"I see," Hermione nodded in sudden understanding.
While the two of them talked, Harry and the others were already being handed over to Hagrid by Filch.
Once inside the Forbidden Forest, Hagrid sternly reminded them: someone had been poaching unicorns recently, and they must stay alert. Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he suggested they split into two groups.
Draco, pale with fear, immediately chose to go with Hagrid's boarhound, Fang.
Little did he know—though Fang looked big and intimidating, he was actually as timid as a lamb.
Arthur watched Hagrid lead Ron down one path, while Harry and Draco, lanterns in hand, trudged nervously down another with Fang. He couldn't help wondering—was Hagrid truly that careless, or did he think his "friendship" with the forest creatures gave him an unshakable safety net?
After all, he'd just warned them about a unicorn poacher, and yet he let Harry and Draco wander off on their own.
Harry and Draco crept forward like snails, lantern light quivering.
Meanwhile Arthur and Hermione strolled ahead of them at ease.
Arthur had Hermione tucked under his arm, the two of them practically treating the Forbidden Forest like their own private garden path.
"So boring—it's pitch black and gloomy," Hermione muttered, wrinkling her nose.
"All forests at night are like this," Arthur replied, unfazed.
"Cousin… don't tell me you've already been in here a lot?" Hermione asked curiously. She knew perfectly well what a hopeless directionless mess he usually was. Unless he walked the same route ten times over, he could never remember it.
"Heh, sometimes I bring Ainsel out for walks," Arthur said casually.
In truth, he'd been combing through the forest for resources, transplanting anything useful into his Zen Garden.
Before long, they reached a clearing where moonlight streamed through gaps in the canopy, fireflies dancing lazily over the grass. The air was serene, almost dreamlike.
"Wow! This place is beautiful," Hermione gasped.
"Indeed," Arthur said softly, "but the prettier a place is, the deadlier it tends to be."
"What do you mean?"
"Look there."
He pointed to a patch of glowing silver liquid on the ground.
Hermione's eyes widened. "Is that… unicorn blood?"
"Exactly. Looks like we're in luck—we've stumbled right onto the poacher's trail. Shall we follow it?"
"Will it be dangerous?" Hermione asked, worried she'd drag him down.
"No worries. This'll be your first time seeing me fight, right? Watch closely—I'll show you what I can do." Arthur's grin was confident. Quirrell and his little hitchhiker Voldemort? Hardly worth mentioning.
They tracked the silver trail until they reached another clearing.
There, crouched over a fallen unicorn foal, was a cloaked figure. The creature's white body barely stirred, breaths shallow, while the black shadow noisily drank its blood.
"Cousin, can we save it?" Hermione whispered, her heart aching at the sight.
"Of course."
Arthur didn't even bother drawing his wand. With a flick of his hand—
"Ancient Death Ghostflame!"
A cloud of wailing spirits surged forth, slamming into the poacher from behind.
"AAAH!"
The figure shrieked—two voices crying out at once.
"Damn it! Who dares? I'll kill you!" Quirrell roared, about to turn.
But in his head, his master's voice thundered:
Fool! Run! Can you not sense the horror of this spell?
Voldemort was shaken. He had thought his ghostly state meant only Quirrell would suffer injuries. But this sorcery struck at souls. With his fractured spirit, the agony was unbearable.
Even Quirrell, feeling that searing torment, shivered in terror. He dissolved into black mist, fleeing into the forest.
Too awful. The pain had been worse than the Cruciatus Curse. If not for the stolen unicorn vitality raging inside him, he might've perished right there.
"That's it?" Arthur muttered in disdain. He had hoped for a decent fight against Voldemort. Instead, the so-called Dark Lord had fled at the first blow.
Little did he know, Voldemort himself was shaken to the core. He, who had witnessed every kind of dark magic imaginable, had just been ambushed by something utterly alien—an unknown spell that burned his soul itself. He couldn't risk another second.
"Cousin, quick! It's dying!" Hermione had rushed to the unicorn foal, tears in her eyes.
"Don't worry—it'll live."
Arthur lifted the foal gently and pulled out the key to the Zen Garden. He opened the gateway, stepped inside, and vanished with Hermione right on his heels. The doorway dissolved, leaving only a bloodstained clearing.
Moments later, Harry, Draco, and Fang stumbled in.
"What happened?" Harry gasped.
"I dunno. It was already like this when we got here,".
Looking at the blood on the ground, Hagrid's face twisted in sorrow. "Ah, poor creature… the damn poachers didn't even leave a body this time."
"Who's there?!"
The undergrowth rustled, and a tall centaur strode out.
"Hagrid, it's you. What happened here?" asked Firenze.
"Poachers again," Hagrid muttered darkly. "Another unicorn's been slain."
Another centaur burst from the trees, eyes blazing.
"Cursed human brats! You brought this evil here!" he bellowed, raising a crossbow at Harry.
Arthur would've blasted him with another Ancient Death Wraith on the spot, had he been present.
"Bane, calm yourself!" Firenze shoved him aside. "The stars say they are not to blame." Turning to Hagrid, he warned, "Get them out of here. The forest is dangerous tonight."
"Aye. I'll report this to Dumbledore." Hagrid herded the children back toward the castle.
Meanwhile, inside the Zen Garden.
"Wow! This is incredible. How did you do this? Is it some kind of innate magic?" Hermione gasped, eyes wide at the golden Erdtree towering in the center, the orderly rows of rare herbs, every plant from the forest replicated here.
"Found it in the Room of Requirement—just have to ask for a place to hide things," Arthur said casually, tossing off a half-truth. "Now, let me heal her."
He waved a hand, and black smoke rose from the unicorn's wound—the lingering curse that Quirrell had laid upon it, halting its natural recovery. Normally, curing this would've taken a barrage of potions. But here, in the garden where Arthur ruled as god, a thought was enough to dispel the corruption.
Then he poured a crimson elixir into the foal's mouth—a life-restoring draught he had devised by studying the Philosopher's Stone. It couldn't regrow limbs, but healing flesh wounds was child's play.
The foal's breathing steadied, then slowed into a peaceful sleep.
"Is it healed?" Hermione asked softly.
"It'll be fine now. The rest depends on its own strength."
"She?" Hermione blinked.
"Yes. It's a little girl."
Hermione's face went scarlet. Whatever thought flashed through her mind, she turned and bolted toward the lake, shouting over her shoulder, "You're horrible, Cousin!"
Arthur froze. Wait—what? That's where your mind went?
With the unicorn safe, he wasn't in a rush to leave. He and Hermione wandered the garden together, the little witch quickly deciding this was much more fun than the Forbidden Forest.
One more discovery: as the Zen Garden grew, Arthur found he could adjust the flow of time—and even do it selectively.
He set aside a corner just for the unicorn foal. That way, when he returned, she wouldn't have aged into a full-grown mare overnight.
To read 30+ future chapters, head over to Patreon:
patreon.com/WhiteDevil7554