Astræa – Chapter Two
2.
He had to see her again, of course. He had strayed once or twice to the grove, telling himself he was not really disobeying the school rules, that the edge of the Forbidden Forest was not really the forest itself. The silver birches had lost their foliage by now, their gothic traceries making them like white columns surrounding an empty cloister. She was not there. The soft morning air drove white veils of mist over the soft mosaic of faded leaves that hushed his steps and emphasised the silence and loneliness of the grove. She was not there — and yet her absence was not merely negative, not a simple absence of meaning. She spoke to him by refusing to speak. She would not come to him; nor would she let him come to her. He knew, then, that no kind of falsity could stain their friendship.
To go within the bounds of the Forest unbidden required the permission of two professors. The first was easy.
'I say, Professor Sprout? May I — ?'
'Yes, yes, yes, of course, Diggory. Ah, there you are, you rascal,' she remarked to the Invisible Fernhopper, which her wand had just turned grey-green and gold. 'Of course you may. Certainly you may. You know, Muggles don't even realise these pests exist. Fern seed, you know, renders objects invisible, and these little fellows stuff themselves with it. You'd suppose even Muggles would figure out they exist when they can't find any fern seed, but I believe they've trumped up a story about wind-blown spoons or some such nonsense. To see a uni– ? Ah, there's another one. Very good, Diggory,' she said, scribbling, 'Don't forget to check for some St. John's Wort when you reach the — Oh, no, you don't, you little…!'
The second was more problematic. Professor McGonagall? Too much of a stickler for rules. Flitwick? Certain to ask far too many questions. Snape? No fear! Quirrell? Cedric grinned — even to mention the Forbidden Forest to the Dark Arts master would probably cause a seizure. Professor Dumbledore, of course, trumped everyone, but he was rather too big a bug for a question like this — and besides, if he said no, there would be no chance to appeal to anyone else.
Why, of course, the very man!
'Well, Diggory, what is it?' Professor Kettleburn, plainly in no very amiable mood, scarcely glanced up from his examination papers, goring their tales of cock-and-bull with a red-stained quill, like an academic picador.
'Please, sir — I wonder if I might have permission to enter the Forbidden Forest — just the edge, sir. Professor Sprout has already given hers.'
'My young friend, even a modern Hogwarts education should left you aware of the meaning of the words "Forbidden Forest." Were I to grant permission to enter it, we should have to alter the name to the "Somewhat Discouraged Forest' or the 'Not Really Recommended Forest,' should we not? I hardly consider it a gain in euphony.'
'Please, sir — it's to see a Unicorn.'
Professor Kettleburn drew in his breath with a hiss. The red stump that had been his thumb snapped the nib off his quill. Cedric stood stock-still, gazing into the Professor's filmy eyes. A big wet drop formed in each, stood trembling, and slowly rolled down his scarred cheeks like the drops of a waxen candle.
'You have — you have seen — '
'Yes, sir,' said Cedric, quietly. 'And you have, too, I reckon. So you know that I have to see more.'
Silently, Kettleburn drew out a clean piece of parchment, cut himself a new nib and sharpened it, and wrote out, in an elegant, chaste hand, permission 'to Mr Cedric Diggory to enter the Forbidden Forest for the purpose of deepening his knowledge.'
'Thank you, sir. You know how much these means.'
'There are just two things, Diggory. When I was a young man, there used to be a scrap of Muggle poetry that became rather well–known. It went something like
When I was one–and–twenty,
I heard a Wizard say,
Give Galleons, Knuts, and Sickles,
But not your heart away.
That, like all Muggle advice, is completely useless. Hearts are not given, but taken; and yours has been. Be warned: it may bring you grief unspeakable — but also such inexpressible joy as makes grief itself glorious. That is the first thing.
'The second is that you must go secretly, and tell no-one where you have been or what you have been doing. Wear a cloak, preferably with a hood to hide your face; let no-one follow you. No evil must come to her through you. Only the vilest of beings will ever consciously hurt a unicorn. If ever you do so, you will have ceased to deserve the rights of a human being, and I should crush you as I would a deadly serpent. That is all, Diggory. Now, go — and give your friend my love.'
'I…' Cedric gulped, 'I will, sir.' He made an irresolute turn toward the door, then flung suddenly back and pressed the broken old man to his heart with a force that only the chest and arms of a young badger in love could generate. A moment later, the vaulted hall carried back the echo of a rough light baritone raised in some baroque, exultant anthem about 'fresh woods and pastures new.'
Professor Kettleburn returned to a meticulous scoring of examination papers, every one of which, remarkably, attained to the highest level of academic achievement in his entire history of teaching at Hogwarts.
