"It's already so late," Adrian said as he approached through the darkness, his breath was misting in the cold air. "What did you need me for, Hagrid? Your message seemed urgent."
"No," Hagrid shook his head slightly, his great beard was swaying with the motion. The lantern light caught the concern in his black eyes. "It wasn't me who wanted to see you, Professor. I'm just the messenger, like."
As soon as those cryptic words left his mouth, the deep shadows at the very edge of the Forbidden Forest suddenly began to stir and shift, as though something large was moving between the trees.
A tall figure slowly emerged from the darkness into the golden circle of lantern light before Adrian's eyes.
It was a centaur with a coat of reddish-brown hair that gleamed in the flickering light. His human torso was bare despite the cold, muscled and scarred from years in the forest.
"Ronan?" Adrian was somewhat surprised to see this particular centaur, one of the more reclusive members of the herd. "What did you want to see me about? This is unusual."
Ronan raised his head and gazed at the sky above them for a long, absorbed moment, his eyes were tracking patterns in the stars that only centaurs could read.
The constellations were reflected in his dark eyes. After what felt like an eternity of silence, he finally turned his attention down to Adrian and spoke slowly, "I shouldn't really be telling you this. It goes against our ways."
Still that mysterious puzzling tone that all centaurs seemed to favor. Adrian had long grown accustomed to this frustrating trait of the centaur race, they never spoke plainly if they could possibly avoid it.
Adrian raised an eyebrow, his tone carrying a hint of light teasing despite the late hour and strange circumstances. "If you shouldn't say it, then you don't have to. I won't hold it against you."
Ronan ignored Adrian's trying to joke completely, his expression remained grave and serious. Without any warning, he began speaking on his own, his voice took on a strange, distant tone, "When night has fallen and departed thrice, the mark in your soul that sets you apart will be revealed in danger."
His voice sounded somewhat ethereal and otherworldly, as though he were speaking from very far away or channeling something.
Clearly, this was a prophecy, a genuine centaur prophecy delivered directly to him.
Hagrid wore a deeply confused expression, his bushy eyebrows were knitting together as he obviously struggled to understand the meaning of these cryptic words. He looked between Adrian and Ronan uncertainly.
Adrian abandoned his joking manner entirely now, recognizing the gravity of what was happening. He asked with complete seriousness, "Can you be more clear? More specific? What mark? What danger?"
The centaur shook his head slowly, almost sadly, his long tail swishing behind him. "The stars do not speak in plain language."
As expected. Adrian felt somewhat helpless at this predictable response.
Getting centaurs to speak plainly and directly, now that was genuinely impossible, like asking water to flow uphill.
After leaving those cryptic words hanging in the air between them, Ronan turned slowly and began walking back into the Forbidden Forest, his hooves were making almost no sound on the forest floor.
"In any case, thank you for coming specifically to warn me," Adrian called after him, meaning it sincerely.
Ronan's steps paused mid-stride, his huge body went still. But he didn't turn around to acknowledge the thanks. After a moment, he continued into the darkness until the shadows swallowed him completely.
"That's it?" Hagrid looked toward where the centaur had disappeared into the trees, scratching his wild head with one massive hand in bewilderment. "They always leave things half-said... Never finish their sentences proper, do they?"
"He's probably warning me that some kind of danger is approaching," Adrian nodded lightly, his mind was already working to decode the prophecy. "Centaurs never make things too clear or simple. It's against their nature to interfere directly."
The cold night wind blew past them, bringing with it a rustling sound from the forest and carrying the scent of pine and earth.
Adrian unconsciously touched his chest where his heart beat, feeling an unexplained unease settling there.
The centaur's words had disturbed him more than he wanted to admit.
"Let's go back, Hagrid," he said, turning around to face the distant castle with its warm, welcoming lights. "And please don't tell anyone else about tonight. This stays between us."
Hagrid nodded with half-understanding, clearly not grasping the full implications but trusting Adrian's judgment. He followed behind Adrian with his lantern held high, lighting their way back.
After Adrian returned to his office along the same path through the sleeping castle through the dark corridors by memory and wandlight, he sat down at his desk and carefully wrote down what Ronan had just told him on a fresh piece of parchment.
The words looked strange written out in ink:
"When night has fallen and departed thrice, the mark in your soul that sets you apart will be revealed in danger."
Adrian stared at the sentence, turning it over in his mind.
"When night has fallen and departed thrice" wasn't particularly difficult to understand, it probably meant three days from now, three complete cycles of darkness and light. That gave him a specific timeframe at least.
But what exactly "the mark in your soul that sets you apart" referred to, Adrian had absolutely no idea.
What mark? He'd never heard of any mark on his soul. Was it literal or metaphorical? And set him apart from whom—from other wizards, from ordinary people, from something else?
Perhaps he would only find out the answers in three days' time.
Until the following afternoon, a day later, Adrian was still contemplating the meaning of Ronan's cryptic words, turning them over and over in his mind.
He had visited the centaur community again that very morning, hoping for clarification or additional insight.
Ronan wasn't with the group when he'd arrived, and was absent from the clearing where the herd gathered. But Firenze, the more progressive centaur who was friendly toward wizards, had agreed to speak with Adrian about what had happened.
"In fact, we ourselves have no way of knowing what the content of a prophecy actually means,"
Firenze explained after hearing Adrian's careful description of the encounter, looking somewhat surprised and impressed.
"Prophecies come through us, not from us. We are merely the vessels through which the stars speak. There's also an important matter you should understand—centaurs generally don't tell anyone about what they've prophesied, especially not humans. It's considered improper interference. Ronan values you highly, Adrian, to break with tradition this way."
Adrian silently thanked Ronan once again in his heart, feeling a warm gratitude.
He knew from experience that Ronan wasn't particularly friendly toward the wizard community in general, maintaining the traditional centaur wariness and separation. So, for him to come personally to warn Adrian was already a rare and significant gesture of friendship that shouldn't be taken lightly.
Firenze gracefully swished his long tail, directing his calm gaze toward the distant castle rising above the trees. "So... why not ask one of your own kind for help? I recall there's a wizard living at Hogwarts who's skilled at interpreting the threads of fate and destiny. She's your Divination professor, isn't she?"
Adrian paused slightly, considering this suggestion. "Trelawney? Professor Sybill Trelawney?"
"That should be her name, yes," Firenze said kindly, inclining his head. "Why not ask her? She may have insights we cannot provide."
Adrian fell into thoughtful silence for a long moment, weighing the idea.
To be completely honest, Sybill Trelawney wasn't exactly what he would call a reliable person.
Although she might possess some genuine ability as she had been hired by Dumbledore, after all, which said something—Adrian's only strong impression of her was her unfortunate fondness for sherry. She was always drunk at every feast, swaying and making wild predictions.
"I'll consider it seriously," Adrian replied tactfully, not wanting to dismiss the suggestion out of hand.
"I'm glad I could help in some small way," Firenze nodded gently, his expression was warm.
Then he added as if suddenly remembering something interesting, "Oh, by the way, Bart seems to be learning wizard magic recently. Did you know?"
"Bart?" Adrian was genuinely surprised by this unexpected news. "This is the first I've heard of it. He hasn't mentioned anything."
A glimmer of amusement flashed in Firenze's eyes. "It wants to surprise you with his progress, but it hasn't succeeded yet in mastering anything. Last time it even accidentally blew up its own tree crown trying a fire spell. Quite the spectacle, it took him hours to regrow it."
Adrian couldn't help but smile. Bart learning magic.
After bidding farewell to the centaurs with gratitude, he walked back toward the castle through the forest paths, still pondering whether he should really make the effort to visit Trelawney.
Although he held serious reservations about her divination abilities and her general sobriety, in his current state of having absolutely no leads at all, perhaps any possibility was worth exploring and trying.
Maybe he should bring her a few bottles of fine sherry as an offering?
That might improve her cooperation.
Except during her scheduled class time, Trelawney rarely left her tower office, preferring to remain in her incense-filled sanctuary.
Coincidentally, Adrian had just entered the castle's main entrance hall when he witnessed a rather unpleasant and uncomfortable scene unfolding before him.
Sybill Trelawney was standing before Umbridge near the grand staircase, her cheeks were flushed bright red with emotion, her many shawls and scarves were trembling. Her hands were shaking slightly as they clutched her wand.
Umbridge, meanwhile, was looking at her with a cold, satisfied smile.
"What's happening here?" Adrian quickly approached the scene and asked, his voice was cutting through the tension. "Is there a problem?"
"Nothing important, Professor Westeros," Umbridge spoke first, her sickly sweet voice was dripping with false pleasantness.
"We were just having a professional discussion about whether Hogwarts really needs Divination class at all. After all, everyone knows that learning divination requires exceptionally high natural talent, talent that is quite rare."
She cast a knowingly contemptuous look at Trelawney. "I don't believe this class has any legitimate reason to exist anymore, especially when its professor is nothing more than a rambling fraud who can't predict her way out of a paper bag."
Trelawney's enormous glasses were shaking with suppressed anger and humiliation. "This is an insult to the ancient art of divination! You have no understanding!"
"I'm merely speaking the objective truth, dear," Umbridge said, looking entirely at ease and enjoying herself. "No need to get emotional about facts."
Trelawney adjusted her glasses that had slipped to the tip of her long nose and retorted loudly,
"Then your Defense Against the Dark Arts class has even less reason to exist! I'm certain that compared to your dry, useless rote theoretical approach that teaches students nothing, my Divination class is far more popular and valuable with students!"
This increasingly heated commotion had attracted the attention of everyone passing through the busy hall, with some students even deliberately drawing closer to watch with interest and excitement.
Unlike when Gryffindor and Slytherin students quarreled which happened almost daily, arguments between professors were quite rare and entertaining!
Adrian was internally speechless at this absurd confrontation.
Why was Umbridge needlessly taunting and provoking Trelawney now?
What purpose did it serve?
And moreover, if he was being completely honest...
He privately thought the two professors were equally matched in their uselessness.
Divination class was genuinely useless to the vast majority of students, offering no practical advantages except being ridiculously easy to pass with minimal effort.
As for Umbridge's Defense Against the Dark Arts class—truthfully, it was complete rubbish.
"Do you really think so, Professor Trelawney?" Umbridge chuckled with malicious amusement. "Well, as Hogwarts' High Inquisitor appointed by the Ministry, I'm merely discussing with you in my official capacity the very real possibility of permanently suspending Divination class and terminating your employment."
Upon hearing this threat, Trelawney's already pale face visibly blanched even further, going almost white.
But Adrian knew with certainty that Umbridge was merely bluffing and throwing her weight around.
Because although she ostensibly had such authority on paper, implementing such a drastic action would certainly be extremely difficult in practice.
Not to mention whether Dumbledore would ever agree to such a thing which he wouldn't, even the Ministry of Magic itself wouldn't support her doing something so extreme.
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