Before Dumbledore arrived, the Unicorn had already returned to the wand, so he didn't witness what had happened. The only thing that puzzled him was Voldemort's agonizing scream moments earlier; it had sounded even more miserable than when Quirrell turned to ash.
What had actually happened here...? Dumbledore glanced at Robert, who was stuffing bottles into his pocket. After a moment of hesitation, he chose not to ask anything, only instructing him to escort Harry to the School Hospital.
"Actually, the taste of nettle wine isn't bad either," Dumbledore added.
"It won't fit anymore," Robert replied, trying to remain calm while subconsciously touching the pocket where the wand was hidden.
At some point, a thin layer of frost had formed around that pocket. Luckily, the school robe was dark, so Dumbledore didn't appear to notice the change. But Robert inferred something else from his attitude—he now felt certain that the contents of those three bottles weren't poison. It must have been false advertising.
Not that it mattered. The only use for that stuff now was to plug his pocket. Maybe later, he could trade it for a few coins in Knockturn Alley. Either way, if it got discovered, it would only tarnish Snape's reputation.
"It's time to return," Dumbledore said, waving his wand behind him. A stretcher floated out smoothly, with the unconscious Harry resting atop it.
"Well then, I'll leave Harry to you," Dumbledore said.
Although Robert was far more curious about what had been on the Unicorn's head, since Dumbledore had spoken, he couldn't decline. He nodded in agreement.
Then Dumbledore transported them back to the Fourth Floor corridor. This time was quicker than their arrival. Robert hadn't moved at all—one moment everything blurred, and the next, he was standing atop the trapdoor again.
Apparition? Or a Portkey? Robert glanced at the stretcher.
But soon he shook his head, ruling both out. First, Dumbledore hadn't touched him, so it didn't match the conditions for Side-Along Apparition. Second, he hadn't felt the telltale pulling sensation of a Portkey.
Could it have been the Phoenix?
Robert instinctively began looking around for Fawkes but noticed something else instead—the trapdoor beneath his feet had vanished, replaced by a solid floor.
How was that possible? He was sure it had been there just moments ago...
A bold theory suddenly occurred to him: maybe he hadn't moved at all—perhaps all the checkpoint rooms had disappeared?
"Hogwarts is a very magical place; even I wouldn't claim to know all its secrets," Dumbledore's voice came from the other side, speaking softly. "I suggest you take a dose of Dreamless Sleep Potion. It will help you sleep soundly tonight."
He glanced at Robert again, then swiftly exited the corridor.
Robert stared at the floor for a while longer. Finding no sign of the trapdoor, he finally started pushing Harry toward the School Hospital.
Along the way, he passed Professor Flitwick, who was calming down the portraits, and Professor McGonagall, who had just restored the stairs to their proper state. Hermione and Ron weren't there; presumably, Professor McGonagall had sent them back to their dormitories.
Upon seeing the unconscious Harry, Madam Pomfrey rushed over in alarm. She laid him on a bed and quickly assessed his condition with her wand. In no time, she determined that his coma was due to extreme exhaustion.
"I've never seen a case like this at Hogwarts," she remarked. "Both his physical energy and mental state are completely depleted. Did he fight Death Eaters for three days and three nights?"
Robert shrugged noncommittally.
Though it hadn't lasted three full days, he had fought with a Death Eater—arguably the head of them all.
Thankfully, Madam Pomfrey didn't press further. She poured two different potions into Harry's mouth and then hurried off to prepare a third.
"Robert, Robert..."
As soon as she left, Fred and George—also in the hospital wing—rushed over.
"What happened to Harry?" they demanded.
"And Ron! He was sent here too, but Professor McGonagall didn't tell us a thing."
"Ron?" Robert only just noticed a curtained-off bed in the room, from which faint snores could be heard.
That must be Ron.
"He didn't tell you anything?" Robert asked, confused.
Ron had probably been brought in while he and Dumbledore were still at the entrance hall. He didn't believe Fred and George hadn't asked anything in all that time.
"Don't even mention it," Fred grumbled. "Madam Pomfrey was around the whole time. We had to pretend to be asleep."
"Just when she finally stepped out, that idiot Ron went and fell asleep!" George added bitterly. His bandaged body even trembled in anger.
"Oh, they just went to the Fourth Floor to complete the challenge," Robert said casually.
"Complete the challenge?"
"I told you there was something going on there!"
The Weasley twins' eyes lit up.
But before Robert could explain further, Madam Pomfrey returned.
"No loud talking, you'll disturb the patients' rest," she snapped, glaring at Robert.
"Anything else?"
"No, nothing, Madam Pomfrey," Robert replied. He immediately turned and walked out, ignoring the twins' desperate attempts to make him stay.
Fred and George were left stunned.
Just as their curiosity peaked—it was over already?
That's not how a person—or a wizard—should act!
Even a hint, a crumb of the story, would've been enough...
Unfortunately, Robert couldn't hear their silent complaints. He left the hospital wing decisively—not to spite the twins, but because he truly had other matters to attend to. Important ones.
"You two... if you don't go to sleep... I'll draw the curtains... and no more visitors for you..."
Madam Pomfrey's scolding faded behind him until it was no longer audible.
Robert returned to the castle. This time, he didn't pause anywhere, heading straight for the eighth floor as fast as he could.
The common room lights were still on. When he entered, Hermione was apologizing to Neville, saying how she shouldn't have used the Petrification Curse on him.
Poor Neville—left paralyzed on the floor for who knows how long.
When Hermione saw Robert, she leapt up and fired questions at him like a machine gun:
"Robert, were you with Professor Dumbledore? How's Harry? What about the Philosopher's Stone?"
"Harry's okay; he's at the School Hospital," Robert replied. "Sorry, Hermione, I'm really tired. Can we talk tomorrow?"
Without waiting for her response, he went straight upstairs, entered his dorm, and locked the door behind him.
Once inside, he tossed aside the potion bottles and carefully retrieved the wand—Silver Mane—from his pocket.
Unlike before, a faint layer of grey mist now covered its surface, and the chill it emitted was bone-deep.
"Silver Mane Starfall."
The Unicorn reappeared instantly. As soon as it materialized, it began shaking its head violently in disgust, trying to dislodge a piece of "filth" clinging to the horn on its forehead.
"Wait, don't move..." Robert gently calmed the agitated Unicorn. His eyes never left the grey mist, and his heart pounded harder with each passing second.
There was a reason Voldemort had screamed so miserably.
This thing had been ripped off him by the Unicorn.
Was this... considered loot?
A Voldemort fragment?
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