In a small wooden cottage in Dorset, a voice called out.
"Newt, are you done?"
Hearing his wife's shout, Newt quickly replied, "All set, dear! I'll be in bed soon."
With a flick of his wand, Newt dried the water stains on his clothes in an instant. It was mating season for the Kelpies, and he had to keep a close eye on them to prevent those creatures from turning the water world upside down, which could affect the neighboring spaces.
"Mr. Newt!"
A familiar voice rang out, and at the same moment, Newt saw a faint golden figure appear right in front of him. Surprised that Luster hadn't knocked this time, Newt still managed a warm smile.
"Oh, Luster, did Lucien send you with another—"
But before he could finish, Luster interrupted urgently, "Mr. Newt, the unicorns in the Forbidden Forest…"
As Luster quickly explained the situation, they handed Newt a piece of parchment carried on a shimmering cloud. Realizing the gravity of the matter, Newt scanned the contents swiftly.
"Unicorn… about to give birth… severely injured…"
Newt muttered to himself.
With a light tap of his wand, a trench coat floated over and settled onto his shoulders. A plain brown leather suitcase flew into his hand. Instinctively, Newt prepared to Apparate toward the Forbidden Forest.
But Luster stepped forward, and in a flash, both their figures vanished from the spot.
A few minutes later, a yawning voice echoed through the cottage.
"Newt, once you're done with the Kelpies, come to bed early, alright?"
Getting no response, Tina rubbed her sleepy eyes and shuffled into the living room. She glanced around the empty room.
"Where'd he go?"
…
Deep in a cave in the Forbidden Forest, a flicker of green flames faintly lit the dark space.
"Quirrell" waved his wand expressionlessly, stopping the blood flow from his severed arm. Then, with another wave, he separated the silvery-white, viscous liquid clinging to his robes and mask, forming it into a blood-like orb hovering in midair.
The next second, Quirrell's face contorted in agony.
"Agh!"
A hoarse, pained scream tore from his throat. It wasn't just the pain of his broken limb—his very flesh felt drained, converted into magical energy, tormenting him. It was as if his soul itself had been kneaded and torn apart.
Slumped against the cave wall, Quirrell gasped heavily, struggling to catch his breath.
"Drink it," a cold, indifferent voice echoed in his mind.
At Voldemort's command, Quirrell gritted his teeth, staring at the silvery-white orb of blood floating before him. The thick, mercury-like liquid looked like poison.
Quirrell knew exactly what drinking unicorn blood meant. It could prolong his broken, fading life, but at a cost…
A cursed, half-dead existence.
His head throbbed, pain scattering his thoughts. He couldn't make sense of it. Why? Why had tonight gone so wrong?
This carefully planned scheme had completely fallen apart. He hadn't obtained the blood of the unicorn foal. And when that strange creature appeared out of nowhere, Voldemort had abruptly changed the plan, insisting on its blood instead.
And the result?
Quirrell had sacrificed his own flesh, pushing his already fading life to the brink of collapse, and for what? The magic gained hadn't even achieved their goal. They didn't get the creature's blood either. Even if they had, the searing pain from merely touching it suggested it couldn't be used to restore Voldemort's strength.
Now, all they had was the blood of the male unicorn, and Quirrell would still have to bear the curse. He'd lost an arm, and his life was truly hanging by a thread.
"If you don't drink, you'll die tonight," Voldemort's voice said, still cold and detached, as if Quirrell's life meant nothing. At worst, Voldemort would simply find another body, another plan.
On the path to immortality, Voldemort had gone too far to care. With so many Horcruxes, who could truly kill him? Whether Quirrell succeeded or failed, Voldemort could wait.
But Quirrell couldn't.
He could drink the unicorn blood and cling to his broken life, or let it end in some nameless cave in the Forbidden Forest.
As Quirrell hesitated, lost in thought, the green flames flickered out.
After what felt like an eternity, a faint sound echoed in the cave.
Gulp…
…
Inside a shield of crimson-gold flames, Lucien's brow furrowed tightly. He extended his wand, sending out a dozen delicate threads of magic to probe Seleneia and her foal's injuries. He worked to stitch their wounds, using the vitality of Qilin saliva to speed up the healing process.
Nearby, Asterion paced restlessly. His injuries were relatively minor—a slit throat and heavy blood loss—but free of dark magic curses or potion toxins. Thanks to the Qilin saliva, he'd already regained his ability to move.
Asterion lowered his head, gently nudging his mate's horn, letting out a hoarse, mournful whinny.
Lucien wiped the sweat from his forehead. "The key is the potion. This compound toxin is too hard to cleanse…"
"And the foal—beyond the physical damage, there's something wrong with its magical pathways. How could this happen?"
"Qilin blood has far more vitality than Qilin saliva, but it doesn't seem to help with repairing magical pathways."
As Lucien treated the unicorn, he suddenly sensed something and looked up. The faint outline of a Qilin appeared, and beside it stood a tall, lanky man with curly hair, wearing a trench coat.
Seeing an unfamiliar human, Asterion instinctively raised his head, his horn glowing faintly in a defensive reflex.
"Asterion!" Lucien called out softly, stopping the unicorn. At the same time, Luster explained to Asterion that this man was here to help.
Asterion quickly dimmed the silver light on his horn and dipped his head respectfully toward Newt.
Newt didn't waste time talking to Lucien. He crouched beside Seleneia, transforming his wand into a horn-shaped device, one end large, the other small. He pressed the large end to Seleneia's abdomen and the small end to his ear.
After listening for a moment, Newt spoke urgently, "The foal is full-term. It might even be due today. But the mother's condition is too poor—she can't deliver naturally."
Pointing to a deep wound on Seleneia's abdomen, he added, "The foal's in even worse shape. We can't delay. We need to perform a cesarean here."
"Treat the mother and foal separately!"
Lucien nodded. "What do you need me to do?"
Newt swiftly opened his suitcase, and a workbench flew out, followed by various bottles, jars, and potion-making tools. As he poured liquids and powders—some applied to Seleneia's abdomen, others fed to her—he said without looking up, "I need you to help me brew a few extra potions. The steps are…"
Lucien memorized Newt's instructions and quickly began preparing the potion ingredients on the workbench.
"Mr. Newt, the foal's magical pathways are damaged too. There's a clear break," Lucien said.
At that, Newt's hands froze for a moment.
"That…"
"I've never seen anything like a broken magical pathway before."
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