A/N: Hello again, true believers. And, um, false believers. If you aren't acquainted with any of my work, then you should read "Quirrell" and "Croaker". If you haven't, I'll kill all of your firstborn children. That's right- ALL OF THEM. This is a work in progress- review and tell me what occurs next.
Disclaimer: The firstborn thing above was just a joke. Oh, and nothing Harry Potter belongs to me. Not even his socks, even though I am inexplicably holding them in my hand right now. Man, it's hard typing with socks in your hand.
Magorian noticed something for the first time while tending to his patch of grass. It was quite a revelation, really; he had never thought about in his 110 long years. Yep. 110 years living a forest made for quite a lot of free time to think things over. He was quite surprised he never thought about it before.
Being a centaur was extremely boring.
He really couldn't think of anything he ever did that was any fun. All he did was look up at the night sky and ponder. And eat the occasional leaf or two. Wait a minute, there was that one time we all gathered and had a mild-mannered discussion about how much we hate humans. he thought. Oh wait, he amended himself, that wasn't any fun at all, either.
Come to think about it, why do we hate humans so much? We hardly ever see them.
He knew what he was thinking was practically blasphemy among the centaur-tribe he was the chieftain of, but he couldn't help it. He had hardly seen enough humans to really judge their hate-able-ness.
His love life wasn't very thrilling, either. In his 110 years, he could swear he had never seen a female centaur before. Why was his tribe packed to the brim with men? How were they going to propagate their species?
And what about all this star-gazing nonsense? thought Magorian. It was like reading the same page of the same book, over and over again, without progressing through it, every night. It told him the same thing every night. "A second war is coming, aliens will land and aid the Dark Lord in exchange for missing socks to power their starships, the end of the world is approaching, blah blah blah." He really didn't care anymore.
He also thought about the name of the forest. The Forbidden Forest. What kind of name was that? All the other forests in the world had great names-
There's the Amazon, thought Magorian , the...um... Black Forest....and the...er... Okay, so maybe I don't know the names of that many forests. But I bet they're all better than "The Forbidden Forest." Yeesh, what a negative-sounding name...
After some quiet speculation, he realized he had to change the forest's name. He chose "Styjikuhler", because it sounded cool.
Hell, he realized, even his name was boring. May-jor-ee-in. He was sick it. From now on, he decided, after some thirty-seven days of quiet speculation, my name will be Zhohio Korcellos, the Mystic Sage of Styjikuhler! He would have to tell his tribe later. Y'know, after some more quiet speculation.
It was hard to quell the stream of thoughts now flooding his mind. Pretty soon, he started thinking about his diet.
The taste of leaves and grass is getting a little too familiar, he thought. Centaurs are omnivores, just like humans- Why couldn't we have a little meat now and then?
He knew the centaur teachings on the subject like the back of his hand: "Killing animals will upset the natural balance of the forest, the forest is our life, blah blah blah." But surely eating a sparrow now and then couldn't hurt? And if he really couldn't have meat, why not a fruit or two? He wouldn't say no to a nice chunk of watermelon.
But this wretched forest never grows any accursed fruit! thought Magorian angrily. All we ever eat is leaves and grass. Nothing else. Just leaves and grass. Guess what they taste like? Like leaves and grass! In fact, I think the rest of my taste buds (the non-leaves-and-grass-taste buds) are atrophying.
By now, he had made up his mind- he was going to go hunting. What he was going to hunt for, he really didn't know. He supposed he'd just kill the first thing he saw. Grinning like a madman holding a meat cleaver at a brothel, he galloped forward with his trusty spear (which he realized for the first time that he never used), looking for prey.
Unfortunately, the first creature he met was quite a formidable one. Once it saw Magorian, it lowered its head, fully equipped with two twisted horns at each side, and charged. The centaur immediately recognized the monster as a Graphorn- his father had once told him all about them. And he usually interjected his stories with comments on how much humans suck. But now wasn't the time to reminisce about his father. Now was the time to attack.
Magorian deftly jumped over the Graphorn and yelled "BONSAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIII!" as he brought his blade down and skewered the beast, not realizing that a bonsai was actually a small Japanese tree and not a tried-and-true warcry. The Graphorn fell to the floor, dead. He indulged in a little victory dance (which was quite hard when one had four left feet, as the centaur expression went), and then proceeded to cook it over a makeshift flame and savagely devour it. It tasted like chicken.
But what do chickens taste like?
Flushed with his success, Magorian was turning decidedly rash, letting more and more dangerous thoughts come across his mind. That night, he told his tribe he was going to get some twigs to make a sextant (they decided to ignore the blood in his mouth and pieces of Graphorn skin in his teeth). What he was actually doing, however, was hunting. At first, he tried hunting for chickens. Upon realizing that there were no chickens in the forest, however, he decided to raid Hagrid's shack.
Well, it wasn't really raiding. More like getting up there and knocking on the door, asking Hagrid for some chickens, and leaving.
"Hey Magorian, it's one o'clock in the morning" said Hagrid when he saw who was at the door, rubbing his eyes. "Whaddya want?"
"Uhh... could I have some... some chickens?" replied Magorian in a whisper.
Hagrid eys lit up, as they always did when talking about some creature or other. "Chickens! Why didn't you say so? Y'know, I've bred my stock to be extra succulent and juicy, and have a mighty pleasant aftertaste. They're very sweet and tangy, and have a special chemical that leaves you feeling good all over when you're digesting them. In fact, some of the world's most prominent restaurants have asked to buy my chickens. They migh' just be the tastiest poultry on the face of the Earth." His features changed to convey pride. "Just bring 'em back to me nice and alive tomorrow, okay?"
"Sh... Sure, Hagrid. Thanks."
Man, humans are stupid, reflected Magorian as he carried the chickens towards the heart of the forest. Maybe that's why I'm supposed to hate them so much. Well, Hagrid is a half-giant. Hmmm.... I wonder what half-giants taste like...
And, as he devoured the chickens with unbridled vigor (they tasted like Graphorn), he couldn't help but notice that his life was getting a lot less boring.
A/N: Hope you all liked this fic. It's among my shortest (as in, it is my shortest), but that's because I need your feedback to tell me what happens next. That's right, this'll be a chaptered story! Hurrah!