Centaurs and the Werewolf

I seem to have gotten ahead of myself. Permit me, please, to digress a bit.

If I might be permitted, a few excerpts from my good friend Newt Scamander’s book, ‘Fantastic Beasts & Where to Find Them’, would be instructive.

Werewolf:

The werewolf is found worldwide, though it is believed to have originated in northern Europe. Humans turn into werewolves only when bitten. There is no known cure, though recent developments in potion-making have to a great extent alleviated the worst symptoms. Once a month, at the full moon, the otherwise sane and normal wizard or Muggle afflicted transforms into a murderous beast. Almost uniquely among fantastic creatures, the werewolf actively seeks humans in preference to any other kind of prey.

Yeti (also known as Bigfoot, the Abominable Snowman):

A native of Tibet, the yeti is believed to be related to the troll, though no one has yet got close enough to conduct the necessary tests. Up to fifteen feet in height, it is covered head to foot in purest white hair. The yeti devours anything that strays into its path, though it fears fire, and may be repulsed by skilled wizards.

Unicorn:

The unicorn is a beautiful beast found throughout the forests of northern Europe. It is a pure white, horned horse when fully grown, though the foals are initially golden, and turn silver before achieving maturity. The unicorn’s horn, blood, and hair all have highly magical properties. It generally avoids human contact, is more likely to allow a witch to approach it than a wizard, and is so fleet of foot that it is very difficult to capture.

As an aside on the unicorn:

I brought the exclusion of the Canadian Herd of unicorns to Newt’s attention after reading his book. He was chagrined and promised that the next edition put out by Obscurus would have this correction.

Centaur:

The centaur has a human head, torso, and arms joined to a horse’s body which may be of any of several colours. Being intelligent and capable of speech, it should not strictly speaking be termed a beast, but by its own request it has been classified as such by the Ministry of Magic (see the Introduction to this book [Newt‘s referring to his book]).
The centaur is forest-dwelling. Centaurs are believed to have originated in Greece, though there are now centaur communities in many parts of Europe. Wizarding authorities in each of the countries where centaurs are found have allocated areas where the centaurs will not be troubled by Muggles; however, centaurs stand in little need of wizard protection, having their own means of hiding from humans.

The ways of the centaur are shrouded in mystery. They are generally speaking as mistrustful of wizards as they are of Muggles and indeed seem to make little differentiation between us. They live in herds ranging in size from ten to fifty members. They are reputed to be well-versed in magical healing, divination, archery, and astronomy.

I would also add the quote from the Introduction of the same book:

The centaurs’ habits are not humanlike; they live in the wild, refuse clothing (emphasis mine, not Newt‘s), prefer to live apart from wizards and Muggles alike, and yet have intelligence equal to theirs.

An aside on centaurs:

Never, I repeat, NEVER tell a centaur that his or her intelligence is equal to yours. It will offend them deeply. They consider themselves vastly superior to both human species. It is wise to always speak to a centaur in the most deferential manner possible. They are not vain, just convinced of their superiority. Of course, this is assuming you can get past the subjects of weather and the stars.

Please forgive my departure to my friend’s tome. It will become clear why later.

During my first three years as a warden of the preserve, I built a relationship with one of the centaurs named Ptometomy (toe-met-oh-me). You have no idea the patience this took. Centaurs speak in circles and riddles to anyone whom is not in their herd. Because of the necessity of contact with me, Ptometomy was chosen as the liaison between us. It took months of endurance with his obsequious and circular banter, before he began to finally speak clearly. He was rather larger than most of them. Ptometomy held the position of Teacher and Sacred Oracle. He was a stargazer and soothsayer. Ptometomy had two mates. Polygamy is unusual in centaurs. They are usually monogamous, mating for life. Should one die, the other will usually take their life as well. Remarriage is not usually an option. Frankly, it is never considered. Ptometomy's senior wife was also the Alpha Mare. The society of centaurs is matriarchal. That is to say, things were run by the mares. Because of his wife's status, Ptometomy himself was in a very influential position.

An interesting aspect of centaur society is how the young are reared. All the mares take a hand with the young. So when Impecca and Ptolieta lost their son, it was devastating to the whole herd. Ichthemaeus (ick-the-may-us) was three years old when he died of pneumonia. Ptolieta was prostrate for a month.

When Ptometomy first donned a jacket a month after the death of his son, Ptolieta (toe-lee-tah) was his chief supporter. Impecca (im-peck-ah) was aloof for quite a while. When she did come around, the rest followed. It was Impecca's idea to make and sell a line of coats and jackets for children . . . human children. They sold better in the U.S. than in Britain. They currently have a full line of clothing for adults and children, marketed through a squib cousin of mine, L.L. Legume. Impecca sagely realized that she would have to create some source of income for her people to acquire the raw materials for the clothing they would need.

About two years after the death of his son, Ptometomy was injured and his companions were killed. These were the first victims of the brutal attacks we soon recognized as those of a werewolf. Several more attacks occurred the next night, leaving their victims with ghastly wounds. One died immediately, the others within two days. A trained Ministry Healer was summoned to no avail. Werewolf wounds resist all known means of healing at the time. It was he who confirmed our worst fears. Centaurs cannot become werewolves. Therefore any bite from one is fatal. As Ptometomy was slashed, not bitten, the healer did not think he was in any danger. So we watched and waited.

Shortly afterwards we found several of the unicorns dead. They were horribly mutilated. This confused all of us, as unicorns are usually able to avoid this kind of threat easily. Ptometomy suggested we harvest the materials that were useful from the slain unicorns. I found this slightly sacrilegious. He explained that the waste of valuable resources was more so. In all, a total of thirty-five unicorns were harvested this way in the first year of the werewolf. By the time the werewolf had been destroyed, one hundred fifty unicorns were lost. It was the largest harvest of unicorn artefacts in history --- a harvest of sorrow for us. It was devastating to the herd. Though they would recover, it would be years after I left.

It was several more years before the centaur settlement would be attacked again. And God help us, the outcome would be disastrous.

Ptometomy and I were scouting along the edge of the Muggle settlements one night when the most blood curdling scream ripped the night air. We both recognized the voice of Impecca. I thought my blood had frozen down to my very bones. Ptometomy lost no time and leapt over a copse of small trees. The fellow must have jumped fifteen, maybe twenty feet. It was amazing! Even though I was able to Aparate to the centaur enclave it was too late for Impecca. She had given her life to save a foal. Whose, I never bothered to find out. The werewolf was less than ten feet from where I appeared. The creature engaged me immediately. For a few minutes it seemed sure that he would kill me. Then Ptometomy crashed through the thickets and attacked the beast. It was touch and go for over an hour. In the end, the werewolf was slain, Ptometomy and I were mauled, and this time they were bites. My dearest friend died the next day. Ptolieta took her life, as is the tradition, the following day. I so wish that my wife would have allowed me to do so as well. She would still be alive, and I wouldn't be living this purgatorial existence. The day Ptolieta ceremonially took her life was the last day I was allowed to see either the centaurs or the unicorns. The centaurs were sorrowful but firm. I am an undead to them. Like an Inferi, I am unclean.