A day at Hogwarts.

Chapter 693 The Stars Return to Their Place
Deep in the forbidden forest under the cover of night, in a camp surrounded by towering trees, orange flames licked the dark night sky, and the roaring campfire dispelled the gloom and cold. The massive shadows of the centaurs around them danced on the walls.

Fearing things might change if things dragged on, Charles embarked on a mission to collect hair.

His figure appeared in the shadow of an oak tree. He adjusted his glasses and looked at the centaur tribe with a hint of doubt.

Charles envisioned that tonight, the centaur tribe would be as solemn as ever after midnight, with elders gazing at the stars and some of the older centaurs teaching the children.

However, at this moment, the tribe was ablaze with fire, and the air was filled with the unique aroma of burning pine resin, as well as the smell of roasted mushrooms and pumpkins.

Deep, rhythmic drumbeats, accompanied by the distant sound of a flute, drifted through the dark forest.

This puzzled Charles. It wasn't a holiday or any celebration, and he hadn't heard of anyone having a wedding, funeral, or newborn celebration. Why was there such a big fuss?

He straightened his clothes and hair, took out a bamboo basket from his bag, filled it with two pounds of oranges that he used as snacks, added a few bottles of soda, and then headed towards the tribe.

The atmosphere at the entrance to the tribe was somewhat tense.

Several shrewd and capable young centaurs heard footsteps coming from the woods. They turned around abruptly, their muscles tensing, and nocked their arrows, pointing them toward the source of the sound. They would not hesitate to fire at the slightest sign of movement.

When they saw that it was Charles emerging from the dark woods, the tension they felt instantly vanished. Their tense shoulders relaxed, their bows and arrows lowered, and a look of relief appeared on their faces. Someone nodded slightly to him in acknowledgment.

This reaction puzzled Charles even more, and he asked, "What's everyone up to tonight?"

A young centaur said, “Last night the stars told the elders that an important guest is coming tonight with a mission that can change the world.”

"Hehe, we were just discussing who it might be, and it really is you."

Charles raised an eyebrow, seemingly lost in thought, and said, "I'll go find the elders first; these are for you."

He handed the basket to the young centaur, walked through the tribal gate, and headed towards the blazing bonfire in the center of the square.

A scorching wave of heat rushed towards us, and the sparks rose and scattered like red raindrops moving in reverse.

The centaur elder stood by the campfire, his expression more solemn than ever before.

He held in his hand a huge steel axe with an ancient design and a blade that gleamed with a cold light, the blade reflecting the cold light in the firelight.

This was the first time Charles had ever seen this axe, and he wondered why it had been brought out today.

He walked up to the elder, having already planned how to naturally bring up the somewhat strange request for his hair, but before he could even explain his purpose, the elder made the first move.

The centaur elder gave Charles a deep look, his gaze complex, a mixture of seven parts scrutiny, two parts "as expected," and one part weariness hidden deep within.

He didn't ask any questions or exchange pleasantries. He simply stretched out his free, calloused, and slightly scarred hand, reached into the thick, coarse, silvery-white mane behind his head, and without hesitation, pulled it out forcefully before cutting it off with an axe.

"Give."

The elder's voice was hoarse and deep, as if it bore the weight of the orbiting stars.

He handed a strand of white hair, about the thickness of a finger, shimmering with a healthy silver sheen, to Charles.

The series of movements was swift and decisive, without the slightest hesitation, as if they had been prepared for this moment all along.

Charles froze, instinctively taking the strand of hair that still carried the elder's body heat and a faint scent of earth, grass, and sweat. The rough texture felt incredibly real against his fingertips.

He hadn't anticipated things would turn out this way. His prepared explanations—about the ancient secret chamber, the transmission of knowledge, and even the possible exchange that might come at a price—were all stuck in his throat.

"You knew I needed this?" Charles couldn't help but ask, his doubts growing.

He and the centaur elder were both known for their precognitive abilities, but to be so precise as to know exactly when, where, and who would do what was terrifying.

The elder did not answer directly. He simply raised his deep eyes, as dark as the night sky, and glanced at the starry sky, which was fragmented by the tree canopy and firelight. Then he turned his gaze back to Charles, the blade of the stone axe reflecting a cold light in the firelight.

"The trajectory of the stars shifted a thousand years ago, and bloodshed brewed in the ancient shadows. The gate has lost its key." The elder's voice carried a prophetic ethereal quality, yet it was so heavy that it could crush one's mind. "Last night, the stars returned to their positions, getting closer and closer to the empty key on the gate."

"You have a long way to go, child."

"We have fulfilled our covenant from a thousand years ago. The rest depends on you, and on everyone else."

Charles's eyes widened; it seemed the elder knew something.

The centaur elder paused, then gently tapped the ground with the blunt end of his steel axe, producing a dull thud.

"Go on, do what you need to do, time is not on our side."

These words were ambiguous, yet carried a hint of urgency.

Charles gripped the strand of silver hair in his hand, looked around, and found that all the centaurs, regardless of age or gender, were silently watching him, their eyes devoid of curiosity, only a calm, almost tragic gaze.

He realized that what had happened in that cave had probably been circulating among the centaur tribe, at least among the elders.

Now, the elders should have already told everyone this story.

"Thank you, Elder." Charles said no more and carefully tucked his hair into his bag.

He nodded solemnly to the elders and the silent centaurs around him, as a farewell.

The next moment, he used Apparition again.

The feeling of spatial distortion enveloped my entire body; the heat of the campfire, the scent of pine resin, the silent gaze of the horsemen—everything was instantly stripped away.

The scene of the forbidden forest blurred and faded like a faded oil painting.

Almost at the same instant I lost my sight, new sounds, smells, and the sensation of touch beneath my feet came.

The hard, flat stone pavement replaced the soft earth in the forest, and the damp, cool air replaced the heat of the campfire, mixed with the sweet aroma of toasted bread, the slight intoxication of wine, and a faint scent of violet perfume.

The noisy voices, the clinking of glasses, and a lighthearted French folk tune played on an accordion replaced the solemn and oppressive drumbeats and bone flutes in the Forbidden Forest.

Charles opened his eyes and found himself standing at the end of a narrow, winding cobblestone street, with wizards appearing and disappearing around him from time to time.

This is a wizarding village near Saint-Étienne in France.

The stark contrast between the Forbidden Forest and the town left him momentarily disoriented, as if everything that had just happened at the centaur camp was merely a bizarre dream.

The portrait needs Veela's hair, but Fleur's probably won't work, so we'll have to go to her grandmother.

(End of this chapter)