The unicorn's eyes widened, its pupils fixed on the tip of the wand. That wand moved with a featherlight swiftness, and the closer it got, the brighter the eerie blue glow became, its sharp magical energy stinging the eyes.
The wand's tip plunged downward.
The noble beast, a symbol of purity, caught the scent of death…
Hiss—screech!
A piercing, metallic shriek shattered the silent night.
A transparent barrier materialized out of nowhere, shimmering with a silvery-white gleam—part metallic sheen, part reflected moonlight—coating the unicorn's body. The dark wizard's wand, poised to slice through flesh and bone, hovered inches from the creature's carotid artery, unable to pierce further.
The magic gathered at the wand's tip shattered.
The cutting curse, capable of slicing through dragon scales or steel shields, was blocked by an extraordinary magical force. The levitation charm holding the unicorn aloft began to fade rapidly.
Despair washed over Quirrell, trapped in the ambush. His body froze for a moment, and a faint crimson glint flickered in the eyes hidden beneath his hood. It was as if an invisible, heavy burden had been cast off, leaving him lighter and more agile.
His black cloak billowed as he ducked beneath the unicorn's belly, dodging a stunning spell from the side. At the same time, he manipulated the fading levitation charm to hurl the unicorn toward the centaurs.
Three venomous arrows struck the transparent barrier, ringing out with crisp clangs.
The centaurs, shocked and furious, saw the unicorn hurtling toward them and scrambled to dodge, hooves pounding the ground.
In the split second the unicorn crashed through, creating an opening, the mysterious wizard leapt up, evading a wave of surging snow. He unleashed a barrage of simple, quick spells—repelling charms, stunning spells—toward Professor McGonagall, who was closing in from behind.
Not expecting these basic spells to do much, the dark wizard cast a levitation charm on his cloak, yanking himself through the gap the unicorn's body had carved.
His black cloak fluttered, light as a snowflake, as he darted away.
The centaurs and the watching half-giant quickly notched their bows, firing arrows in pursuit. Their hands ached from the relentless shooting, but they gritted their teeth, emptying their quivers.
Yet the dark wizard had already broken free of the encirclement. Their attacks could only chase his shadow, landing uselessly in the bushes and snow.
Melvin lowered his wand and ruffled the little witch's hair before slowly walking toward the clearing, his gaze lingering on the trail of footprints in the snow, his thoughts distant.
First, there was the Christmas holiday incident at the Hog's Head, where Voldemort's magic had been unleashed. Now, facing this ambush, he'd fully surrendered his body to Voldemort's control. The deathly aura of the Dark Lord's soul coursed through him with his magic. Unless he could get his hands on the Philosopher's Stone to rebuild his body in the next two days, he'd better start looking for a suitable graveyard.
The three centaurs were still fuming over their failure to fully stop the dark wizard. Hagrid, meanwhile, stumbled toward the unicorn, cradling its head in his arms, anxiously checking for injuries.
Unicorns typically only allowed pure-hearted girls to approach. It pushed weakly at Hagrid with its front hooves, unable to shake him off, and resigned itself to the half-giant's inspection, its eyes tinged with helplessness.
"Sprained hoof, strained tendon—no wonder it didn't just bolt…" Hagrid sighed in relief. "I'll get a splint on it back at the hut. A couple weeks' rest, and it'll be fine."
From behind a nearby oak tree, a red-haired head popped out, shouting, "Something's wrong over here! Harry's in trouble!"
Harry leaned against the tree, hissing in pain, one hand clutching his forehead. His face was ghostly pale, not a trace of color, clearly in agony.
"Harry!"
Hagrid dropped the unicorn and rushed over, frantically checking for injuries, tears welling in his eyes. "No dislocation, no fractures, no blood…"
"I'm fine… hiss… just a headache… it's getting better," Harry said, taking small, shallow breaths as he slowly recovered.
"Could it be the Cruciatus Curse?" Neville muttered under his breath.
Daphne and Pansy gasped nearby. Hermione mentally repeated the curse's name, committing it to memory. She'd heard it mentioned a few times tonight and planned to hit the library to research it later.
Draco felt an odd mix of emotions. The old him would've bragged about reporting this to his father, demanding Dumbledore be held accountable, and showing off the Malfoy family's influence. But now? He couldn't muster the energy to care.
Professor McGonagall gathered the students together. Firenze and Ronan, two of the centaurs, joined them, circling Harry. Only Bane stayed by the unicorn, kneeling on his front hooves to check on it.
The unicorn, regaining some strength after lying still for a few minutes, propped itself up and moved away from the "smelly" centaur.
Melvin glanced at Harry, still clutching his forehead by the oak tree. Dumbledore's carefully groomed assistant was in place, and the "Chosen One's" introduction to the Dark Lord was just days away.
Amid the sound of hooves crunching snow, the unicorn slowly approached the young professor. It stared at him for a long moment, its gaze timid, before lowering its head—careful to avoid its horn—and nuzzled his sleeve.
Bane, watching from a distance, remained expressionless. So much for the "symbol of purity" nonsense about unicorns only approaching innocent girls. Just a story the elders told to fool young colts.
Melvin patted the unicorn's head a few times, then sensed something off about his magic. The winter forest was bitterly cold, and his exposed hands should've felt the biting wind. But he felt no chill—only a warm, gentle current flowing from the unicorn, faint but unmistakable.
It was a kind of magic he'd never encountered before, distinct from a wizard's magic.
A cast-iron cauldron bubbled with stewed bacon and radishes, while a nearby iron tray held steaming rock cakes.
At the edge of the Forbidden Forest, in the yard of Hagrid's hut, a roaring bonfire crackled. A group of students and professors sat on wooden stools around it. The professors discussed matters, while the Gryffindor first-years clutched bowls of hot soup, ears perked and eyes gleaming.
Staying at Hagrid's for midnight tea was a privilege they'd earned. Harry had even faked lingering pain to stay, while Ron, Neville, and Hermione stuck around to support their friend. Unlike the Slytherins, who'd obediently followed McGonagall back to the castle without a fight.
The young wizards sipped their soup in silence.
Hagrid and Fang munched on rock cakes.
"The centaur patrol's out in full force searching," Dumbledore said, holding a bowl of bacon soup. "Minerva's alerted the Ministry. By morning, Aurors will join the investigation. The unicorns will move deeper into the forest, and the intelligent creatures, like the Acromantulas, have promised to help. They won't be in danger again."
Melvin took a sip from his porcelain bowl, the savory radish soup warming him. The headmaster had arrived in the forest after being summoned—only he could negotiate with the centaur tribe's encampment, not even the gamekeeper could. The talks had been remarkably quick, taking less than ten minutes. Melvin suspected Dumbledore had been there all along, watching from the shadows—maybe even Snape, stuck brewing potions, was nearby.
"Will the unicorns come back?" Melvin asked, curious about their unique magic, which he still hadn't fully grasped.
"Of course," Dumbledore nodded. "Unicorns are sentimental creatures. This has been their home for centuries. They'll only relocate temporarily until the danger passes."
Harry thought for a moment and looked up. "Professor, can I ask when the danger will be over?"
"It won't be long."
"…"
Harry had more questions but didn't know where to start. He lowered his head, letting the steam from the soup warm his face. His head still throbbed faintly, but it didn't stop him from piecing together the night's events.
Before encountering the mysterious wizard, they'd heard strange noises. At first, Harry thought it was the wizard chasing the unicorn, but thinking back, the dark wizard had already been facing off with the unicorn when they arrived.
During a moment when his scar burned, Harry vaguely noticed the bushes shaking. He wasn't sure if it was a hallucination from the pain or if another wizard had been hiding there—someone guiding them.
Then there was Firenze, the centaur who escorted them out of the forest. He'd hinted that the fugitive hunting the unicorn for the Philosopher's Stone was the same wizard who'd murdered Harry's parents—Voldemort.
Nicolas Flamel from the Chocolate Frog card, the Philosopher's Stone in the fourth-floor corridor, Snape's attempt to harm him at Quidditch, the Mirror of Erised, and the Invisibility Cloak…
Harry felt like the pieces were starting to fit together, but he was missing a key thread to tie them all up.
The cauldron's meaty broth bubbled away. As they sat around the fire, Hermione glanced around Hagrid's hut. The layout was the same as always, but new things stood out: thick tomes by the bed, an iron panel in front of the fireplace.
Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland
Raising Dragons: From Egg to Inferno
"…"
It couldn't be what she was thinking, could it?
Hermione's lips pressed into a thin line.
It was midnight when they returned to the castle.
Melvin noticed the light still on in the Care of Magical Creatures professor's office. Hesitating briefly, worried he wouldn't sleep if he went to bed now, he knocked on Professor Kettleburn's door.
Though he'd taken Care of Magical Creatures as a student, there were no unicorns on Greylock's mountain. Textbook knowledge was enough for exams, but for deeper insights, he needed an expert.
The aging professor, plagued by insomnia and a good temper, didn't mind the late-night visit. Learning Melvin needed unicorn information, Kettleburn enthusiastically recommended books and even shared his own meticulously organized notes, urging Melvin to come back with any questions.
Melvin was deeply touched.
Back in his Muggle Studies office, he eagerly flipped through Kettleburn's notes. The first dozen pages were neatly written, the middle section messier—likely when Kettleburn lost his right hand and struggled with his left—before the writing grew tidy again.
"…"
With a sense of respect, Melvin read on.
Unicorns, considered pure creatures born from the sea's crashing waves, possessed unique magic: a potent life force laced with a tricky curse.
Their blood could sustain life but corrode the soul. Their hair was used in beauty potions, and their tail hairs made excellent wand cores—stable, powerful, fiercely loyal, and resistant to dark magic.
Ron's hand-me-down wand, with a unicorn hair core, was loyal to Charlie Weasley, not Ron, often misfiring.
In Hogwarts' Potions classes, students used "unicorn horn" powder for antidotes. This wasn't true unicorn horn but rather horn from a one-horned buffalo, commonly called unicorn horn and sold for 21 Galleons.
True unicorn horns had unique magic, suppressing various dark spells and countering creatures like Dementors and Thestrals.
In 1979, Newt Scamander received the Order of Merlin, Second Class, prompting the Wizengamot to pass new magical creature protection laws. These banned harming, poaching, or breeding unicorns. Most wizards, wary of the law and curses, steered clear.
Yet poachers persisted, injuring over 200 wizards annually. The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures classified unicorns as 4X—moderately dangerous, like banshees and Murtlaps.
By 2 a.m., Melvin felt no fatigue. Gripping his wand, he sensed his magic flowing smoothly, his body invigorated by a warm current.
The unicorn's gift—a faint but distinct magic—wasn't strong but had a unique quality. It subtly altered his own magic, causing indescribable changes in his body.
Kettleburn's notes had no record of such a phenomenon.
Melvin theorized it wasn't just the unicorn but also a gift from the Horned Serpent. When the noble beast showed gratitude, its emotion transformed into magic—distinct from a wizard's.
As the first to document this, Melvin named it "The Unicorn's Blessing."
Whoosh…
He closed the notes and began studying this magic.
Magic, a product of soul and body, varied in strength and quality. Strength was straightforward: adult wizards were stronger than children, senior Aurors stronger than average wizards, dueling masters stronger still. Growth and potential depended on talent.
Quality, shaped by experiences and emotions, made wizards better suited to certain spells. Voldemort's dark magic excelled at the Killing Curse, while Gryffindor's Mr. Finnegan was a natural with explosive spells.
Melvin tested various spells, focusing on the Patronus Charm, given the unicorn's purity.
But he was wrong.
The unicorn's magic aligned with dark magic.
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