Chapter 59
It was the centaurs from the Forbidden Forest: Firenze, Ronan, and Bane.
Firenze gazed at the unicorn with his sapphire-blue eyes, a smile spreading across his face.
"Thank you for saving her, Gray," Firenze said softly, bending one knee in a respectful bow to Gray.
Beside him, the other two centaurs followed suit with the same gesture.
Centaurs revered nature and the stars, and unicorns—as embodiments of lunar phases and pure spirits of the wild—naturally commanded their deepest respect.
Gray looked at the centaurs and immediately recalled Firenze's prophecy from their last encounter.
Sure enough, here they were again, and he had already found the unicorn—and through her, saved the injured creature.
It all felt so predestined.
How utterly irritating prophecies could be.
Gray felt a twinge of annoyance, but there was nothing to be done. Prophecies were woven deeply into the fabric of this world; the entire story of Harry Potter rested upon one.
"It was the right thing to do," Gray replied. Three points of light appeared before the trio as he regarded Firenze thoughtfully for a moment.
"Are you going to take her away for healing?" he asked.
"That depends on the unicorn's wishes," Firenze answered. He stepped closer to the unicorn and reached out to touch her wound.
If one ignored his human upper body, his pale, almost platinum equine form bore a striking resemblance to the unicorn—perhaps some ancient kinship lingered in their blood.
But the unicorn was having none of it. She danced lightly on her hooves, sidestepping his hand, and slipped behind Gray.
"It seems she is unwilling," Firenze observed, his expression unchanged, still calm and smiling.
He turned to Gray. "We leave the unicorn in your care, then. Any herbs she may need, I shall send through Hagrid."
Hold on—you're giving me another job? I'm just a first-year wizard, not some member of the Society for the Protection of Magical Creatures, nor your official centaur liaison.
Gray blinked, stunned. He hadn't even settled accounts with the centaurs over the earlier unicorn business or collected any reward, and now another quest? Was this some sort of endless chain?
Yet at that moment the unicorn behind him lowered her head, stretching forward from his shoulder to nuzzle his cheek gently. Her ink-black eyes reflected his face perfectly.
Gray sighed inwardly, reached up, and stroked her head. Then he nodded to Firenze.
No helping it—cute animals were his weakness, whether it was Norma or this unicorn.
Suddenly Bane tensed, snatching the bow from his back and nocking an arrow. He aimed it toward the shadows ahead.
"Centaur," came a voice, flat and utterly contemptuous.
But Gray and Malfoy recognized it instantly. That distinctive drawl belonged to only one person in all of Hogwarts.
Snape.
Snape stepped from the darkness, clad as always in his unchanging black robes, the wide cloak billowing around him like bat wings as he moved.
He fixed Bane with those coal-black, utterly cold eyes and gave a mocking sneer.
"I was not aware centaurs lacked intelligence."
Bane bristled with anger, but Firenze reached out a restraining hand.
"Professor Snape," Firenze asked politely, "have you come to protect these students?"
"I merely noticed a fire in this direction," Snape replied. His gaze swept the clearing. The flames Gray had summoned earlier had been doused by the sudden downpour that vanished just as quickly, leaving only blackened earth and the acrid scent of charred wood.
"Considerable magical power, yet employed in a very crude manner. It is clear you take pleasure in expending it so lavishly," Snape remarked, his tone dry.
Gray scratched his head. Pleasure? Well, yes—it had felt rather exhilarating, that rush of overwhelming force surging through him all at once, making him feel almost invincible.
But clearly, such a wasteful style only worked against peers. Against full-grown adult wizards, it was far less effective.
"Is Hagrid all right?" Gray asked.
"Perfectly safe, I'm afraid," Snape said. "A pity. I had hoped to witness Potter dissolving into terrified sobs."
Gray gave him a puzzled glance.
He hadn't even asked about Harry—why did Snape volunteer the information? No wonder no other professors had appeared immediately to help; Snape had apparently dashed off to check on Potter first.
"Professor, can—can we leave now?" Malfoy asked in a trembling voice.
He couldn't bear another second in this place. It was cold, terrifying—he longed desperately for the Slytherin common room. True, it was chilly and gloomy there too, but infinitely safer.
Snape turned his icy gaze on Malfoy, making the boy tremble even harder, then looked back at Gray and gave a curt nod.
"Follow me."
The command brooked no argument. Without another glance at the centaurs, Snape turned and strode away.
Malfoy hurried after him. Gray gave Firenze a respectful nod, then followed, the unicorn trotting at his heels and Fang bringing up the rear.
Firenze watched them go, then lifted his eyes to the stars.
"The constellations have guided fate's arrival. By following the unicorn's scent, you will find the one who drinks from her, won't you, Ronan?"
"Yes," Ronan replied. He scented the air, caught the lingering trail from the direction Gray and the unicorn had come, and broke into a run. His reddish coat streamed behind him like living flame.
Firenze and Bane followed, platinum light and dark shadow flashing through the trees until they vanished.
Gray trailed Snape without further incident. Soon the group—plus one unicorn and one boarhound—emerged from the Forbidden Forest. Hagrid, Harry, and Hermione were waiting just outside.
And, as expected, one more person.
Dumbledore.
Headmaster of Hogwarts, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Order of Merlin, First Class—the titles went on and on. He was a living legend.
Now he stood smiling benignly at the returning party, his half-moon spectacles glinting as his bright blue eyes lingered especially on Snape and Gray.
"It appears you have carried out your task splendidly—protecting an injured magical creature and bringing her safely out of the forest," Dumbledore said cheerfully.
He looked every inch the kindly old grandfather—save for that crooked nose—indistinguishable from any other elderly gentleman.
And as always, Gray activated his magical sight. Just like every previous time, he saw nothing: no magical aura, no circuits of power, not even the ordinary life-lines one might expect in a frail old man. Dumbledore appeared utterly mundane.
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