Though his limbs had gone weak, the centaur's mouth was still stubbornly loud.
"You despicable wizard! You dare ambush me? My kin are on their way—they won't let you off so easily!" he shouted at Tom.
And for once, he wasn't bluffing—Tom could already hear the thunderous gallop of hooves in the distance. The sound was dense and urgent. Reinforcements, no doubt.
"I just love your type," Tom said coldly. "Pathetically weak, and yet still have the nerve to make threats."
He narrowed his eyes. "I remember now—you draw your bow with the left hand, shoot with the right. Lucky for you, I'm in a good mood tonight. I'll just take one arm."
A chill surged from the centaur's spine straight to his soul. "You can't possibly mean—AH!"
He didn't even get to finish. Tom had already cast his spell.
A blade of razor-sharp wind sliced clean through the air and sheared the centaur's right arm off at the shoulder.
The centaur's scream was piercing, his body writhing violently as he tried to dull the pain. Tom, meanwhile, didn't so much as blink.
Centaurs weren't like Re'em—no natural magic resistance. A single curse was enough to end them. Tom didn't think he was being cruel. The centaur refused to listen to reason and even tried to detain him. At that point, there was no use talking anymore.
Tom truly didn't understand—why did a fringe species living deep in the Forbidden Forest think they had the right to "administer justice" on wizards?
Maybe it was the scream that did it, but the hoofbeats drew closer—faster, heavier. Within moments, a wave of centaurs surged through the snowy trees, bows in hand and fury in their eyes.
"ORION!"
Several centaurs at the front caught sight of their fallen kin, who was now drenched in blood and writhing in agony. Their eyes turned red with rage, and bows were immediately raised.
"Stand down!" a commanding voice rang out—a red-haired centaur, thickly muscled and clearly the leader, barked orders. "Do not shoot! That foal is from the castle!"
Tom was no fool—he wasn't about to put his life in the hands of a school uniform. As the herd approached, he had already stepped back several paces and conjured a rotating array of iron shields with Transfiguration. They hovered protectively around him like floating blades, ready to block or strike.
In that moment, something clicked in Tom's mind.
This was why Dumbledore didn't need the Dark Arts. Why even without them, he could suppress two generations of Dark Lords.
Transfiguration was terrifying.
Its adaptability was second to none. Whatever the situation, however hostile the environment, as long as there was material to work with, you could conjure exactly what you needed—tools, weapons, creatures—on the fly.
Dumbledore wasn't just a legend. He was the Jackie Chan of the wizarding world.
Take centaurs, for example. They couldn't use conventional magic, but every one of them was a master of herbs and astronomy, gifted in divination and the application of potions.
Tom hadn't blocked Orion's arrow with a spell just now for a good reason—centaur arrows carried powerful anti-magic enchantments. The only way to defend against them was with physical barriers.
"KILL HIM! He's the one who took my arm!" Orion shrieked from the ground, his blood soaking into the snow. His cries only further stoked the herd's rage.
But the leader, apparently named Magrey, didn't respond to Orion. Instead, he turned to another centaur with bloodshot eyes beside him.
"Bane, help Orion stop the bleeding. Don't do anything else," Magrey ordered.
Bane let out a snort of fury but obeyed, hurrying over to treat Orion's wound with salve.
"Everyone else—lower your weapons!" Magrey shouted.
"He hurt our own! Blood must pay for blood! That is the law of our kind!" one of the centaurs, Ronan, protested with fury in his voice.
"I know, Ronan. But he is a foal of Hogwarts!" Magrey growled in return. "You also know what it means to harm a Hogwarts student. You know what wrath Dumbledore would bring down upon us. Do you want the entire herd to suffer for your vengeance?"
The name Dumbledore had an almost magical weight to it.
Ronan's anger evaporated in an instant, his face paling. Around him, the other centaurs shifted uneasily, hooves pawing at the ground, bows drooping by their sides.
Once he saw his kin had calmed, Magrey finally turned back to Tom. His voice was low and heavy.
"Foal, I am Magrey, chief of this herd."
Tom gave a slight nod, unmoved.
Magrey went on, "I may have stopped our herd from seeking revenge, but that doesn't mean the anger has disappeared. You must give us an explanation. Why did you maim Orion so cruelly?"
"If you can't give one, I'll bring you before Dumbledore. Let him expel you."
Tom was not one to be antagonistic to those who spoke sensibly. In the castle, Daphne always treated him sweetly, and in turn, he treated her with equal care.
Magrey's words were reasonable, and it cooled the killing intent in Tom's heart—at least a little.
"I'm Tom Riddle. Slytherin," he said.
The moment that name left his lips, Magrey's pupils contracted sharply.
Tom noticed the change, but didn't care. He continued calmly, recounting the earlier events:
"I'm just a new student, couldn't sleep, went out for a walk. I stumbled across a Re'em. Thought I'd take a bit of blood and some hair. Just a bit. But then your kin jumped out and tried to stop me. Called me a poacher."
"I told him who I was. Warned him not to aim his bow at me. But did he listen? No. He told me to surrender and kept that arrow pointed at my chest."
"So I did what I had to. I took him down."
"This is your idea of 'taking down'?" Bane snapped from Orion's side. "You chopped his arm off!"
Tom sneered, pointing to the spot he'd been standing earlier. "You see that dent in the ground? That's from his arrow. He shot straight for my chest. He meant to kill."
"So what, I was supposed to hold back? Had you lot not shown up, he'd already be dead."
"Poisonous little Slytherin," Bane muttered through clenched teeth.
Tom had gotten used to it. Everyone hated Slytherins.
But really, was it hate?
No. It was accurate judgment.
So he never even tried to earn a good reputation. In fact, sometimes the label gave him the freedom to do things more openly.
I'm already in Slytherin. You expect me to be a good guy? Please.
With the moral weight lifted, Tom felt unburdened, even liberated.
And with the arrow mark as proof and Orion not daring to object, Magrey had no choice but to accept Tom's story. He glared at Orion, furious that the idiot had dragged their herd into this mess.
Centaurs might not be many in number, but they were full of internal drama. Their herd was split into three factions:
The most radical—the anti-human zealots, like Bane and Orion. Extreme and hostile, they hated all outsiders.
The middle ground—the neutralists. They didn't like humans either, but preferred to live and let live. Ronan was one of them, and his faction was the largest.
The rarest were the friendlies—those who believed humans and centaurs could coexist peacefully. But they were outcasts among their kind, labeled as traitors.
And Magrey?
As herd leader, he didn't belong to any faction. His every decision was based on one thing—the survival of the herd.
That was the only reason he'd stayed calm instead of attacking. Because he knew: even if Tom had killed Orion, as long as he was a Hogwarts student, it wasn't the centaurs' place to exact punishment.
Magrey spoke again. "Foal. Even if Orion was out of line, you did provoke him first by harming the Re'em."
Tom scowled. "Do you even know what poaching means? It's either killing or capturing. I wasn't doing either."
"I was going to take a bit of blood and fur. That's it. I even brought dittany for the wound. How is that 'poaching'?"
"And besides, 'poaching' is a human wizard concept. What's it got to do with you lot? Just because you live in the Forbidden Forest, you think you own the place?"
His arrogant tone fanned the flames again—regardless of faction, every centaur present now looked furious.
Tom glanced at the sky. It was nearly 3 AM.
He didn't have the patience to argue anymore.
The shields spinning around him accelerated.
"Enough talk. Either we fight, or you get out of my way. Don't waste my time—I've got materials to collect."
Taking on more than a dozen fully armed centaurs at once would be no small feat—but it wasn't something that scared Tom.
If it really came to a fight, he could instantly authorize Andros to activate full-body engagement mode and deal with the centaurs without so much as a scratch.
Magrey gave him a long, piercing look. "I won't harm you. But… I will tell Dumbledore everything. Go ahead, little foal—do what you came to do. We'll watch you, and make sure the Re'em lives."
Tom studied Magrey's expression closely. He didn't detect any murderous intent, which meant there probably wouldn't be a sneak attack. Satisfied, he stepped toward the Re'em.
The massive creature was still unconscious even after all this time—proof that Tom's final blow had been incredibly effective.
He conjured a sharp knife using Transfiguration and began to carefully pluck the golden hairs and draw the blood. All the while, he kept Andros on high alert, monitoring every movement the centaurs made. Any sudden action would trigger an immediate response.
But from start to finish, the centaurs never moved. They simply watched him with unblinking eyes.
After applying dittany to the wound, the gash closed quickly, and the bleeding stopped. Unfortunately, the hair he had shaved off wasn't going to grow back anytime soon. It would take a while for that glorious coat to recover.
Now, the poor Re'em looked patchy and ridiculous—its once divine aura completely ruined.
Tom managed to collect about a liter of blood, more than enough for his purposes. The golden hairs were plenty, too. He now had the perfect Christmas gifts for both Hermione and Daphne.
After packing up, Tom turned to Magrey. "Since you lot are so concerned about the magical creatures in the forest, I'll leave this one in your care."
"And next time—stay out of my way. If anyone dares point a bow at me again, I will kill them."
He didn't wait for their response. With that, he turned and headed back the way he came.
He'd originally planned to harvest some Acromantula venom tonight as well, but the mood was ruined. Might as well head back and sleep. He'd return another day.
It wasn't until Tom's silhouette vanished completely that Ronan finally growled, "I'll have Hagrid take me to Dumbledore first thing tomorrow. That little foal must be punished!"
"Punished? Punished for what, exactly?" Magrey spun around and gave Ronan a look of utter disappointment. "You'll go to Dumbledore and say what? That the centaurs attacked a student and got their limbs chopped off in return?"
"Where would that leave the dignity of our kind? You may not care about saving face, but do you think Dumbledore will side with you?"
Ronan stared at him in disbelief. "But Magrey, didn't you just say—?"
"I said that for the sake of appearances," Magorian growled under his breath. Then, raising his voice, he addressed the rest of the herd sharply. "Let me make this very clear. Our laws and customs may be sacred—but they do not override the agreement we made with Dumbledore."
"Under no circumstances are we to harm that boy. Not even point a bow at him. Do you all understand me?"
The centaurs fell silent. There were no words for the bitterness they felt.
But what choice did they have?
This was Hogwarts. Dumbledore's domain.
If they left the forest, they'd only face more enemies, not fewer.
The somber mood persisted until Orion's condition was stabilized and he rejoined the group. Magrey led his people back toward their territory.
Midway through the trek, he gradually slowed down, falling from the front of the column to the very rear, where he walked alongside a young centaur.
"Bane," he said quietly, "You understand why I made that decision, don't you?"
Bane nodded. He looked up at the stars above. "You made the right choice, Chief. If you had insisted on attacking that boy… I would've risked everything to stop you."
Magorian's eyes narrowed. "What did you see?"
Among centaurs, stargazing was a deeply respected skill—and Bane was the most gifted seer of their generation.
"Antares flickers," Bane murmured. "But is it the blaze of a star destined to burn forever—or the final flare of one dying out? That choice lies with you."
Magrey's pupils dilated.
Antares… their guiding star. The heart of the centaur's own constellation.
If he had chosen wrongly today—if he'd provoked that young wizard—did he really have the power to wipe out their entire tribe?
Back in the castle...
Tom let out a satisfied sigh as he slipped beneath the covers Sabini had given him.
Luxury had only one flaw—it was expensive. This blanket was absurdly soft and retained heat like a charm. It felt like snuggling a warm little girl, and Tom's quality of sleep had improved dramatically because of it.
Still, he wasn't sleepy yet.
Not because he was worried the centaurs would report him to Dumbledore. He'd done nothing illegal today—no Dark Magic, no poaching. Chopping off a centaur's arm? At worst, that would cost him a few house points.
If anyone was going to be upset, it'd be Snape—not him.
No, what kept him awake was something else entirely.
He was envious of Dumbledore.
Today, for the first time, Tom had witnessed the full weight of the White Wizard's reputation. The moment his name was mentioned, those proud centaurs folded—just like how wizards froze at the mere mention of Voldemort.
That kind of awe, that influence… it stirred something deep inside him.
When would he reach that level?
"Slow down. One step at a time," Tom whispered to himself.
"As long as I study hard and keep moving forward… one day, I'll surpass them all."