News of the ten notorious Death Eaters' escape from Azkaban quickly spread throughout Hogwarts.
Soon, the entire school was abuzz with rumors—some claimed that several of the fugitives had been seen in Hogsmeade; others whispered that they were hiding in the Shrieking Shack and might break into Hogwarts just like Sirius once did; still others said the Death Eaters had already taken control of the Ministry of Magic.
Every child in the wizarding world had grown up hearing those names.
Names like Bellatrix Lestrange, Antonin Dolohov, and Augustus Rookwood were as terrifying as their master, Voldemort, and their crimes were infamous.
Many students were deeply dissatisfied with the Daily Prophet's explanation. Ten Azkaban convicts had escaped, and yet the Ministry of Magic claimed that Sirius Black alone was responsible.
Such an explanation was laughably weak—like something meant to fool children—and no one found it convincing.
Amid the confusion and fear, whispers of what Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter had once said began resurfacing. The question of whether You-Know-Who had truly returned was once again being discussed in hushed voices along the corridors.
However, those fervent discussions didn't last long.
That very afternoon, Educational Decree No. 26 was posted on the notice board by the castle caretaker, Mr. Argus Filch.
The decree forbade teachers and students from discussing any topic unrelated to coursework in public areas. Violators would face strict disciplinary action from the Hogwarts High Inquisitor.
So, on the surface, the chatter seemed to have died down—or so it appeared to Jon. What went on behind closed doors, however, was another matter entirely.
...
At seven o'clock that evening, Jon followed the fourth-year Slytherins to Classroom 11 on the first floor.
Since the centaur Firenze had taken over as Divination instructor, all Divination classes were now held at night.
They shared the class with the fourth-year Ravenclaws. Because of the Azkaban mass breakout, the Ravenclaws had begun showing open hostility toward Umbridge and her loyalist students.
So when they saw Jon enter, they immediately started whispering and pointing at him.
Jon ignored them and walked straight into the classroom.
Classroom 11 had been completely remodeled since Firenze became the Divination teacher, now resembling a forest glade.
The floor was covered with soft moss, and trees seemed to grow directly from beneath it. Their branches, thick with lush green leaves, stretched across the ceiling and windows, filling the room with gentle, dappled light.
The students sat on the ground, leaning against tree trunks or large stones, while Firenze stood before them.
The centaur had a dark, horseshoe-shaped bruise on his chest, his expression perpetually stern and humorless. His deep blue eyes swept over the class—and paused briefly on Jon.
To be honest, the new Divination class was even duller than before. Professor Trelawney's lessons might have been strange, but at least they involved some interaction and amusement. Firenze's class, on the other hand, consisted mostly of lying on the moss, gazing at the stars, or burning sage and mallow sweet to interpret their patterns.
Firenze taught them about the prophecies of the centaurs—how the shifting stars foretold disasters, changes, and the fate of different races. It was fascinating, but also impossibly complex. Firenze explained that sometimes it could take ten years to confirm the meaning of what one saw in the stars.
He also told them that all signs indicated the wizarding world was merely enjoying a brief peace between two wars. Mars—the planet of conflict—was burning brightly overhead, an omen that war would soon return.
Most of the students, however, were completely lost. In truth, centaur astrology was far too cryptic for human understanding.
Only when the bell rang outside did everyone finally stir, still dazed, and begin to leave.
Jon had just risen from the moss when he heard Firenze's voice behind him.
"Christopher Patrick, wait a moment!"
Jon stopped in his tracks.
...
Within moments, the classroom was empty except for Jon and the centaur.
Firenze stepped forward, extended a hand, and asked, "I hear you possess remarkable insight into Divination?"
"Just rumors," Jon said quickly, denying it at once. He wasn't foolish enough to boast about Divination before a centaur—creatures who could truly read the heavens.
"No," Firenze said gravely, shaking his head. His rough hand brushed lightly against Jon's cheek. "Your eyes are gray... In our lore, every foal born with gray eyes grows to read the stars themselves."
Jon shuddered, stammering, "But... I'm not a centaur—I'm human!"
"So it could simply be coincidence," Firenze said lightly, a faint smile appearing on his face.
He turned, his hooves striking the ground with a rhythmic thud. "Some say we care only for what lies around the moon..."
"Professor Scamander described it that way in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them," Jon said quietly.
"He was correct," Firenze nodded. "My kin are like that—stubborn in their belief that one must never defy the will of the heavens, that the signs revealed by the planets cannot be changed."
"I once believed the same," Firenze continued, his voice softer now. "Until one summer, over ten years ago, when I noticed subtle changes in Mars... just a few months before young Harry Potter drove back the Dark Lord." He turned to look directly at Jon.
"But... what does that have to do with me, Mr. Firenze?" Jon asked nervously.
"Strictly speaking, it has some connection," Firenze replied, patting Jon lightly on the shoulder. "I can only urge you to respect every choice you make, Mr. Patrick. I cannot reveal much more—but I believe you understand my meaning."
"I... I'm not sure I do," Jon said.
"Neither do I," Firenze answered flatly, shaking his head.
...
"Just another cryptic lecture... another mystic lost in riddles," Jon muttered as he stepped out of the Divination classroom.