Filch looked almost disappointed when Hagrid told him he could go back to the castle.
"Just like that?" he asked. "I thought maybe..."
"Maybe what?"
Filch looked at us, then at Hagrid's crossbow.
"Nothing."
I did not believe him.
As he left, he muttered something else about punishments in the old days and how students used to understand the meaning of the word discipline.
Draco watched him go.
"For the first time in my life, I'm glad that man is leaving."
"A beautiful moment of personal growth," I said.
"Shut up."
Hagrid raised the lantern.
"Stay close. And don't leave the path until I tell you."
I looked toward the line of trees.
The forest looked different at night. Of course I knew it would be dark. I knew the trees would block out the castle, that the lantern light would end a few meters ahead of us, and that everything beyond it would become one huge shape.
Knowing did not help.
I followed Hagrid inside.
The first few steps were easy.
The next few were too.
Then the castle disappeared between the trees.
My left eye stung.
I did not open it wider.
Not yet.
We found traces of blood quickly.
Hagrid crouched beside a root and moved his finger a few inches above a silver stain.
"Fresh."
Hermione leaned closer.
Draco stayed back.
Neville too.
I watched.
The silver did not look like blood.
Not entirely.
The lantern light reflected from it too cleanly. Every drop looked as though it had a faint glow of its own.
But my left eye saw something else.
A trace.
Not old.
Not faded.
Not stretched thin by years.
Fresh.
So fresh that it was almost not a trace yet.
I stopped breathing.
This was not the memory of death left behind in stone.
This was happening now.
Something flickered between the silver droplets like a thin streak of light and vanished.
I blinked.
It came back.
No.
Another one.
As though the forest were only just beginning to remember what had happened here.
"Oliver?"
I looked at Hermione.
She was watching me.
"What?"
"You're doing it again."
"What?"
"Staring."
Draco scoffed.
"He always stares."
"Helpful," I said.
Hagrid was already moving on.
I followed.
One more glance at the blood.
Only one.
The deeper we went, the worse my eye behaved.
It did not hurt.
That would have been simpler.
The forest was simply full.
Old traces ran beneath roots and through trunks. Fear. Pain. Hunting. Small deaths. Large deaths. Something had died beside one of the trees many years ago. Something else had fled through here recently.
Everything overlapped.
I stopped looking deeper.
At least I tried.
Hagrid stopped beside another patch of silver blood.
"We'll split up."
Draco immediately shook his head.
"No."
Hagrid looked at him.
"What?"
"We are not splitting up."
"It'll be faster."
"This is a forest full of things that kill people."
Hagrid frowned.
"Not everything in here kills people."
Draco looked at him.
"Was that supposed to reassure me?"
I almost smiled.
Hagrid pointed toward the path on the left.
"I'll go with Hermione and Neville. Harry, Draco, Oliver, and Fang will follow the trail the other way. If you find anything, send up red sparks."
Draco looked as though the entire educational system had personally betrayed him.
"With Potter?"
Harry looked at him.
"I'm not thrilled either."
"And Peverell?"
"I'm thrilled enough for all of us."
"Shut up."
Fang came over and sniffed my sleeve.
I patted him on the head.
At least one member of our group had the right priorities.
Hagrid handed Harry the lantern.
"Remember. If you see anything, don't try to be heroes."
I looked at him.
Hermione did too.
Hagrid noticed.
"Especially you."
I was not sure which one of us he meant.
Probably both.
For the first few minutes, Draco talked.
A lot.
About the forest.
About his father.
About how Hagrid had no right to put students in danger.
About how his father would hear about all of this.
Harry finally snapped.
"Can you be quieter?"
Draco stopped.
"Excuse me?"
"If there's something in the forest, we don't need to announce ourselves from a mile away."
That worked.
Draco fell silent.
For about thirty seconds.
Then Fang stopped.
Everything went quiet.
Not normally.
The forest still made sounds somewhere farther away, but around us, there was emptiness.
Harry raised the lantern.
There was another drop on the ground.
Then another.
A third.
More than before.
A silver line led between the trees.
My eye stung.
I did not even need to try.
The trace was so fresh it practically screamed.
"Peverell?"
Draco stood several steps ahead of me.
I realized I had stopped walking.
"What?"
"Coming?"
"Yes."
I moved.
The silver stains grew larger.
Something in me began counting the gaps between them.
Unnecessarily.
Harry walked first.
Fang moved more and more slowly.
Draco stayed noticeably closer to us than before.
I knew this scene.
I knew what came next.
That did not help.
Quite the opposite.
Every tree looked familiar even though I had never seen it before.
Every turn could be the one.
A few lines in a book.
Here, several hundred meters of dark forest.
Then Fang growled.
Quietly.
Harry stopped.
So did I.
Ahead of us, the trees opened around a small clearing.
Something white lay in the middle.
No.
Silver.
A unicorn.
It was not moving.
That was the first thing.
The second was that through Death's Sight I could barely look at anything else.
The death was fresh.
Truly fresh.
The trace was not lying over the place like an old imprint.
It was forming.
Silver blood stretched through the grass, but there was more around the body.
A layer of something delicate, almost transparent, peeled away from the unicorn's shape and remained in the air.
Not a soul.
I did not think so.
It did not look like a ghost.
It was...
Remaining.
The forest was remembering its final moments.
Every violent movement.
Fear.
Pain.
Flight.
And now stillness.
I took a step.
"Oliver."
Harry.
I did not answer.
Another step.
The trace was beautiful.
That was a horrible thought.
A true one.
My eye began to throb.
I did not care.
I wanted to see it closer.
To understand how the trace separated from the actual event.
At what point the memory of a place stopped being the present.
Another meter.
Fang whimpered.
And then something moved on the other side of the body.
I stopped.
I knew what I would see.
It did not help.
A black figure raised its head from above the unicorn.
Silver blood ran from where its face should have been.
Harry sucked in a sharp breath.
Draco made a sound he would probably deny later.
Fang howled.
And I...
I was afraid.
Just like that.
No analysis.
No curiosity.
For one clean second, my body knew better than I did.
Run.
I knew that figure.
I knew the story.
I knew the outcome.
Firenze was supposed to arrive.
Harry was supposed to survive.
I knew all of that.
In the book, I was not here.
The black figure straightened.
Draco took one step backward.
Then another.
"What is that?"
I did not answer.
Because I knew.
Voldemort.
Not a name in a book.
Not a face on a screen.
Not something sitting beneath Quirrell's turban at the teachers' table.
A few meters away from me.
Drinking the blood of a dead unicorn.
Harry grabbed his forehead.
Dropped the lantern.
"Harry!"
He fell to one knee.
The figure moved.
Draco ran.
He did not even shout anything coherent.
He turned and ran.
Fang went with him.
For a moment, I watched them go.
That was a very good decision.
A genuinely good one.
I could copy it.
The figure took another step toward Harry.
I did not move.
Damn it.
I pressed.
Not carefully.
Not as a test.
Stop.
Quirrell's body stopped.
Actually stopped.
One leg remained extended forward.
The black robe swayed and then went still.
For maybe a second.
Maybe less.
Harry was breathing hard beside me.
I watched.
It worked.
That was my first thought.
It should not have been.
Quirrell twitched.
Movement returned.
Not all at once.
As though the body had to remind itself how.
My left eye stung.
I felt warmth beneath the eyelid.
I ignored it.
The first layer was obvious.
Quirrell.
A living man.
Body.
Fear.
Magic.
Something that could yield.
But behind him...
I had seen that wrongness since the beginning of the year.
Now it was not merely a strange distortion around his magic.
It was clear.
Attached.
Forced into him.
The mangled remnant of Voldemort's soul.
I knew exactly what it was.
And I knew I had been pressing on the wrong part.
I should have let go.
Instead, I pushed the pressure deeper.
The pain came immediately.
Not like with a spell in class.
Stronger.
Sharp.
Almost physical.
I clenched my teeth.
The black figure stopped a second time.
This time its head turned.
Slowly.
Not toward Harry.
Toward me.
My heart beat harder.
Voldemort had noticed me.
Not Quirrell.
Not the professor who had spent months pretending to stutter and be afraid of his own shadow.
The thing inside him.
It was looking at me.
Wonderful.
I was really beginning to hate that theme.
I pressed harder.
It did not answer me.
There was no reflection like with the stone.
No miraculous counterstrike.
It simply did not yield.
That was worse.
With the Red Cap, a moment had been enough.
The troll had fought on instinct.
People staggered, lost their breath, looked away.
Here, I found something I could grab...
...and could not move it.
So I tried harder.
Of course.
A warm line ran down my cheek.
Blood.
Later.
I pressed.
Step back.
Quirrell's body swayed.
One step.
Small.
But backward.
Something in my chest tightened with satisfaction.
Again.
Harry groaned.
I did not look at him.
I could not.
If I looked away, I would lose my grip.
I pressed deeper.
Not at Quirrell.
Through him.
Into the thing attached to his soul like a parasite.
The world narrowed to one point.
The black figure.
Silver blood on its mouth.
And something inside it that absolutely refused to yield.
My left eye ignited.
The image at the sides vanished.
Not all at once.
The edges first.
As if someone were slowly drawing black curtains closed from both sides.
I should have stopped.
I thought about it.
I really did.
And then Quirrell's body twitched again.
Which meant it was working.
I pressed harder.
Blood ran from my nose.
I felt it on my upper lip.
I did not care.
Voldemort still was not stepping back.
But he was not moving forward either.
That was enough.
More than enough.
It was fascinating.
No.
Not now.
I pressed.
For a moment, I saw more.
Not a memory.
Not an image.
More like the shape of existence.
Quirrell was one thing.
His body.
His magic.
His fear.
And beside him, something wounded.
Torn.
Incomplete.
Clinging to the world with such vicious determination I could almost taste it.
I did not need an explanation.
Horcruxes.
A shattered soul.
What remained after the curse rebounded from Harry.
Voldemort.
I tried to wrap the pressure around that specifically.
Mistake.
The world went dark on my left side.
Completely.
I staggered.
My knee almost hit the ground.
I did not let go.
That was probably the moment when I should have understood something important.
Instead I thought:
One more second.
I pressed.
The black figure moved one foot back.
Only half a step.
But I saw it.
With my right eye.
Enough.
I smiled.
Probably.
I was not sure.
Then I heard hoofbeats.
Something bright burst between the trees.
The black figure turned.
I released.
Not because I wanted to.
Because I lost the target.
White hair.
A horse's body.
A bow.
Firenze.
Voldemort retreated between the trees and disappeared.
So quickly.
Too quickly.
For one second, I had the idiotic urge to go after him.
I did not.
Mostly because my legs had stopped being a reliable part of my body.
I braced a hand against a tree.
Harry was still kneeling on the ground.
Firenze approached him.
He said something.
I was not listening.
I wiped my face with my sleeve.
Red.
Too much.
Damn.
I blinked with my left eye.
Nothing.
Again.
Black.
Good.
That was less good.
I wiped my nose.
Breathed slowly.
I was not panicking.
My sight had returned last time.
It would return now.
Probably.
"Oliver?"
Harry.
I looked at him with my right eye.
"What?"
He was staring at my face.
"You're bleeding."
I touched my cheek.
"Branch."
Harry stared at me.
I stared back.
Firenze was staring too.
Harry frowned.
"A branch?"
"Aggressive one."
"We were standing in a clearing."
"Surprisingly mobile."
Harry opened his mouth.
Firenze spoke first.
"You should not keep looking."
I looked at the centaur.
I did not like the way he said it.
Too calmly.
"That's a popular opinion."
His eyes settled on my left eye.
He said nothing more.
I appreciated that.
I did not trust it.
Firenze helped Harry stand.
I was still leaning against the tree.
My left eye began to see light.
Not an image.
Light.
Progress.
Harry touched his forehead.
"That was..."
"Yes," I said.
He looked at me.
He did not need to finish.
I knew.
Firenze looked between us.
Harry was pale.
I probably looked worse.
"We need to leave," Firenze said.
Sensible.
I hated sensible ideas.
I took a step.
My leg worked.
Good.
A second.
Also good.
Then I looked at the unicorn.
I should not have.
I did.
My left eye could make out light, but nothing more.
No body. No trees. No silver blood.
Yet the trace was still there.
The trace was still there.
I stopped.
Death's Sight had not gone with the rest of my vision.
Interesting.
The trace was fresh. Denser than before.
It was no longer forming as quickly. It was settling, as though the place were accepting the death and arranging it layer by layer.
One look.
Just one.
Firenze turned his head.
"Come."
"Coming."
I did not move immediately.
I could not see the silver blood with my left eye.
I could still see what the death had left behind.
And it was changing.
Now I knew.
Old traces were not merely things that remained.
They had beginnings.
A moment of formation.
A process.
And I was watching it.
After meeting Voldemort.
With blood on my face.
With no ordinary sight in my left eye.
I still wanted to move closer.
That was probably the worst part.
I followed Firenze.
Draco and Fang found Hagrid before we did.
When we returned to the main path, Draco was speaking both quickly and loudly.
"There was something by the unicorn! Something in black robes! Peverell stayed, Potter too, I don't know why, I told you this forest..."
He saw us.
Went silent.
His eyes immediately landed on my face.
"What happened to you?"
I wiped my cheek.
Most of the blood had already dried.
"Branch."
Draco stared at me.
Harry looked away.
Traitor.
"Branch."
"Yes."
"In the middle of a clearing."
"I don't remember you staying there long enough to assess the local plant distribution."
His face turned red.
"I ran to get Hagrid."
"Of course."
"Fang ran first."
Fang wagged his tail.
Not helping.
Hagrid came closer.
"Oliver, let me see."
"I'm fine."
"Let me see."
His tone was different from usual.
I sighed and turned my face.
Hagrid saw the dried blood running from my left eye and nose.
His expression changed immediately.
"Back to the castle."
"Hagrid-"
"Now."
"It's only-"
He raised the lantern toward me.
From the left.
I did not see it.
Only when the light moved almost directly in front of my face did I realize what he had done.
Silence.
Damn it.
Hermione looked at me.
"You didn't see that."
"I did."
"No."
"Hermione."
"You didn't."
Hagrid lowered the lantern again.
"You can't see out of that eye?"
"Temporarily."
That word did not help.
Harry frowned.
Draco stopped looking offended.
"Temporarily?"
"It's coming back."
"Coming back?" Hermione repeated.
Definitely the wrong choice of words.
Hagrid shook his head.
"Enough. We're going back."
"What about the unicorn?"
"Firenze knows where it is. I'm taking you back to the castle."
There was no longer any room for argument.
I tried anyway.
"Hagrid, really-"
"Oliver."
I closed my mouth.
Irritating.
The way back was quieter.
Draco did not talk.
Neither did Neville.
Hermione glanced at me every so often.
Harry more often.
I pretended not to notice.
Technically, half the time that was true.
My left eye began to return.
First light.
Then shapes.
No details.
Enough.
At the edge of the forest, I saw the lights of the castle in the distance.
Relief came faster than I wanted to admit.
Only then did I notice my fingers were still trembling slightly.
I clenched my hand.
They stopped.
Almost.
Harry was walking beside me.
He looked at my hand.
Then at me.
"Cold," I said.
He did not answer.
That was polite.
Or maybe he was simply too occupied with the fact that he had just seen Voldemort drinking unicorn blood.
Reasonable.
At the castle doors, Hagrid did not turn toward the dungeons.
Of course.
The hospital wing.
"Hagrid."
"No."
"I haven't said anything yet."
"I know you well enough."
Doubtful.
But at the moment, I did not have a good argument.
Draco stopped by the stairs.
"If you go blind, I still won't read to you."
"Your consistency is inspiring."
"Idiot."
Blaise would have been proud of him.
Hermione followed Hagrid.
I looked at her.
"You too?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because someone has to make sure you don't disappear on the way."
That was insulting.
Mostly because it was exactly what I had been thinking about.
Harry also took a step toward us, but Hagrid shook his head.
"You go with Neville and Malfoy. I'll take him."
Harry hesitated.
Looked at me.
"You okay?"
"Yes."
Hermione sighed.
Harry apparently decided there was no point trying and left with the others.
Madam Pomfrey was not pleased when Hagrid woke her late at night.
She was even less pleased when she saw my face.
"On the bed."
"Hm."
"Mr. Peverell."
I sat down.
Hagrid explained that we had been in the forest, something had happened that he had not seen clearly, and then they found me bleeding.
Hermione stood nearby looking as though she desperately wanted to add her own version.
I did not give her the chance.
"What happened?" Pomfrey asked.
"Something in the forest."
"I can see that. What?"
"I'm not sure."
Hermione looked at me.
I did not look at her.
Pomfrey lifted my chin and examined my left eye.
She lit her wand.
The light stung.
I did not flinch.
Almost.
"Look left."
I did.
"Right."
Same.
"Follow my finger."
I followed it.
At least I tried.
"How long were you unable to see out of that eye?"
"Not long."
"That is not a unit of time."
"A few minutes?"
Hermione spoke.
"Longer."
I looked at her.
"You weren't timing it."
"Neither were you."
Pomfrey looked between us.
"Wonderful. Do I have two patients or one?"
Hermione closed her mouth.
Thank you.
Pomfrey examined me for several more minutes.
Diagnostic spells.
Light.
Some drops whose taste I could feel in my throat even though they went into my eye.
I hated medical magic.
Not because it was bad.
It was extremely effective.
Suspiciously so.
"Your sight is returning," she said at last.
Hermione exhaled.
I nodded.
"I knew that."
"You know nothing until I examine you."
I did not comment.
Pomfrey reached for a small vial.
"There has been severe magical strain around the eye. Several small blood vessels ruptured, hence the bleeding. Fortunately, I can see no permanent damage."
Good.
"No experiments for several days."
I looked at her.
"What experiments?"
Pomfrey paused.
Hermione very slowly turned her head toward me.
Damn.
"No straining your vision," Pomfrey corrected. "No reading in poor light, no spells requiring intense concentration, nothing that causes pain. If your vision disappears again, you come back here immediately."
"I understand."
Hermione snorted.
Pomfrey looked at her.
"What?"
"Nothing."
Traitor.
Pomfrey handed me the vial.
"Drink."
I looked at the contents.
"What is it?"
"Something that will help."
"That's not very precise."
"Drink."
I drank.
It was disgusting.
Of course.
When I tried to stand, Pomfrey put a hand on my shoulder.
"Where are you going?"
"Back to the dormitory."
"No."
I looked at her.
"I can see."
"Congratulations. You're staying here until morning."
"Hermione."
"Don't look at me. I agree with her."
Of course she did.
Hagrid looked pleased.
A conspiracy.
I did not sleep for long.
The hospital wing was too bright, too quiet, and far too distant from my notebook.
My left eye regained clarity slowly.
When I woke in the morning, I could see normally again if I ignored the slight blur at the edges.
Pomfrey checked it once more before breakfast.
"Better."
"I know."
She looked at me.
I should have said nothing.
"If it starts to hurt, you come here."
"Yes."
"Immediately."
"Yes."
"Not an hour later."
"Yes."
She watched me for another moment.
"You may go."
I left before she changed her mind.
I went to the Room of Requirement after classes.
Not immediately.
That counted as self-control.
The door appeared after my second pass.
I sat at the table.
The bowl of water was already there.
I looked at it.
"A little late."
The Room did not answer.
I pulled out my notebook.
For a moment, I stared at the blank page.
Then I wrote:
Unicorn.
Fresh death trace.
I stopped the quill.
Trace forms immediately. Changes after death.
Not static.
Further down:
Quirrell.
No.
I crossed it out.
Voldemort / Quirrell.
First pressure - body stopped. Very brief.
Second - deeper.
The quill hovered.
How to describe it?
I wrote:
Quirrell easier.
Voldemort did not yield.
That mattered.
He had not pushed me back.
He had not done what the stone had done.
Nothing like the forest had happened.
He simply refused to give way.
I added:
Could still affect movement through Quirrell.
Direct attempt caused severe strain.
Then the effects.
Blood - left eye. Nose.
Peripheral vision lost first.
Temporary near-blindness left eye.
Recovered.
Below that:
Pomfrey: no permanent damage. Magical strain.
I stared at the page.
I should have stopped.
I did not.
Lower down, I wrote:
He noticed.
I did not need to write who.
I knew.
I read everything again.
Red Cap.
Troll.
People.
Spells.
Stone.
Voldemort.
Not the same.
Not even close.
With the stone, the pressure had returned.
With Voldemort, I had found something that simply refused to move.
And yet Quirrell had stopped.
Stepped back.
Half a step.
The quill touched the paper.
I wrote:
It worked.
I stared at those two words.
Then added beneath them:
A little.
That should have been a warning.
It was not.
I closed the notebook.
And only then did I realize I had been smiling the entire time.