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[Hogwarts] Ch 79: Dumbledore’s Reputation
🕑 Added 2025-07-03 20:09:28 +0000 UTC— — — — — —
Even though his body was weak, the centaur's mouth remained defiant.
He roared at Tom, "You despicable wizard! How dare you attack me from behind?! My kin will be here any second—they won't let you get away with this!"
That part wasn't a bluff. Tom could already hear the sound of galloping hooves growing louder. Reinforcements were on the way.
"I just love how you weaklings still have the guts to throw around threats," Tom said coldly. "If I remember right… you draw the bow with your left hand and shoot with the right. I'm feeling generous today—so I'll only take one arm."
A chill ran through the centaur's body. "You wouldn't—"
Before he could even finish the sentence, Tom struck. A sharp blade of wind sliced clean through his shoulder, severing the arm at the joint.
The centaur screamed in agony, his body writhing in pain, but Tom's expression didn't even twitch.
Unlike the Reinforced Re'em, centaurs didn't have freakish resistance to magic. One good curse could kill them outright.
Tom didn't see himself as cruel. He'd tried to reason with the centaur, but it jumped to conclusions and tried to punish him without cause.
So really, he was being reasonable.
He just didn't get it. They were a bunch of forest-dwelling creatures living on Hogwarts land. Where did this sense of self-righteous authority come from? Since when did they have the right to try and punish wizards?
Perhaps triggered by the sound of their injured comrade's screams, the thundering hooves suddenly grew even more intense. Soon, a group of armed centaurs came charging through the snowstorm, bows drawn.
"Orion!"
The ones at the front immediately spotted the wounded centaur. Their eyes turned bloodshot with fury, and they raised their bows to fire—
"Hold it!" A strong red-haired centaur shouted, stopping them just in time. "Don't shoot! That's one of the foals from the castle!"
Tom wasn't foolish enough to trust that his Hogwarts robes alone would protect him. As soon as he sensed danger, he had already backed away and conjured several steel shields with Transfiguration. The metal plates floated around him, rotating constantly in a defensive orbit.
In that moment, Tom realized something important—why Dumbledore, even without using Dark Magic, had managed to keep two generations of Dark Lords in check.
Transfiguration was just that versatile.
No matter the situation or the enemy, as long as you had something to work with, Transfiguration could create highly specialized tools—or even creatures—to counter them.
Dumbledore was basically the Jackie Chan of the wizarding world.
Take centaurs, for instance. They didn't use much magic, but they were top-tier when it came to herbs, astronomy, and divination. Their arrows weren't ordinary either—they were designed to disrupt magic, which was why Tom hadn't tried to block them with spells. Only physical shields would work.
"He's the one who cut off my arm! Kill him!" the bleeding centaur, Orion, screamed from the ground, completely unhinged. His rage stirred the others into another frenzy.
But the red-haired leader didn't respond. Instead, he turned to the centaur beside him—his eyes also bloodshot—and barked, "Bane, help Orion stop the bleeding. Do not do anything else."
Bane growled but obeyed. He stepped forward with heavy hooves and started applying salve to Orion's wound.
"Everyone else—lower your weapons!" the chief ordered.
"Magorian, he hurt one of us! Blood must be repaid with blood—that's how we survive!" another centaur shouted furiously.
"Ronan, I know," Magorian growled back. "But he's a foal from Hogwarts! And you know what happens to anyone who harms a student here. Do you really want our entire tribe to pay the price for your recklessness? Dumbledore is still alive."
The name Dumbledore had a strange power. As soon as it was mentioned, Ronan's rage seemed to fizzle out.
He wasn't the only one. The other centaurs grew uneasy, nervously scraping their hooves against the ground. Their bows slowly lowered.
Now that the others had calmed down, Magorian turned to Tom, voice low and steady.
"Foal, I am Magorian, chieftain of the centaur tribe."
Tom gave him a small nod but didn't say anything.
Magorian continued, "I've stopped my kin from taking revenge. But don't take that as forgiveness. You still owe us an explanation. Why did you hurt Orion so severely?"
"If you can't give me a good reason, I'll hand you over to Dumbledore myself—and have you expelled."
Tom wasn't the type to back down from authority, but he also wasn't unreasonable. In Slytherin, Daphne always treated him kindly, so he returned that respect.
Magorian's tone wasn't hostile—it was logical. That earned Tom's consideration.
"I'm Tom Riddle, a student of Slytherin."
The moment the name left his lips, Magorian's eyes narrowed.
Tom noticed the reaction but didn't comment. He calmly recounted what had happened.
"I couldn't sleep, so I decided to go for a walk. I ran into a Re'em and thought I'd gather a bit of its blood and fur. But then one of your kin jumped out, called me a poacher, and tried to stop me."
"I told him who I was, warned him not to point that bow at me—but he ignored me. He kept threatening me and demanded I surrender."
"So, I defended myself."
"Defended?!" Bane, who was still treating Orion, couldn't hold it in anymore. "You cut off his arm!"
Tom smirked and pointed to where he'd been standing earlier. "See that? That's where he shot his arrow—right at my chest. If he was trying to kill me, why shouldn't I strike back?"
"If you hadn't shown up when you did, he'd be dead already."
"Vile little Slytherin…" Bane muttered under his breath.
Tom had gotten used to it. Nearly everyone carried some kind of bias against Slytherins.
Actually… it wasn't even bias. It was just how things were.
So, he didn't bother trying to win anyone's approval. If anything, that gave him the freedom to act however he liked.
I'm already in Slytherin—you still expect me to play nice?
Once he let go of those moral expectations, everything suddenly made sense. It was like a weight had been lifted.
And with the arrow as evidence, and Orion staying silent, even Magorian had to admit Tom was telling the truth. He turned and glared at Orion, clearly furious.
Always causing trouble.
Even though the centaur tribe was small, it was full of drama. Broadly speaking, it was split into three factions:
The first—and most extreme—was made up of centaurs who outright hated humans. They were xenophobic and aggressive. Orion and Bane were the classic examples. That's also why Bane had been the most furious earlier—if Magorian hadn't stepped in, he would've already attacked.
The second group was the "neutral" faction. They didn't like humans either, but they preferred to keep their distance rather than start fights. Ronan belonged to this group, which was also the largest in number.
The final group was the smallest: those who believed humans and centaurs were both intelligent species, capable of peaceful coexistence. Unfortunately, these "friendly" centaurs were seen as traitors and ostracized.
As for Magorian?
He was the chief. He didn't belong to any faction. Every decision he made was based on one principle—keeping the tribe alive.
That's why he could keep a cool head. Even if Tom had killed someone, as long as he was a Hogwarts student, it wasn't the centaurs' place to punish him.
Magorian sighed. "Foal, even if Orion overstepped… it was because he saw you injuring the Re'em."
Tom frowned. "Do you even know what poaching means? You either kill it or take it away—that's poaching. Taking a bit of fur or blood? That's just borrowing."
"And anyway, poaching is a human wizard term. What's it got to do with you lot? You think just because you live in the Forbidden Forest, you own it?"
His cocky attitude was like a lit match thrown into a dry field. Every centaur present—regardless of their faction—was visibly furious now.
Tom glanced up at the sky. It was nearly three in the morning. He wasn't in the mood to argue with them any longer. The metal shields around him began to spin faster.
"Let's settle this. Say it straight—are we fighting or not? If not, don't waste my time. I've got materials to collect."
Facing down a dozen fully armed centaurs was no joke, but it wasn't enough to scare Tom either.
If it came to a fight, he'd let Andros activate full combat mode, and he'd finish them off without a scratch.
Magorian stared at him for a long moment. "I won't stop you," he said finally, "but… I will report everything to Dumbledore. Foal, go do what you came for. We'll watch you—to make sure the Re'em survives."
Tom studied Magorian's expression and gaze. No killing intent. No signs of sneak attacks. That was enough for him to move forward toward the bull.
The Re'em still hadn't woken up—it showed just how effective that final blow had been.
Tom used Transfiguration to conjure a small, sharp blade and began drawing blood and plucking fur, all while Andros kept a sharp watch on the centaurs. The second anything looked suspicious, he'd be ready.
But not a single centaur moved. They just stood there, glaring at him with cold eyes.
Tom applied dittany to the Re'em's wound. The gash closed quickly and the bleeding stopped, but the missing fur wouldn't grow back so easily. It would take a while for that to recover.
The Re'em now looked like it had a nasty case of patchy baldness. Its majestic image? Gone.
In the end, Tom collected about a liter of blood—more than enough—and quite a bit of fur too. Looked like he'd have something decent to give Hermione and Daphne for Christmas after all.
Once he packed everything up, he turned to Magorian and said, "Since you all care so much about magical creatures in the forest, I'll leave this one in your care."
"But stay out of my way from now on. If anyone points a bow at me again, I won't hesitate to kill them."
Without waiting for a reply, Tom turned and headed back the way he came.
He had originally planned to harvest some venom from Acromantulas next, but at this hour? Nah. He'd just go back to bed and do it another time.
Once Tom's figure disappeared from view, Ronan finally spoke, voice low with anger, "I'm going to Hagrid first thing tomorrow. He'll take me to Dumbledore. That foal has to be punished!"
"Punished?" Magorian turned, giving Ronan a scornful glare. "Punished for what? For defending himself when we made the first move?"
"You want to go crying to Dumbledore? And say what—that a centaur tried to attack a Hogwarts student and got his arm chopped off for it?"
"What happens to our pride then? Even if you don't care, do you think Dumbledore would take your side?"
Ronan looked stunned. "But… Magorian, didn't you say—?"
"I said that to save face for our tribe!" Magorian snapped, then swept his eyes across the group, voice turning sharp and commanding.
"I'm warning all of you. Yes, our tribe's rules matter—but they come after the agreement we made with Dumbledore."
"Under no circumstances—none—are you to harm a student from Hogwarts. Not even pointing an arrow at one. Understand?"
Silence fell. The frustration in their hearts couldn't be put into words.
But what choice did they have?
This was Hogwarts—Dumbledore's territory.
If they left these woods, they'd face even more threats out there.
The heavy silence lingered until Orion's injuries were stabilized and he rejoined the group. Magorian led the tribe back to their home.
Partway through, he slowed down, falling to the rear to walk beside a young centaur.
"Firenze," he said quietly, "you understand why I made that choice, don't you?"
The young centaur nodded, then looked up at the sky.
"Chief, your decision was absolutely right. If you had chosen to strike that foal… I would've risked my life to stop you."
Magorian turned to him, slightly startled. "What did you see?"
Centaurs were skilled in divination through stargazing, and Firenze was the most gifted of them all.
"The light of Antares is flickering," Firenze murmured. "It could be the unwavering shine of an eternal star… or the last flash before it dies. It all depends on the choice you make."
Magorian's pupils dilated.
Antares—the guiding star of the centaur tribe.
If he had chosen wrongly tonight… Did that boy truly have the power to destroy them all?
— — —
Back at the castle.
Tom let out a long, content sigh as he snuggled into the warm, luxurious bedding that Zabini had gifted him.
Say what you will—expensive things might hurt your wallet, but they're worth every Galleon. The blanket was so soft and warm, it felt like sleeping with a hot girl curled up in his arms. Tom hadn't slept this well in weeks.
But sleep wouldn't come just yet.
He wasn't worried about the centaurs tattling to Dumbledore. He hadn't used any Dark Magic. He hadn't poached anything. So what if he chopped off a centaur's arm? Worst-case scenario, they'd dock some house points.
That'd be Snape's headache, not his.
Tom was thinking about something else.
Dumbledore.
Today was the first time he'd really felt the reputation of the so-called "greatest wizard of all time." Just the mention of his name had the centaurs shutting up like muggles hearing Voldemort's.
That kind of presence… was something else.
He wanted that. Badly.
When will I reach that level?
"But it's ok."
Tom reassured himself, voice soft and determined.
"Work hard, keep learning, and one day… I'll surpass everyone."
"No need to rush it."
.
.
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