Harry’s Totem and Yet Another Prophecy Fulfilled?

First, he strapped a short dagger to his leg. Though it was called a short dagger, that was only in comparison to Hagrid's massive frame— in Harry's hands, it was practically a longsword.

Next, Hagrid took down a giant bow hanging on the wall, along with a few arrows as thick as two fingers each, their arrowheads gleaming with a cold, sharp light.

Under normal circumstances, Harry would call this "fully armed and ready for battle," not "dropping by a friend's house for a visit."

To be honest, seeing Hagrid in this state actually put Harry at ease. After all, he really couldn't imagine himself bringing a basket of fruit and pastries as a friendly offering to the centaurs. Just picturing it made his fists clench involuntarily, and his scalp tingle.

"Me?" Hagrid looked down at his own belly, then suddenly understood. "Oh, Harry, you've got to understand—we're going into the Forbidden Forest. You can find anything in there. Deep inside, there are even werewolves—uh, not that we're going that far in tonight."

"So, if you think about it that way, tonight's little trip being a punishment isn't wrong at all," Hagrid shrugged. "You're an exception, Harry—I know you can handle yourself. But the others? Not so much."

"We could make a bet—if you told any other normal first-year wizard that their detention involved going into the Forbidden Forest, they definitely wouldn't think of it as a reward."

"…That makes sense," Harry nodded, conceding the point. "Are we heading out now?"

"Now?" Hagrid shook his head. "It's still a bit early. You can rest inside for a bit while I get my things together… We'll leave when the sun sets."

With that, Hagrid busied himself rummaging through his home—he seemed to be looking for things he had made to trade with the centaurs.

Harry, however, didn't follow Hagrid's suggestion to rest inside. Instead, he stepped outside and began searching along the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

He was looking for the right tree.

It couldn't be too thick, nor too thin. It had to be just the right size so he could easily wrap his arms around it and rip it out while still maintaining his mobility. Most importantly, it needed enough surface area for him to carve symbols onto it.

Before meeting with the centaurs—no, he should say the "horsemen" instead—Harry always found himself confusing the two terms. In any case, he felt he needed to craft a totem pole for himself.

He couldn't just show up empty-handed.

Even though he had told himself countless times that he had returned to the world he was born in, that this wasn't Azeroth, and that the centaurs of this world were not the same as the half-horse, half-man warriors he knew…

But Harry had seen their pictures in the Magical Races Compendium—and they were clearly, unmistakably centaurs!

Just… a bit leaner. Not quite as burly.

As an old saying went, no matter how rational a Tauren was, they would always become irritable, aggressive, and filled with murderous intent upon encountering centaurs. Harry was no exception.

Knowing something was one thing, understanding it was another—but Harry couldn't guarantee that if the centaurs weren't particularly friendly tonight, leading to some friction between them, his instincts wouldn't kick in and make him do something… irreversible.

Once drawn into conflict, Tauren were relentless foes, fighting with every ounce of their strength, never backing down no matter the suffering or hardship.

That was precisely why Harry, while still in a rational state, found himself in a bit of a dilemma. His body was still that of a child, and his chainmail and warhammer were practically toys—good for knocking around people, but not so much for fighting large creatures. Even Hagrid could tell that his warhammer wouldn't do much against the centaurs.

As for using magic—he couldn't very well open with a full battle sequence: Lightning Bolt, Flame Shock, Summon Fire Elemental, Call of the Stormkeeper, drop a Magma Totem, Lava Burst, Flame Shock again, then enter Ascendance form, Earthquake, Maelstrom-powered Lightning Bolt, Lava Surge… and finish with Chain Lightning, could he?

After all that, there wouldn't be any conflict with the centaurs—because there wouldn't be any centaurs left.

No doubt about it. Harry was at least ninety percent sure that if a fight broke out, by the time he calmed down and realized what had happened, it would already be too late.

Such was the unwavering confidence born from countless battles against centaurs, a blood feud spanning decades.

The confidence of the bull!

And then, the next morning's front-page headline in the Daily Prophet would read: "The Boy Who Lived Massacres Centaur Tribe."

Uh… Not that Harry cared what others thought of him, but he couldn't very well slaughter an entire group of centaurs just because of a little friction, could he? According to Hagrid, they were supposed to be his friends.

So after much consideration, Harry decided he needed a proper physical weapon—not the toy-like warhammer, but something that would allow him to gain respect and authority among the centaurs without resorting to deadly magic.

A Tauren Totem.

A solution that killed two birds with one stone.

In Tauren culture, mighty warriors defended their homeland, shamans communicated with their ancestors, druids interpreted the will of the Earth Mother, and hunters learned from them all, ensuring the tribe's survival. These four groups formed the core strength of the Tauren.

For a Tauren warrior, many weapons were available—but none were more revered than the totem pole. It was not only a symbol of faith but also a weapon that fully utilized their physical prowess. Notably, shamans also bore totems, not just warriors.

As the son of Cairne, the greatest Tauren warrior, it was only natural that Harry knew how to wield a totem pole.

With a flick of his wand, he effortlessly felled a tree of just the right size. After offering a blessing for its departure, he began crafting his totem pole.

Stripping away the bark and carving intricate patterns, Harry had to admit—the unique magic of this world made the process exceptionally swift.

No two totem poles were exactly alike. Each one told its own story.

At the top of Harry's, he carved an image of a small child standing among three towering Tauren figures.

It represented the moment he first arrived in Azeroth, discovered and taken in by the Bloodhoof tribe.

The carving style was rough, almost primitive—more of a symbolic depiction than a detailed engraving.

Further down, he etched the milestones of his journey in Azeroth: his first battle, his first adventure… his encounters with Jaina and Thrall, securing the orcs' aid for the Bloodhoof tribe, the Battle of Mount Hyjal… Deathwing… Pandaria… the Burning Legion…

Slowly waving his wand, wood shavings flaked off with each movement of the tip. Harry carved swiftly.

It didn't take long before the patterns on the totem pole reached the bottom—its most recent and latest engraving: Harry arriving at a castle.

"Heavens, Harry! What are you doing?!" Hagrid exclaimed as he hurried over.

He seemed to have finished packing his things, now carrying a large black bundle in one hand while the bow and arrows rested on his back.

"Making my own totem pole, Hagrid." Standing up, Harry examined the now-complete totem pole. It stood about two-thirds of his current height, with a thickness of nearly five to six inches. "You don't mind me using some of your collection, do you?"

"Uh… of course not, but this… well, alright, a totem pole." Hagrid muttered, leaning in curiously to examine the carvings. "So this is what you were talking about? The thing shamans need? I've seen something similar among the centaurs—wait, what's that smell?"

Hagrid sniffed the air and then spotted the bottle at Harry's feet.

"Heavens! My brandy!!" Hagrid's eyes widened in shock. "You're not old enough for strong liquor, Harry! When did you take that?!"

"Just now. Besides, this isn't exactly strong liquor, Hagrid," Harry said nonchalantly, waving a hand. "Though I have to say, you have pretty good taste in spirits."

Carving the totem had inevitably stirred memories of the past. Feeling somewhat unsettled, Harry had taken a few sips.

"Oh, well, thanks for the compliment," Hagrid said, looking conflicted. "Though I don't know if I should be happy about that."

"Why not?" Harry shrugged. "I'm a shaman, Hagrid. You can't treat me like an ordinary kid. Even Professor Dumbledore acknowledges that."

"Well… alright, if even Dumbledore says so…" Hagrid muttered, convinced by the weight of that argument. "So, what does this thing do?"

"This totem represents my past—it's my faith and my weapon." Harry patted the totem pole's surface. "Though it's a bit small, just a temporary piece. Good timing, though—my shaman club starts next week. I can use this as a demonstration, so my lessons won't be too dull."

Saying that, Harry raised his wand and gave it a flick.

"Horns, come! Hide, come!"

The next moment, from within Hagrid's hut, a pair of long, curved horns flew out and landed in Harry's hands—horns that had previously hung as decorations on Hagrid's wall. Each was about the length of Harry's arm.

Along with them came a large piece of animal hide. Judging by its texture, Harry guessed it was wolf skin.

"Hmm… let me think." Harry waved his wand again. "Flames, blaze!"

A burst of scorching fire shot from the tip of his wand, continuously charring the totem's surface. The originally pale wood darkened into a light brown hue.

"There, that's perfect." Satisfied, Harry directed the two horns to attach firmly to the sides of the totem, embedding them deep into the wood. Finally, he wrapped the wolf hide around the middle, leaving a strap for carrying it on his back.

"So… you're going to carry that to the centaurs?" Hagrid's eyes widened as he watched Harry deftly sling the totem onto his back.

"Didn't you say the centaurs have shamans too?" Harry looked up at Hagrid with an innocent smile. "I've wanted to talk to them for a long time—purely professional exchange, really."

"Well, if you say so…" Hagrid muttered, still feeling something was odd but choosing to let it slide.

"Let's go!"

Hagrid's dog, Fang, a supposedly fearsome but actually timid hound, was joyfully running ahead. Harry followed behind Hagrid as they ventured into the Forbidden Forest.

For students, the Forbidden Forest at night was undoubtedly dangerous. Once darkness fell, many creatures emerged from their dens to hunt, and that wasn't even considering the numerous magical beasts lurking in the depths.

This was where Hagrid's expertise shone. Having been the forest's caretaker for years, he knew the terrain like the back of his hand. The journey was uneventful—aside from one moment when Hagrid suddenly stopped, let out a loud roar, and then listened carefully. Once he was certain there was no threat, they continued on without further incident.

The centaur settlement lay deep within the forest, but that didn't mean they were confined there. According to Hagrid, it wasn't uncommon to see centaurs patrolling the forest's edges, sometimes even escorting wayward students back to safety.

However, likely due to some kind of ritual tonight, they didn't encounter any centaurs until they could see the distant flicker of firelight through the trees.

The sight before Harry was just like the illustrations he'd seen in the library, and not much different from what he remembered of centaurs—majestic horse-like lower bodies covered in brown fur, with strong human torsos rising where a horse's head would normally be.

Their human upper halves were bare, revealing muscular physiques, and bows and quivers rested on their backs.

Truthfully, Harry felt his nerves stretch taut the moment he stepped into the centaur camp. The overwhelming sensation of being surrounded by potential enemies, with no escape, sent his instincts into high alert.

Centaurs moved about, some tending to a massive bonfire in the middle, where chunks of meat roasted on spits. Yet what truly surprised Harry was the presence of wizards—small groups seated around smaller fires, some watching warily, others engaged in hushed conversation.

Harry discreetly nudged Hagrid's leg with his fist, and when Hagrid looked down, Harry subtly pointed toward the wizards.

"Dark wizards?" he whispered.

"Not exactly," Hagrid replied in a low voice, shaking his head slightly. "Let's just say they've got connections—enough to track down the centaur tribe deep in the Forbidden Forest."

"Remember what I told you, Harry? Centaur divination is rare and valuable. Most importantly, it's not something money alone can buy—you need to earn the right."

"Won't Dumbledore intervene?" Harry asked. "It seems risky for them to be here."

"Oh, Harry, don't forget my job. I'm here to keep an eye on things." Hagrid grinned. "Hogwarts is a lot bigger than you think. Even Dumbledore can't watch every corner. Our job is to keep the castle safe."

"Besides, even professors sometimes need to acquire things they can't exactly buy in Diagon Alley." Hagrid chuckled, then suddenly smacked his forehead. "Damn! Why did I tell you that?!"

Hogsmeade, the wizarding village adjacent to Hogwarts, was open to students in their third year and above. Harry hadn't expected such a place, so close to the school, to have its own gray areas.

Then again… maybe that wasn't so surprising.

"Oh! Forget what I said, Harry. And don't go blabbing about it to anyone." Hagrid gave him a sheepish grin. "Trust me, no one's going to harm Hogwarts students—this school is the heart of wizarding Britain. No one wants that kind of trouble."

"Alright," Harry nodded. If even Dumbledore didn't object, who was he to question it?

"Anyway, enjoy the night, Harry." Hagrid patted his shoulder. "Centaurs won't let harm come to their guests."

"I thought the Forbidden Forest belonged to Hogwarts," Harry mused.

"Shhh!" Hagrid quickly hushed him. "Centaurs don't like hearing that. They believe the entire forest is their domain and that wizards have no right to intrude… though I think that's nonsense."

Centaurs, resisting wizards, claiming territory—those words sent a chill down Harry's spine.

Bloody hell, even centaurs have this attitude?!

His heart pounded faster.

"Apologies for the interruption, but I must say something," an aged voice suddenly spoke nearby. "To the centaurs, they are the true natives of this land, having lived in this forest since ancient times."

Harry turned to the speaker—an elderly man with graying hair.

But what truly caught Harry's attention was the suitcase in his hand—one strikingly similar to the one he had once seen in a vision.

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