Centaurs were a proud race. To protect the dignity of their kind, they would face even enemies far stronger than themselves without a hint of fear.
But centaurs were also an intelligent race.
That meant they would never pick a fight with someone who could annihilate them with ease.
Until now, there had only been one such person: Dumbledore. And thus, the headmaster's principles had naturally become the centaurs' bottom line as well.
Magorian understood this perfectly. That was why, during the conflict between Tom and Orion, he had chosen to back down—even though Orion, who had lost an arm, was his own son.
Yet less than a year had passed, and this young wizard had already gained the power to threaten the entire centaur tribe.
Usagi's threat to the centaurs was far greater than their long-standing enemies, the Acromantulas. For one, Usagi could fly—fast. Their arrows couldn't even graze him. He could strike when he wished, retreat when he pleased, and held all the initiative.
Secondly, there was the crushing weight of draconic might. Even before a dragon attacked, a centaur's courage faltered in the face of its presence, their strength diminished by nearly a third.
Run to Dumbledore and complain?
If it had been Tom who attacked directly, Magorian would have done so without hesitation. For the survival of the tribe, dignity was a small price to pay. But just as Tom had said yesterday—how could Dumbledore involve himself in a conflict between magical creatures?
Today it was Usagi. Tomorrow, if the Acromantulas struck again, would they still beg for aid? The Forbidden Forest was not theirs alone, and Dumbledore was not their hired warden. No—it was not realistic.
Thus, once Tom unleashed Usagi, the centaurs had no choice but to yield if they wanted to avoid annihilation.
Some hot-headed clansmen might still dream of fighting to the death, but Magorian, as chief, could not afford such recklessness.
With visible reluctance, Magorian finally spoke:
"Riddle. I can teach you the herbal knowledge of the centaurs. But you must promise me—aside from Firenze, no other centaur can ever know about this."
Firenze had told only Magorian of Tom's threat. The rest of the centaurs still believed this dragon had simply flown into the forest from some unknown place. They had no idea it was their personal executioner looming above them.
Magorian had deliberately chosen to conceal the truth. If word spread, some centaurs would surely brand Tom as their mortal enemy. And then, not even Magorian could control the chaos—especially with two horses already injured from the earlier scuffle.
So he made a decision that defied the ancestors: to secretly accept Tom's demand. As long as no one else knew, it would be as though nothing had ever happened.
"No problem. I'm not one to talk unnecessarily," Tom answered lightly. "All I want is knowledge. Nothing else concerns me."
Magorian's expression finally eased.
"Centaurs understand herbs no less deeply than the stars," he said. "But to learn them, you must first study our language. Many meanings are lost if translated into the human tongue."
Tom thought for a moment, then decided:
"From Monday to Friday, I'll come to the forest every afternoon for two hours."
Magorian nodded.
"Firenze will handle the language lessons. The two of us will take turns teaching you the herbs. Don't worry about Firenze's skill—he is second only to me in our tribe when it comes to herb lore."
With the terms settled, Magorian departed. Usagi, however, did not follow him. The dragon coiled itself lazily around Tom's neck like a scaly scarf.
Firenze wasted no time. He immediately began teaching, leading Tom through the Forbidden Forest. Every time they encountered a plant or creature, he would name it in both Centaur and human languages, steadily expanding Tom's vocabulary.
Two hours later, Tom returned to the castle.
The next few days followed the same routine. This time, however, he brought a notebook and a Quick-Quotes Quill, recording everything Firenze said and compiling it into a makeshift dictionary for reference.
Whatever his darker deeds might have been, Tom's thirst for knowledge was undeniable. This earnest diligence left Firenze conflicted—impressed, yet uneasy. And so, torn between admiration and resentment, he was relentlessly drained by Tom's insatiable learning.
In just four days, Tom could already converse with Firenze in Centaur tongue during daily interactions. He had memorized most of the forest's herbs and would soon master the rest through further lessons.
When Friday came, Firenze finally asked:
"Riddle. Next week you'll begin formal studies. The field of herbs is too vast. Which aspects do you wish to focus on?"
It was not out of concern for Tom that he asked. Both he and Magorian simply wanted to satisfy this calamity quickly—and never deal with him again.
"I need to keep my magic stable," Tom replied. "Sharpen my perception. Learn how to repair objects. And knowledge about ward-breaking and curse resistance."
Firenze frowned. Aside from stabilizing magic and resisting interference, the rest was beyond centaur expertise—at least his and Magorian's.
So, to teach this boy, they would have to study themselves first?
Tom didn't even realize it, but he carried a strange and unnerving trait: no matter how powerful his teachers were, becoming his mentor meant learning new things just to keep up with him.
The supposedly "Invincible" Andros was still laboring to learn modern enchantments, teaching Tom while struggling through his own studies.
The First Dark Lord, Gellert Grindelwald, was currently helping Tom analyze foreign magics, seeking ways to make him better grasp the differences between spell systems.
Nicolas Flamel, pinnacle of alchemy, had abandoned centuries of extravagant, cost-ignoring practices, now breaking his back daily to find ways of lowering the cost of Tom's "miracle potion." They exchanged progress reports every single day.
And Severus Snape, master of potions, was still pulling his hair out over a vial of "Thunder Essence." Just yesterday, Tom had seen him sporting an explosion-style hairdo.
Now it was the centaurs' turn.
If Tom ever succeeded, he could justifiably claim: "I only stand here today because I climbed atop the heads of giants stacked beneath me."
Firenze left soon after. He needed to return to Magorian and figure out something useful to present within the next few days—lest Tom think the centaurs were deliberately holding back. To incur this boy's wrath was to invite disaster, a debt they could never repay.
Tom too returned to his dormitory.
The moment he arrived, his enchanted chatbook device buzzed in his pocket.
Pulling it out, he saw a message from Hermione.
[Know-It-All: Tom, are you free tomorrow? Could we go over some lessons?]
[Heartthrob: Sure. I've been tinkering with something new—well, a half-finished piece, really. You and Daphne can try it out as a teaching tool. But I'm warning you—no crying if it stings.]
[Know-It-All: That warning should be for Daphne, not me. I never back down.]
[Heartthrob: Then it's settled. Tomorrow morning we'll meet, and afterward, let's have afternoon tea. We'll invite Astoria as well.]