Firenze pointed to the red star directly above Sean.
"In the past ten years, all kinds of signs have shown that the people of the wizarding world are merely living through a brief peace between two wars. Mars, the bringer of war, shines brightly over our heads, foretelling that conflict will inevitably break out again. As for how long we still have—centaurs might try to estimate it by burning certain herbs and leaves and watching the smoke and flame…"
It was a very strange kind of lesson. Under Firenze's guidance, Sean lit sage and mallowsweet.
Firenze had him watch the choking smoke and search for shapes and omens in it. The signs he described were almost impossible to perceive, but he didn't seem to care.
He told Sean that humans were naturally poor at this sort of thing; even centaurs had only gained this ability after centuries of practice.
[You practice Prophetic Magic at apprentice level, proficiency +1]
Prophetic magic?
This was the first time Sean had ever encountered that branch of magic.
"You saw that outline?!"
The previously indifferent Firenze suddenly walked over, hooves thudding on the moss.
[You gain centaur (Firenze)'s favor at journeyman level, favor +10]
"Yes, Mr. Firenze. It looked like… a volcano. What does that mean?"
Sean answered honestly, then asked.
"Among wizards, you too are one of the gifted ones. The shape of a volcano symbolizes falling into a deeper eruption."
Firenze then had Sean observe other planets, but unfortunately, for a long stretch, Sean couldn't make sense of any of those strange shapes.
Before he left, Firenze had no books to give him—centaur knowledge was passed on almost entirely by word of mouth.
So that's why they live in herds?
Sean thought.
In the end, Firenze told him that even centaurs could misread the signs, and that putting too much faith in such things was foolish.
He made Sean remember: nothing is infallible—not even centaur lore.
…
Sean returned carrying Fang and a notebook full of scribbles—outlines of shapes, burn angles, flame patterns, and all sorts of tiny details.
Centaurs really could use astral magic—and they'd even been willing to teach it to him.
At the same time, Sean had mostly figured out that astro–magic only applied to major events in the magical world. For petty things, like the "bad luck" stuff in those fortune–telling books, the movements of the planets had nothing to do with it.
The exams were getting closer day by day, and Firenze had accepted Sean calling him "teacher."
Firenze still maintained that wizards and centaurs ought to be equals, but Sean felt that since he was the one receiving knowledge, he ought to show more respect.
That night, after coming back from the Forest with an hour to spare before curfew, Sean naturally headed for the hospital wing.
Professor Quirrell had been drinking a powerful restorative potion these last few days. The side effects made steam puff from his head—and knocked him out for an entire day at a time.
Worse, he was practically taking a bottle a day to recover faster.
That meant Sean had no choice but to postpone some things.
Like the question of a representative.
His Fairy Tale Biscuit line still wasn't officially on sale. Technically, Sean had only been back from the conference for a little over a week—but orders coming from the conference were already enough to fill the Hope Nook to the ceiling.
The old alchemists knew exactly how long high–tier creations took to make—one Bowtruckle biscuit cost Sean two full days; a hippogriff took three; kneazles were fastest at one day; and the dragon biscuits took a whole week.
They still expected him to conjure stock out of thin air.
Under the moonlight, Sean pushed open the doors to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey was now used to this particular boy's visits.
This one didn't make a fuss. He came quietly, left quietly, and even when he spoke, he used a Muffliato–like charm to keep his voice down.
If every Hogwarts visitor were like that, she wouldn't be half so irritable.
"I really can't do this, Mr. Green. You know that, right? Quirrell is just a wretch…"
Quirrell had recovered quite a bit physically, but as soon as Sean brought up his idea, the professor stubbornly refused.
He was still stuck in that mindset of a slave, shrinking into himself and speaking to Sean like a pitiful, groveling servant.
"I would like you to do it, Professor. I trust you."
Wind slipped in through the window, tugging at Sean's black hair. His green eyes held a quiet, unmistakable resolve.
Quirrell was stunned, left staring helplessly into those bright green irises. Reflected there he could see the man he was now—a Quirrell who had been given a second chance at life.
When he was young, Quirrell had been painfully insecure, desperate to prove himself. Under Voldemort's yoke, what little pride he had left had been ground to dust.
Now he still yearned for approval—and that was exactly why he was terrified to take responsibility. He was afraid of failing, afraid of disappointing the person in front of him.
The curtains of the hospital wing stirred in the breeze. Sean's voice came softly:
"The past is a ghost, Professor. Vague, insubstantial, weightless.
So when the sun rises tomorrow—leave yesterday behind."
Silence fell over the ward again—and Quirrell broke down sobbing.
…
After that one rare clear day in April, the skies turned gloomy again, drizzle dragging on and on—much like Sean's progress in astral magic.
He'd thought he might have a bit of talent for it; in reality, after a week he'd only managed to recognize two shapes in the smoke.
Even so, Firenze had praised him over and over.
The centaur teacher still met him in the Forest for an hour of lessons every day. Tonight was no different.
The sky was relatively clear. Sean hurried down the sloping lawn toward the dark fringe of the Forbidden Forest. The grass rippled in little waves under his feet. Not far inside the trees lay the clearing—a patch of open ground ringed by dark trunks swaying in the wind.
"Teacher Firenze."
Sean placed his open left hand over his chest and bowed slightly. Firenze bowed his head as well.
It was a centaur custom, used when older centaurs shared their knowledge with younger ones.
Sean's study conditions still weren't quite ideal compared to a colt's. Among centaurs, knowledge was mostly oral, and different wise ones held slightly different pieces of the whole.
Young centaurs were usually taught by several elders at once.
Not far off, deeper in the Forest, Sean could see some young centaurs scampering away from their own lessons to circle curiously around his clearing.
They peered at him, trotting in loops around the space until the older, stronger centaurs came to drag them back.
~~~
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