"Blinding?"
Hagrid and Harry both looked up. Through the dark canopy, Mars burned bright and red above them.
"It is shining powerful bright," Hagrid muttered, then turned back to Ronan. "Have you seen anything strange? A unicorn's been hurt. Do you know anything about it?"
The centaur did not answer directly.
"Mars burns fiercely tonight," he repeated.
Hagrid sighed and nudged Harry.
"See? That's centaurs for you. Never a straight answer. Always staring at the stars and talking about omens. As if everything's written up there."
Harry said nothing. There was something unsettling about Ronan's refusal.
"They've got good hearts, though," Hagrid added. "They love this forest. If there's danger, they'll know."
Receiving no more from the centaur, they moved on.
"Sometimes they remind me of Professor Dumbledore," Harry said quietly. "Always meaning more than they say… or less than they should."
"Yeah," Hagrid agreed, studying the ground. "Look here — the blood's thicker. Poor creature must be weakening."
Soon the path split in two, both trails marked with silvery stains glinting in the lantern light.
"We should split up," Harry said firmly. "If we're quick, we might still save it."
Hagrid hesitated.
"Don't like you going alone."
"I'll send up red sparks if I'm in trouble."
After a moment, Hagrid nodded.
"Take Fang. He's a coward, but he's got a good nose."
Harry glanced at the large, trembling dog and gave a short nod.
"All right."
Hagrid disappeared down the right-hand path. Harry took the left.
The forest grew thicker as he advanced. The trees pressed close, their branches clawing at the darkness. The unicorn blood appeared in heavier splashes now, pooling beneath twisted roots.
Fang whimpered, tugging at Harry's robes.
"Quiet," Harry whispered.
Ahead, through tangled oak branches, he saw a clearing.
The unicorn lay there.
Its white coat shimmered faintly in the darkness, stained with silver. Its flank was torn, and luminous blood seeped steadily from the wound.
Harry took a step forward — and froze.
A rustling sound.
From the bushes emerged a hooded figure. It moved unnaturally, almost gliding along the ground like a living shadow.
The figure reached the unicorn, knelt beside the wound, and lowered its head.
It began to drink.
The unicorn let out a weak, anguished cry.
At once, a searing pain tore through Harry's forehead. His scar burned as though branded with fire.
He staggered but forced himself to raise his wand.
"Stupefy!"
The red jet struck the figure, hurling it backward into the darkness.
The unicorn stirred weakly.
Harry stepped forward cautiously, wand raised.
The pain in his scar intensified.
Then the figure rose again.
It emerged slowly from the shadows, hood concealing its face. Its presence was suffocating — cold and malignant.
As it moved toward him, Harry's scar flared with unbearable agony. His knees nearly buckled.
And then he heard it.
"Run!"
A woman's voice — faint, distant, as if carried from another time.
Harry gritted his teeth. One hand clutched his burning scar; with the other he aimed his wand.
The hooded figure advanced.
Driven by pain, fear — and something darker rising within him — Harry shouted:
"Crucio!"
/------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------/
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