One night, Harry's sleep fractured again—but this time it wasn't images that dragged him under.
It was the voices.
He stood in a place with no shape or colour, the air thick and cold, the words pressing straight into his skull.
"Master…" a voice whispered—thin, nervous, familiar. "I don't think it's wise. Drinking unicorn blood—it curses the body. I'll be—"
"A price I am willing to pay," came the second voice. Cold. Flat. Commanding. It cut through the fear like a blade.
"Your body is already failing me. Weak. Temporary. You will not carry me for much longer at this rate."
"But—the curse—"
"Enough." The word snapped like a lash.
"Once I have what I need, the curse will be irrelevant. When I have a body again, all such inconveniences will be dealt with."
There was a pause. Harry felt it—hesitation, dread.
Then the voice spoke again, softer now. Almost coaxing.
"Tomorrow night. The Forbidden Forest. You will do as I say."
The darkness pulsed.
Harry jolted awake, gasping, his scar burning faintly. The dormitory was silent, moonlight spilling across the stone floor.
Forbidden Forest.
Unicorn blood.
Tomorrow night.
The next day, curled into one of the armchairs in the Gryffindor common room, Harry told them everything—every word, every voice, every chill that had followed him even after he woke up.
"Unicorn blood?" Hermione repeated, eyes wide. "Are you sure that's what you heard?"
"Yes," Harry said. "Clear as anything. Is there… something special about it?"
Hermione hesitated, as though weighing whether to say it at all.
"Unicorn blood can keep someone alive," she said at last, her voice careful, "but the price is dreadful. It's one of the oldest forms of dark magic."
She drew in a quiet breath.
"Whoever drinks it survives, yes—but they're cursed for it. Their life is never whole again. It's half a life. A broken one. And they can't go on without the blood afterward."
Ron swallowed. "That's… nasty."
Hermione nodded. "It's meant to be a last resort. Only someone who values survival over everything would ever use it."
Harry felt a cold twist in his stomach.
"In my dream… the other voice didn't care at all," he said quietly. "It said the curse wouldn't matter once it had a body again."
The fire crackled. None of them spoke for a moment.
Hermione was the first to break the silence. "If it's the Forbidden Forest," she said slowly, thinking it through, "and if it's happening today… then it has to be someone from Hogwarts."
Ron frowned. "Alright… but what does that have to do with us?"
"It means something bad is about to happen," Hermione replied firmly. "And if we ignore it and someone gets hurt—" She shook her head. "We can't just sit here."
Harry nodded. The unease in his chest hadn't gone away since he'd woken up. "What if we talk to Hagrid?" he said. "He knows the forest better than anyone. If something strange is going on out there, he'd notice."
Ron considered it, then shrugged. "Yeah. And even if he doesn't believe us, at least it won't be just in our heads anymore."
Hermione hesitated for half a second—then nodded. "Alright. Hagrid it is."
Kids were like that. Once something lodged itself in their minds, they couldn't stay calm until they either understood it—or told someone about it.
This trio were no different. They knew sneaking around, especially near the Forbidden Forest, was against school rules. They knew they'd get into trouble if caught.
But knowing and caring were two very different things.
If someone told a child don't touch, that was usually the first thing they'd do. And Harry, Ron, and Hermione were already halfway down that familiar path—rules forgotten, curiosity firmly in charge.
***
So the trio sneaked out of the castle and made their way down to Hagrid's hut, which sat close to the edge of the Forbidden Forest. The trees loomed behind it, branches creaking softly in the night wind.
Harry raised his hand and knocked.
After a moment, the door creaked open and Hagrid peered down at them, his brow furrowing beneath his wild hair.
"You three aren't supposed ter be out 'ere," he said at once.
Harry nodded. "We know. But—we have something important to talk about."
Hagrid studied their faces for a second longer. Whatever he saw there—worry, urgency, or plain stubborn Gryffindor determination—made him sigh.
"Well… come on then," he muttered, stepping aside. "Best get in quick, 'fore someone sees yeh."
They settled onto the mismatched chairs inside the hut, the fire crackling softly as Fang thumped his tail in greeting. Hagrid poured them each a mug of something hot, then paused, squinting at them.
"Hang on," he said slowly. "Where's that Malfoy kid?. You lot're usually inseparable these days."
Harry exchanged a quick look with Ron.
"He—uh—he's asleep," Harry said.
It wasn't exactly a lie. Victor was in a different dormitory, and trying to drag him out at night—without even knowing which room he was in—sounded like far more trouble than it was worth.
Hagrid grunted, unconvinced but letting it go.
"Well, you three should be asleep too," he said, peering down at them. "So why're you comin' ter see me in the middle o' the night?"
Harry hesitated, then asked quietly, "Hagrid… does the Forbidden Forest have unicorns?"
Hagrid's brows shot up so far they nearly disappeared into his hair.
"Unicorns?" he repeated. "Course the Forbidden Forest's got unicorns. Finest place fer 'em, too. They're rare, pure, gentle creatures—won't go near just anyone."
"What… what happens," Harry asked quietly, "if someone kills one and drinks its blood?"
The hut seemed to go a little quieter.
Hagrid's face hardened, the warmth fading from his eyes. "That's dark magic, that is," he said slowly. "Killin' a unicorn's one o' the worst things you can do. Their blood keeps yeh alive, sure—but only at a terrible price."
Hermione leaned forward. "A curse!"
"Aye," Hagrid nodded grimly. "A half-life. You live on, but never properly. Never whole again."
Ron shifted uneasily. "So… someone would only do that if they were desperate."
Hagrid squinted at them, concern settling deep into his face.
"Why'd you even ask somethin' like that?" he said slowly. "That's not the sort o' thing eleven-year-olds should be worryin' about."
Before Harry could answer, a faint tap… tap came from the iron bucket hanging over the fire.
Hagrid froze.
"…Ah," he said softly. "Reckon that's my cue."
He pulled on his thick gloves and reached straight into the bucket, lifting out a large, rough, brown egg and setting it carefully on the table. Heat shimmered faintly around it.
The three of them leaned in at once.
Hermione's eyes widened. "Hagrid—what is that?"
"Well now," Hagrid said, sounding suddenly cautious, "that's—"
Crack.
A thin line split across the shell.
All three of them sucked in a breath as the egg trembled on the tabletop, the crack slowly spreading.