Directly across from the Great Hall, a corridor stretched from the entrance hall to a first-floor classroom known as Room 11.
Everyone knew it was usually left unused.
What most people saw as nothing more than a storage room had now been transformed by magic into the new Divination classroom...
The floor was covered in a thick carpet of soft moss, from which trees seemed to grow. Their branches, heavy with lush leaves, fanned out across the ceiling and windows, allowing soft, dappled green light to spill gently through the room.
And standing in the clearing between the trees was the new Divination professor, the Centaur Firenze.
Even someone as well-informed as Draco had to admit that Firenze's Divination lessons were unusual.
Perhaps that was only natural, given that the professor himself was a Centaur.
Before class began, Draco noticed that Firenze had deliberately lit sage and mallowsweet on the floor.
Afterward, he instructed the students to observe the faintly acrid smoke, asking them to discern shapes and omens within it and attempt predictions.
It felt oddly familiar, not so different from previous Divination classes.
Although the exercise resembled Trelawney's tea-leaf readings, Firenze didn't seem particularly concerned whether they could actually see anything.
As he put it, humans were never especially good at this sort of thing. Even Centaurs had required long ages to develop such abilities. There was no need to feel discouraged if they saw nothing at all.
In the end, Firenze also reminded Draco and the others that even Centaurs could misinterpret signs at times. Placing blind faith in such matters was foolish.
That comment made Hermione's eyes light up. After staring intently at the smoke, determined to prove something yet ultimately seeing nothing but hazy swirls, she leaned close to Draco's ear and whispered her approval of Professor Firenze.
"I knew it. It's not my fault."
So despite acting indifferent, Hermione clearly still cared about Trelawney's claim that she lacked talent in Divination...
...
As the faintly medicinal smoke gradually dispersed, Firenze instructed everyone to lie flat on the floor.
With a lift of his hand, the dense canopy of leaves that had covered the ceiling lowered obediently, like soldiers responding to command, revealing a vast expanse of star-filled sky above.
A collective gasp of awe rose from the young wizards.
While the others were captivated by the breathtaking view, Draco, lying on the moss, focused instead on Firenze's movements. The gesture had been fluid and precise—very much like a wizard casting a spell.
Like House-elves, Centaurs seemed capable of performing feats similar to wizard magic without using wands or incantations.
Hermione, who had been watching Draco, followed his gaze.
"That was… magic?"
"No. More likely a Centaur's innate ability."
"Innate? Like controlling trees?"
"Unfortunately, that's probably a Centaur secret. They're not exactly friendly toward wizards."
"…Do you think Dumbledore might try to win over the Centaurs too? Like sending Hagrid to negotiate with the giants?"
Sharp as ever, Hermione had clearly noticed something from the fact that Firenze was now teaching at Hogwarts.
Perhaps Dumbledore hadn't invited a Centaur to become a professor on a whim.
If that was the case, maybe Dumbledore also had his eye on Werewolves.
Feeling the warmth of her breath near his ear, Draco tilted his head and glanced at Hermione, whose cheeks seemed faintly flushed.
"That's possible. But you're forgetting something."
"Hm?"
"At the very start, Professor Firenze already told us his current situation—he's been exiled by the Centaurs."
"Which means…"
"Which means the 'recruitment' you mentioned was likely rejected. By most of the Centaurs, at least."
Even if Dumbledore truly differed from other wizards, and even if Hogwarts had shown goodwill by setting aside part of the Forbidden Forest for the Centaurs so they could live undisturbed—
That alone wasn't enough to bridge the gap between them and wizardkind.
Not to mention, Centaurs adhered to the principle of not interfering with the course of the future. They were reluctant to involve themselves in present conflicts.
Put kindly, they accepted destiny.
Put less kindly, they simply drifted with the current.
However, it seemed that among them, one exception had appeared.
Draco glanced toward Firenze.
"Still, maybe Firenze himself could be a point of leverage. Dumbledore wouldn't do something without reason."
"So should we…?"
"No. Not now. The Centaurs aren't our priority. And we don't have the bargaining chips to bring them to our side."
Draco lowered his voice, gently extinguishing Hermione's rather impractical idea.
Besides, they still had the matter of the House-elves to worry about…
As Draco and Hermione whispered, Firenze's calm, distant voice drifted through the air.
"In the past ten years, there have been many signs that the wizarding world has merely been passing through a brief peace between two wars."
"…What?"
Draco stiffened slightly. The words reminded him of the prophecy Firenze had once spoken.
And what came next only confirmed some of his suspicions.
"The sparks that herald war still burn brightly above us. They suggest that, before long, the wizarding world will once again be plunged into conflict. As for how much time remains… perhaps the Centaurs might attempt to divine it by burning certain herbs and leaves, studying the smoke and flame…"
The words were hazy, almost dreamlike. Under the vast canopy of stars, Firenze's low voice carried a strange, unreal quality.
Most of the young wizards treated the class as little more than a pleasant diversion. But those who understood even a fragment of what he meant were now staring up at the night sky, eyes wide.
They had sensed it too.
If Firenze wasn't speaking nonsense, then…
Was another war truly coming?
Among them, Harry Potter's visibly stirred expression did not escape Draco's notice.