Chapter 49
These centaurs really are something else, Harry thought. How have other races not wiped them out yet with that sort of behaviour?
Gabin couldn't help but grumble inwardly. The way centaurs spoke in riddles and never gave a straight answer was incredibly frustrating.
And if the stars were going to tell them he'd find Voldemort the next time they met, why couldn't they just tell him where Voldemort was right now and save him the trouble of searching the Forbidden Forest?
Gabin sighed and shook his head. Accepting this task in the first place had clearly been a mistake.
"Bloody centaurs!" Hagrid growled through clenched teeth, but there was nothing he could do. The centaurs weren't under Hogwarts' authority. Though the Forbidden Forest was technically school property, the centaurs were a sovereign people.
No one had any real influence over them. Hagrid had hoped Gabin might have built a slightly better rapport with them, but clearly that hadn't helped either.
Gabin didn't feel any particular fondness for centaurs anymore—nothing like hatred, just the mild desire to throttle anyone who spoke in nothing but cryptic nonsense.
Hagrid gave up any hope of catching the killer tonight. There was no point taking Gabin to the centaur camp now either. The two of them turned their attention to the unicorn's body.
Gabin looked down at it and opened his magical sight.
The unicorn's corpse was beautiful, and so were the magical circuits still lingering within it—shimmering silver threads, like strands of moonlight woven into a delicate veil.
When magical creatures died, part of their magical pathways usually remained as valuable materials, while the rest shattered and dispersed into pure ambient magic.
Right now Gabin could see silver light rising gently from the body. Countless motes of light drifted upward like fireflies, scattering into the night and vanishing.
It was breathtakingly lovely—and paid for with death.
Then, abruptly, one of the circuits snapped and burst. The drifting motes exploded outward like shooting stars, and a wave of silver light surged in all directions, rippling through the air like water.
Gabin rubbed his eyes. For a moment the burst had blinded his magical vision, leaving everything blurred and interfered with.
"You all right, Gabin?" Hagrid asked, concerned.
Gabin shook his head and looked again. The disturbance had faded; the circuits were clear once more.
He filed the strange moment away in his memory and helped Hagrid tend to the body.
Out of respect for such a pure creature, Hagrid took only a few hairs from the tail—useful for wand cores—and the horn, which he removed with careful magic. Nothing else. Then he used his wand to dig a deep grave in the soft earth and gently laid the unicorn to rest.
He and Gabin stood quietly for a moment in a small, private mourning, wishing the creature's spirit safe return to the embrace of the forest's ancient guardian.
Finally Hagrid cast a few spells to erase every trace of the grave and the scene, making sure no one would find and disturb the body.
That was enough patrol for one night. They started back toward the castle. Gabin was ready for bed; Hagrid intended to report everything to Dumbledore at once.
The death of a unicorn was no small thing. Such a pure creature's murder almost always signalled the presence of something dark—a dark wizard in the Forest, most likely. Dumbledore needed to know as soon as possible so he could prepare.
Harry and Hermione stared in horror as Filch and Malfoy stepped out of the shadows in front of them.
Things could not possibly have gone worse.
They had left the Invisibility Cloak up on the Astronomy Tower.
And they had been caught coming down—by Filch, of all people.
With Malfoy right beside him.
There was no worse combination imaginable.
"Well, well, well," Filch crooned in his oily, gleeful voice. "What have we here? Two little night-prowling rats. Ah-ha! If it isn't the famous Harry Potter himself. Out saving the world after curfew, are we? And this must be the know-it-all first-year. Don't tell me you were sneaking to the library to study at this hour."
His face was alight with malicious delight.
All these young witches and wizards thought they were so clever with their little spells, never taking him seriously, sneaking around at night. Well, now he'd show them. He'd make sure they learned exactly what Filch was capable of—even without a wand, he could make their lives miserable.
Beside him, Malfoy's face was frozen in open shock.
"How—how is it you, Granger? Where's Weasley!" he demanded, voice trembling slightly.
Earlier that day he'd lingered outside the hospital wing and overheard Weasley muttering something about "…tonight… sending off Norma…" followed by Potter saying "And me." It was obvious: the two of them were planning to sneak out tonight to get rid of that dragon—maybe they were tired of it, maybe they couldn't handle it anymore. It didn't matter.
What mattered was that Potter and Weasley would be out of bounds on Friday night.
Perfect. He'd make sure Filch caught them red-handed. They'd be punished severely—Gryffindor would lose massive amounts of house points, and they'd be humiliated in front of the whole school.
But he hadn't counted on Granger being the one with Potter.
If Gabin ever found out… Malfoy didn't even want to imagine it. He had no desire to experience any more of Gabin's inventions—or any new ones.
"Ron's in the hospital wing," Harry said, staring at Malfoy with such fury that if looks could burn, Malfoy would have been ash.
"That idiot only got bitten by a dog! How pathetic can you get?" Malfoy sneered, mocking Weasley's supposed weakness.
To make tonight work, he'd double-checked everything. He'd confirmed with Gabin that Gabin himself would be in the Forbidden Forest tonight. He'd asked Madam Pomfrey exactly why Weasley was hospitalised. She'd told him it was just a dog bite—nothing serious, easily fixed with a spell.
Malfoy had made sure: tonight it would definitely be Weasley and Potter sneaking around, not Gabin, and certainly not Granger. Only then had he gone to Filch with his tip-off.
Harry and Hermione looked at him like he was the stupidest person alive.
He'd actually believed Madam Pomfrey's explanation.
"Enough chatter," Filch snapped, cutting them off. "Come with me. I reckon Professor McGonagall will be delighted to see you at this hour—especially you, Miss Know-It-All. I bet she'll be very surprised indeed."
His smile was cold and vicious.
Hermione's face went pale.
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