen if Malfoy were to discover his secret that he had turned into a Muggle? Throughout their time at Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy had been a brilliant talent in his ability to mock and be sarcastic, if nothing else. If he were to learn of Harry's greatest weakness, he would surely exploit it to great effect. . . .
Malfoy has changed, a small voice whispered inside. He's not the same as he was at Hogwarts.
But was he really? A louder, darker voice said this time. Can a person truly change? Isn't it more likely that he's just hiding his true nature from the prying eyes of those around him?
At that moment, a rustling sound could be heard not too far away. Harry jerked his head up and stared in the direction of the noise. The sound was coming from the dense forest that bordered the graveyard, where a low hedgerow fence marked the boundary between the woods and the inner garden. When Harry failed to spot anything suspicious in the forest, he raised the bottle to his lips, but then the rustling sound was heard once again. It was too loud to be a bird, and this time it didn't stop. The bottle slipped from Harry's hand, spilling whiskey onto the ground. Harry got up, crouched low, ducked behind a group of tombstones, and moved slowly toward the fence. He could hear someone's voice clearly now.
". . . so we should take Mr. Potter with us?" said a man's voice. "To show him to their elders?"
"That's right, Rolf," said a woman's vague and dreamy voice. "Let's hope Harry is home."
Realizing that the unexpected arrivals were Luna and Rolf Scamander, Harry felt a sense of relief, but at the same time he felt like he should hide somewhere; the mention of his name seemed to indicate that they were trying to make him do something he couldn't. But before he could get more than a few feet away from the graveyard, Luna called out to him from behind.
"Harry! You happen to be here."
Caught, Harry had no choice but to turn around. Luna and Rolf, who were just coming out of the fence, were dressed in brown robes that suited the autumn forest, and leaves and foliage were stuck all over their bodies, making them look like small walking trees.
"What is it, Luna?" said Harry uneasily. "I'm in the middle of something and —"
"Have you been drinking, Harry?" said Luna serenely after taking a whiff. She widened her protuberant eyes, which gave her a surprised look even when she wasn't.
"Well, just had a taste," muttered Harry, taking a few steps and stumbling to hide the bottle of liquor that had fallen out of his pocket.
"Then you're not drunk. Thank goodness!" Luna grinned broadly and grabbed Harry's wrist. "There are beings you need to see now."
"Wait a minute, Luna!" Her husband Rolf Scamander rushed over. "Mr. Potter must be busy. We should ask him first, shouldn't we?"
He lowered his gaze and noticed Harry's slippers. "Besides, it seems he isn't ready to go out yet. . . ."
"Shoes aren't important," said Luna vaguely. "I've been at Hogwarts for years barefoot!"
"Wait a minute, what's going on here?" Harry asked, pulling his hand out of Luna's grip. "Can someone please explain first?"
"I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Potter," said Rolf, looking embarrassed. "You probably already know, but my wife and I have been surveying the Forbidden Forest and its surroundings for the past two weeks. . . ."
"Then I came up with an idea!" exclaimed Luna excitedly. "Rolf's grandfather, Newt Scamander, had fought against Grindelwald by teaming up with fantastic beasts; I suggested that we look for magical creatures to help us, like him, instead of just walking around."
"That's why we traveled to the centaurs who oversee the Forbidden Forest," Rolf continued, "and they wanted to see you first before they could decide whether to help us."
"What does the centaurs helping us have to do with me?" asked Harry, bewildered. "Isn't it usually the stars that determine what they should do?"
"Well, their offer to meet Mr. Potter must have come from the skies too," said Rolf, shrugging. "You see, centaurs are very mysterious and spiritual creatures."
"Harry, I'll explain more on the way," said Luna firmly. She took hold of Harry's wrist again and glanced at the watch on it. "We're running out of time, let's go now!"
There was no time for Harry or Rolf to stop her; she grabbed him and spun around in the air, and then it was dark all around them, invisible forces crushing their bodies from all sides. The pitch blackness around him was suffocating, as if it had substance. . . . The next thing Harry knew, his feet were on hard ground. He sucked in a breath and staggered to his feet, checking his surroundings. Luna and he were standing on the High Street of Hogsmeade.
"Hurry up, Harry! We have to get there before the sun sets," said Luna. She hummed as she trotted ahead. Suddenly there was a loud bang and Rolf appeared right beside them.
"Let me apologize for you, Mr. Potter," said Rolf nervously as he approached Harry. "Oh, you're still wearing your slippers. If you don't mind, I'll mend it a little. . . "
He flicked his wand once at Harry's feet and the muddy slippers instantly transformed into sturdy boots suitable for outdoor activities.
"Thanks, Mr. Scamander," said Harry ungratefully. "I just happened to leave my wand behind."
"Oh no, this won't do! You can't be without your wand! Then let's go back to the manor — "
"No need," said Harry simply. He had developed a new habit of just leaving his wand under his pillow lately because it was useless anyway. "Since we've come this far, let's just follow Luna for now, shall we?"
Harry and Rolf stood side by side and followed Luna as she led the way through the quiet streets of Hogsmeade.
"I beg for your forgiveness once again, but Luna can sometimes get out of control. . . "
"It's part of her charm," said Harry. "It's often challenging to understand her, but when we do things her way, they turn out surprisingly well in the end."
"I couldn't agree more," chuckled Rolf. "Sometimes I really have no idea what's going on in her head, even though she's my wife. . . ."
The path seemed to widen, and before long, Hogwarts appeared in front of them. Harry took a deep breath and followed the Scamanders to the magnificent wrought iron gates, set between stone pillars topped with winged boars. Hogwarts had once been his home, the object of his deepest longing. . . . But since he had recently suffered a fatal defeat here and lost his magical powers, he found the majestic castle looming arrogantly over him somehow frightening and intimidating. As he crossed the school grounds and approached Hagrid's hut, now empty and deserted, Harry was devastated. It was clear that no one lived in the cabin after Hagrid's death; the curtained windows were already covered with fine dust, and the small vegetable patch behind the house was overgrown with weeds.
"Hagrid's death was a huge loss to all of us," said Rolf bitterly. "Luna and I have been Magizoologists all our lives, but Hagrid knew things about magical creatures that even we didn't. . . . I'm sure everyone in this forest, beings and beasts alike, will dearly miss him."
Harry wanted to look away, but found his gaze drawn to the abandoned hut. Harry tried to look away, but found his eyes drawn inexorably to the abandoned cabin. It seemed to symbolize him in some way: once warm and inviting, now a desolate landscape, a shadow of its former self. . . . Even Luna stopped her humming at this point and turned to give the cabin a quick bow before entering the forest. Harry and the Scamanders stepped into the Forbidden Forest, and it wasn't long before the sunlight above them was blocked by the thick trees overhead.
"By the way," began Harry, "why are we heading to see the centaurs, exactly?"
"Ah, I should have explained," said Rolf. "From what I've heard, there's a very old prophecy among the centaurs that says that one day a man will appear and make peace between all magical creatures and wizards, when a great war comes that will determine the fate of all."
"So Rolf, that means. . . " Harry said, trying to make sense of what he had just heard. "It means, to magical creatures, I'm some kind of — "
"Yes, you're the Chosen One to them, Mr. Potter!" cried Rolf, grinning broadly. "Just as you are to us wizards and witches!"
As he replayed his newfound knowledge in his mind, a flame of hope that had long been extinguished was rekindled in Harry's heart. Now that he could no longer use magic, his role in this world seemed to have been over. But if the name Harry Potter still had any meaning, he could make a significant contribution to the war. And to ally himself with the magical creatures of the Forbidden Forest! It would be an excellent way to avenge Hagrid, who had spent his life as a friend of the forest and its creatures. . . . Suddenly, he felt a surge of gratitude for Luna, who was walking ahead of him on the winding path. Then, as suddenly as the sun was obscured by a dark cloud, a negative thought entered his mind.
"But Rolf, what if. . . " said Harry hesitantly, "what if I'm not the Chosen One? What happens then?"
"I am absolutely convinced that you are the Chosen One," said Rolf confidently. "But if, for the sake of argument, you're not, then centaurs would rather be destroyed according to the prophecy than defy it and survive; they are highly spiritual creatures, as you know."
It felt as though a stone had dropped into Harry's chest. He was left in a state of alternating light and darkness, hope and despair, as he followed the Scamanders' lead with stumbling footsteps. Fortunately, they had not come to the clearing where Harry had once faced Eisenbein and had his magical powers taken away, the place of endless nightmares. Harry had been in this part of the Forbidden Forest many times before, but they were about to take a completely new path that he knew nothing about. It was at that moment that he heard the faint sound of horses' hooves in the distance, hidden by tree trunks and bushes. Without warning, several small objects whizzed through the air, passing right by Harry, Luna and Rolf's heads. Harry looked back and saw arrows stuck in the trees around them, but Luna kept walking as if it was perfectly natural for arrows to graze her face.
"They're really making a big show of welcoming us, these people," said Luna dreamily ahead of them. "Just wait Harry, they'll be here soon. . . "
True to her word, the sound of hooves could be heard all around them, like waves rolling in. Vibrations rippled through the dry leaves and earth beneath their feet. In an instant, dozens, if not more, of centaurs surrounded them. Harry recognized a few familiar faces among the human figures perched on the bodies of the horses. One of them, a centaur with the chestnut body of a horse, walked slowly toward them. Harry knew his name as Magorian, a centaur with long black hair and high cheekbones.
"Without a doubt, you are Harry Potter," Magorian said, eyeing the lightning scar on Harry's forehead. "Our fates have intertwined a few times before."
"That's true," said Harry. It seemed to him that Magorion had threatened him with an arrow the last time they met, but he didn't dare mention it. Just then, a centaur with a palomino body stepped forward and stood in front of Harry. The centaur, Firenze, had the most handsome face of all his kind in the forest, with his white-blond hair and clear, bright blue eyes.
"Harry, it's been a long time," Firenze said in a warm, welcoming tone. Harry liked him the best of the centaurs, as he had always been friendly with humans and taught Divination at Hogwarts. "Very few people have had the honor of entering our village. Perhaps the stars have smiled upon you."
"Don't speak too soon!" shouted a harsh voice, and a surly-looking centaur with black hair and body emerged. His name was Bane, and from the moment they met, he had never hidden his distrust of humans. "Only the Elder decides who the Chosen One is!"
"I'm well aware of that, Bane," said Firenze, who looked back at Harry with a reassuring look. "If you don't mind, come with us. We still have a long way to go before we meet the one we seek."
"I see," said Harry. The three of them, surrounded by centaurs, began to move again to complete the rest of the journey.
Harry had thought that the centaurs would lead him deeper into the forest, but the visible landscape was quite the opposite. The primeval forest, made up of trees deeply rooted in the shady, damp ground, was becoming less dense, and every now and then a bright ray of sunlight shone down from the sky in some sparsely-leaved areas. The effect that the golden sunshine had brought to the seemingly cursed land was tremendous: The dark, scorched trunks of the vine-covered trees turned a bright light brown in the sunlight, taking on a less sinister hue, and the thorny bushes that occasionally pricked their exposed ankles disappeared, making it much easier to move about.
The path they walked seemed to get wider and wider until they finally reached the centaurs' village. Harry would never have guessed, even if someone had tipped him off, that such a beautiful place could be found in the Forbidden Forest. The end of the path revealed a clearing large enough to serve as a Quidditch field. Unlike the rest of the forest, it was a beautiful green lawn of fluffy grass dotted with colorful flowers. A huge bonfire sat in the center of the clearing, and around it were dozens of white leather tents, large enough for the centaurs to fit comfortably inside. But what surprised Harry more than anything were the various creatures present there.
As Harry gazed in wonder at the settlement, two enormous spiders, each the size of a pack horse, scurried past him, busily moving their many legs. He almost screamed, but the spiders showed no aggression and turned to look at him.
"Harry . . . Potter!" one of the spiders said, rapidly clicking the pincers in its mouth. "Hagrid's . . . friend!"
As Harry stared into the spider's black eyes and shifted in shock that his name had been called by a spider, Luna walked over and tapped him on the shoulder.
"Harry, this little fellow says hi — you should hi back."
"Er — okay. . . . Hello there, spidy."
The spider bowed its ugly head and moved away, then made its way to join its friend. But the spider wasn't the only thing that would surprise him: as they made their way through the huge tents to the center of the town, a terrifying scorpion-like creature, about the size of a small elephant, suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Harry let out a short scream, unable to hold it this time. The strange creature heard him and turned its whitish, slimy body to face him. There was nothing that could be called a head on this many-legged, hard-shelled thing, so Harry couldn't tell if it was even aware of his presence. Yet the tail, with its venomous, scorpion-like stinger attached to the back of its body and pointed at him, seemed to indicate that it must be sensing something.
Harry turned around, wondering if Luna would suggest greeting the monster too. To his amazement, however, Luna was beaming as if she had just run into an old friend.
"Harry, don't you remember? This is a Blast-Ended Skrewt!" exclaimed Luna gleefully. "He might as well be Hagrid's own child! You helped take care of it, feeding it and taking it for walks when you were in fourth year."
"Oh, right. . . . I forgot," Harry reluctantly replied, all the while keeping a close eye on the skrewt in case it decided to charge at him. "I never thought I'd ever meet a friendly Blast-Ended Skrewt. . . ."
"Well, it's the only one left out of all its siblings, so I guess it's learned some manners by now," said Luna, approaching the creature and petting its gray shell. To Harry's surprise, the skrewt lowered itself slightly and seemed to salute her. But despite the skrewt's apparent friendliness, Harry couldn't shake the unpleasant smell of rotting fish whenever it moved its legs.
When Luna stepped back, a sudden burst of powerful flames erupted from one end of the skrewt, causing it to recoil and sending a shower of sparks flying backwards. The blazing bonfire in front of them roared to life with additional firepower.
"He keeps the fire burning for our village," said Magorian beside Harry. "Even creatures that seem abhorrent to humans have their place here and live in harmony."
"Hagrid used to take care of all the stray animals, Mr. Potter," said Rolf, looking wistfully at the skrewt.
"Now the centaurs are taking care of them after Hagrid; I'm sure everyone here wants to avenge him."
Avenge — that was exactly what Harry wanted, and while he would never be able to find giant spiders or Blast-Ended Skrewts as cute or adorable, unlike Hagrid, it would help if he could fight on the same side as such monstrous creatures. Just as Eisenbein had persuaded the blind dragon to kill his Aurors, he would repay him in just the same way!
As they passed the bonfire and almost reached the other side of the village, he saw something that only fueled his desire for revenge. They had almost passed between the tents when a powerful vibration, like that of an earthquake, rumbled through the ground. With a crackling sound, several trees at the edge of the village snapped, revealing two enormous, tangled figures, both with dull gray skin. The larger of the two had a human-like shape, but the smaller one had a tiny round head like a coconut, short legs as thick as a tree trunk, and two flat, solid feet. The larger one was a giant, the other a troll.
"Don't worry, Mr. Potter," murmured Rolf uneasily. "They're just friends practicing wrestling. . . . They were doing the same thing when I came before."
Still, it was obviously worth being careful. The giant and the troll grabbed each other by the waist, which seemed to be thicker than a small truck, and tried to throw the opponent to the ground, smashing all the surrounding trees. It didn't take long for the winner to be determined. The troll fell to the ground with a low whimper as the giant slammed his fist into his opponent's head and knocked it over. The falling troll's head split a huge boulder that happened to be lying in the same spot, and the giant collapsed next to the motionless troll, gasping for breath. Harry followed Luna and Rolf and lifted his head to look into the giant's huge face, which resembled a grayish full moon. It was Grawp, Hagrid's giant half-brother. But unlike before, when he had been Hagrid's assistant and had worn a jacket and trousers, Grawp had stripped off his clothes. He was clad only in large leather pants, and he seemed to have returned to a state of complete savagery.
"Hagger?" murmured the giant, his muddy greenish-brown eyes finding Harry. "Hagger?"
"Grawp, Hagrid is. . . " Harry began to say but his throat tightened and he stopped for a moment. "Hagrid's gone. . . . He's — he's dead."
However, Grawp seemed not to understand and repeated, "Hagger?"
The giant looked at Harry with wet, sad eyes, then made a loud noise and shook the earth as he fell to the ground. He turned his back to them, and they could no longer see Grawp's face.
"Grawp knows Hagrid's dead, Harry," whispered Luna softly. "He's just . . . he's just not able to accept it yet."
"Maybe I don't either," said Harry bitterly.
"Now, if you're done looking, let's go," said Bane coldly. "Harry Potter, you will follow us from now on. We're traveling to the Sanctuary. The other two will stay here."
"But — " Harry glanced back at the Scamanders, but Luna just smiled and nodded. He stepped carefully between Grawp and his defeated opponent, a stunned troll, and back into the forest, surrounded by centaurs. Since their wrestling match had knocked down a number of trees to widen the path, it was much easier to pass through that way. As Harry followed the centaurs, he saw a huge three-headed dog scurrying through the depths of the forest, and realized that Fluffy, the giant dog who had guarded the Sorcerer's Stone long ago, was also here.
"Harry Potter," said Firenze, glancing down at him. "Have you heard from your friends about the purpose of your visit today — that you may be the Chosen One?"
"Yes, I was told," said Harry. "Well, it's not exactly the first time I've been told I'm the Chosen One."
"You're talking nonsense," Bane said in a harsh voice, his scowl fierce. "Humans always steal our wisdom and claim it as their own. We invented the concept of the Chosen One first!"
"We came here a long time ago from a southern country," said Magorian. "The place you humans call Greece. . . . In a time of myth, our ancestors were driven from our homes in the midst of a brutal war between wizards and came all the way to this cold north."
Harry listened in silence; he knew nothing about the history of centaurs. He suddenly wished he had paid more attention to History of Magic classes.
"But even here we haven't found the refuge we were looking for," said Bane fiercely, as he had earlier. "Even here, arrogant wizards had already staked their claim and driven us into these woods."
"And so we waited, Harry Potter, for the Chosen One," intoned Firenze as though singing. "One who would truly welcome us into this land, one who would bring us peace . . . to end the long feud between wizardkind and other magical creatures."
Not all the centaurs seemed to share this belief, however, and Bane gave a snort that resembled a horse's whinny from the other side. They walked along the path in silence for some time. As the terrain grew steeper, they began to step on small stones more frequently, and the trees around them shrank in stature. Finally, when the view opened up, they found themselves standing on a sheer cliff. There was a narrow and deep ravine below where a turbulent stream flowed, and as far as the eye could see, the landscape was filled with unspoiled green hills and fields. They continued along the valley and over the cliffs. Harry thought they were heading for the river below. The more they walked, the more the sun tilted westward, gradually dyeing the sky ruby red, and the water in the valley, sparkling like diamonds in the sunlight, gradually became dark and dull.
As they continued along the very gentle slope, the cliffs, which were precariously high at first, became lower and lower until they came to a level plain. And at the beginning of the valley was a rock as massive as a small mountain, with a small opening at the bottom through which a person could squeeze. Harry had made his way down to the shallow riverbank where the rock cast its shadow when he spotted something strange. A centaur was using a cloth to polish an old car parked nearby, painted a faded shade of light blue. The car, a very old Ford Anglia, looked strangely familiar. . . . Suddenly, the car, with no one inside, honked its horn and flashed its headlights. Harry quickly raised his hands to shield his eyes from the blinding light, but he couldn't stop a smile from spreading across his face.
"You're still alive!" exclaimed Harry, walking over to the car which came toward him. As he patted its metal body, the old Ford Anglia honked twice in greeting. He remembered how he and Ron had flown to Hogwarts in this very car and crashed it into the Whomping Willow, announcing the start of their second year in grand fashion. All of the memories associated with that car were now, after all these years, very dear to him.
"This Muggle contraption was once one of the inhabitants of our forest, cared for by Hagrid," said Firenze. "Now we look after it in his place. These days, we make it patrol the sanctuary."
Harry had been holding his hand on top of the car for a long time, as it moved from side to side, as friendly as a very large dog. The front of the car was warm from the engine heat. Everything he had learned and known was crumbling and being destroyed. However, there was still something in this world that could warm his chilled heart, just like the residual heat of the engine passing through his hand.
"If you're tired, this car will be happy to take you back," said Firenze with a smile on his handsome face. "Well then, let us enter the sanctuary, Harry Potter."
When Harry hesitated to enter the dark passageway, standing by the stream that flowed gently into it, Magorian came up to him and gestured toward the cave with a stern face. "This is the sanctuary. Your destiny awaits you inside."
Harry struggled to keep his footing, afraid of what this so-called Elder might conclude about him. As he dipped his booted feet into the stream, a shiver ran down his spine from its coldness. At that moment, the old Ford Anglia honked twice, encouraging him from behind. Harry gained strength from the sound and walked steadily into darkness, with Magorian, Bane, Firenze, and the other centaurs following closely behind him.
Under his feet gurgled the shallow stream that led him deeper into the shadows. The centaurs might have been bright-eyed; they followed him with little difficulty in the absence of light. Harry unconsciously reached for his wand to light the way, but then realized that he had left it behind and that he was no longer a wizard anyway. Once around the corner, a light appeared ahead. Harry soon realized that it was coming from small crystals embedded in the sides and top of the cave walls, blue crystals that glowed on their own and lit his way.
Harry gasped and sucked in his breath as he finally entered the large clearing at the end of the passage. All this time, Harry had vaguely expected the centaurs' sanctuary to be, at best, a cave room decorated with murals and ornaments. But the interior was larger than he'd imagined, so large that he could barely see the other end, and there were trees, large and small, growing on the earthy floor. Harry stepped into the sanctuary and felt the softness; looking down, he saw a damp bed of moss, and water flowing out into a stream outside. When Harry hesitated, Margorian led the way, stepping over the moss and into the green space.
"This way, Harry Potter."
Harry slowly followed him, avoiding the large boulders that littered the ground and the trees that dangled their leafy branches overhead.
The room was even larger than it appeared, with tiny blue crystals hanging from a magnificent vaulted ceiling, eerily illuminating the interior. After a few more minutes of walking, they came to a large clearing surrounded by trees and rocks. In the center of it stood a tombstone with glowing blue letters, and sitting slumped against it was a very old-looking centaur.
"Elder, I bring you Harry Potter," Magorian said, stepping to one side of the clearing, and the centaur called the Elder opened his eyes and looked up at Harry. His eyes were clouded with a misty substance from within, but he stared at the exact spot where Harry's face was.
"Harry Potter, I have heard so many stories. It is an honor to see you in person," said the Elder. His voice was hard to understand, rough and broken, like it had not been used for a long time. "My name is Cheiron, teacher of the ancient heroes and Elder of the centaurs. . . ."
Cheiron lifted his lower body of horse from the ground and faced Harry. Now that he was upright, his appearance differed greatly from that of the average centaur: While the rest of his kind had a smooth transition from human body to horse body from the waist down, Cheiron had a human body up to his forelegs, which were then attached to a horse body at the hips. This made him look like an ordinary old man wearing a shabby brown robe, rather than a centaur, from the front.
"Er, yeah. Hello, Mr. Cheiron," said Harry. "The reason you asked to see me today is to — "
"To confirm that you are the Chosen One," Cheiron finished for him. "Yes. Twenty-five years ago, a long time ago by human standards, I sent my kind to help you and your friends. . . . It was because I sensed the qualities of the Chosen One in you, and felt it necessary to keep an eye on you after the war."
Harry remembered the magnificent sight of the centaurs raining arrows down on the Death Eaters and charging forward to fight on the day they had defeated Voldemort. As it turned out, their help that day was meant to serve a greater purpose.
"I have been in this sanctuary for over a thousand years, waiting for the Chosen One, Harry Potter," said Cheiron calmly. Harry sucked in a breath in surprise.
"A thousand years! But how — "
"You already know the answer to that," said Cheiron. He slowly lifted a wrinkled hand and pulled out a necklace hidden beneath his robes. A blue crystal, similar to those embedded in the walls of the cave, but much larger, was embedded in it, its brilliance all the more striking against the tattered and worn robes he wore. "This is what you humans call a Horcrux, containing a portion of my soul. . . . It binds my being to the earth, allowing my physical body to continue to exist."
Harry took a few steps back in shock. "A Horcrux? But that's the worst of all the Dark Arts. . . ."
"I do admit that many of your kind have abused its power," said Cheiron. "I myself cannot be blameless, for my youth was stained by the sins of murder and violence. . . . But the objects themselves are neither good nor evil. It is only the wielder's intent that determines the consequences, as the man who called himself Lord Voldemort demonstrated all too well."
Harry stood there, trying to organize his troubled thoughts. Countless people, including his parents, had been murdered for Voldemort's dream of immortality, and many more had given their lives to destroy the seven Horcruxes he had created. Could Horcruxes ever be used with good intentions? As if reading his thoughts, Cheiron turned to Harry, eyes clouded, and continued.
"I do not fear death in the least. To me, extending life with a cursed body is only a curse itself. . . . I was poisoned by a basilisk's venom a long time ago, and since then I have been in constant agony without dying."
As if to prove his point, Cheiron rolled up the sleeves of his left arm. There, still poisoned, was a deep gash, blackened around the edges, still open and oozing blood. "And yet I continue to live a miserable life, only to sift the Chosen One and lead my kind to a better destiny."
"So if I am the Chosen One," Harry said, "will you help us? In the war against Eisenbein and the Dawn Breakers?"
"Yes . . . yes, Harry Potter," said Cheiron. "The race of humans you call Muggles are burning mountains and fields and polluting the oceans. And if Eisenbein wins, if the Wizarding world is revealed to all the humans of the world . . . then the touch of death will fall upon us magical creatures as well."
Harry's heart raced with anticipation. Wizards and magical creatures had long been at odds with each other, but now they had a reason to unite against their common enemy, Eisenbein. And if the alliance succeeded, Harry could make a significant contribution to the war, regardless of whether he was a wizard or not . . . no longer a whiskey-swigging drunkard, but once again as a hero.
"But it's too soon to rejoice, Harry Potter. If you are not the Chosen One, then no matter what terrible fate awaits us, we have no choice but to obey. . . " Cheiron looked back at the other centaurs surrounding the clearing, his clouded eyes averted from Harry. "Then we will perform the ritual. We will see if the human before us is the subject of the prophecy. . . "
Harry sat on the ground in the center of the clearing as Firenze had instructed, and Magorian and Bane created a circle around him by sprinkling the oily liquid from the urn. Magorian then held a roaring torch to the circle and the flames caught, creating a ring of fire around Harry. Cheiron stood just beyond the ring, staring at him with his blind eyes. Trying to escape the intense gaze, Harry looked up to the sky and was surprised to see the blue crystals dotting the cavernous ceiling moving on their own, forming a pattern. Harry soon noticed that they were forming the myriad constellations of the night sky, so it seemed to him that they were not in a large cave, but in a clearing in the Forbidden Forest.
With an imaginary night sky above their heads, all the centaurs except Cheiron formed a circle around the ring of fire Harry was in. They each threw herbs and dry leaves into the fire and slowly began to circle in one direction. As the sage and mallowsweet were thrown into the fire, the color of the flames changed from red to blue and a pungent fume rose, making Harry's eyes water. But Cheiron kept his eyes on Harry, as if he couldn't feel the smoke at all. The centaurs circled him faster and faster, singing in a language that was probably Greek, and as each verse ended, Firenze translated it into English for Harry.
"We have waited for the Chosen One. . . we have waited. . . we will wait. . . " Firenze's voice had a rhythm that flew into Harry's ears and stayed there. "The Chosen One is the one who lived but could not live, and his enemy shall be the one who died but could not die. . . "
Harry stifled a cough and listened intently to the prophecy. Yes, it was clear to him that he was the one who lived but could not really live. He had always been the Boy Who Lived, but now the version of himself that everyone remembered was dead; he was a shell of his former self. . . . And the one who died but could not die must be Eisenbein, the Boy Who Vanished, who had lost his physical form but continued to exist.
"It happens when the friend of the forest dies, when the sacred relics come together. . . in that moment when the stars sing of destiny, when the shadow and its master are reversed!" The centaurs were now spinning so fast that the pounding of their hooves was deafening, and Cheiron's figure was barely visible against the swirling forms of his kindred. "There will be a final war between the worlds. . . . The Chosen One is the greatest wizard of all, and he will lead his entire world against its enemy. . . "
Harry turned to face Cheiron, his eyes watering from the acrid smoke, his heart pounding wildly with the heat of the flames and the excitement. For a moment, the centaur's hazy eyes appeared clear and transparent, but Harry couldn't be sure because of the other centaurs circling around.
"When the Chosen One and his enemy face each other in the final war, the fate of both worlds and all living things will be decided. . . . WHEN THE CHOSEN ONE AND HIS ENEMY COME FACE TO FACE, THE BEGINNING WILL END THE END, AND ALL WILL BE DECIDED!"
The song ended abruptly, and with it, the flames vanished as though doused with water. The centaurs stopped circling and stepped back, surrounding Harry and Cheiron.
"Elder, did you see it?" said Magorian cautiously. "Did you see the fate of this man and all the others?"
Cheiron's eyes were closed. The Centaur remained silent for a long moment, then slowly raised his head and looked at the constellations on the ceiling. "Yes, I saw it. . . The fumes, the fire and the stars in the sky suggest that the man before us is in many ways the Chosen One."
Harry's heart pounded with joy. Firenze stepped forward and smiled weakly at Harry. "Then, Elder, we will send an emissary to the wizards — "
"But Firenze, Harry Potter before us is not the Chosen One," said Cheiron, and silence fell over them all like a heavy veil. Harry's rapidly beating heart dropped with a thud and his body turned cold.
"The Chosen One must be a wizard, and the greatest wizard at that. . . " Cheiron finally lowered his gaze slowly to meet Harry's again. "But I don't sense the slightest hint of magical power in this man."
Harry's heart instantly froze as he saw Cheiron's eyes staring back at him, completely white and blurred, holding what felt like a violent blizzard.