Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling.

Chapter 37

Harry was deep in the Forbidden Forest. It was a small clearing with a waterhole in the middle, little more than a puddle. A gentle rain was falling. Harry counted it an advantage. It meant that no-one else was likely to be out of the castle. He didn't think that anyone came into the forest much, not even Professor Ironside, the big woman who taught Care of Magical Creatures. It was the furthest in he had ever been.

He wandered around the clearing, deciding what he wanted to do. There should be a much deeper hole, he thought. And those boulders - could he move them close and then model them into something that looked like sculptures? Digging out a pit - that would take some power, while carving a stone would take precision. Grinning, he set to work, using Dumbledore's old wand. It was so much more powerful than his own, and seemed to lend itself to more precision as well.

He was weary by the time he slipped back into the castle; and sweaty and grubby in spite of the cleaning and drying charms. And he was very satisfied. What had been a puddle was now a deep hole with the dirt hardened into something like concrete. It only needed some good rain to fill it. There was the Arguamenti charm, but that was slow. If there were not potential dangers out there, he would even be able to warm the water and have his own private swimming hole.

He wondered again how dangerous it really was. After two weeks of regular ventures into the forest, he had still not seen anything dangerous, though he'd had to run from an angry horde of wasps once after he'd accidentally slashed through their nest. There were insects, and he sometimes heard frogs, but aside from that, he hadn't seen any wildlife at all except for birds, and even they were few. He assumed that most had flown south for the winter. He hadn't seen any centaurs and he hadn't seen any unicorns.

It was the solitude he enjoyed as much as the pleasure of stretching his power. Until now, he hadn't quite realised how seldom he was truly alone. It was why he had not offered to share his excursions with anyone else, not even Charlie. He felt as if he had a delightful secret, a whole world that he wasn't planning on sharing. And he had a good excuse for not sharing. With Hagrid not yet replaced, the students had been reminded that the Forbidden Forest was strictly out of bounds, one announcement by Headmaster Pucey, another by McGonagall. There was never any reason given, just the vague excuse that it was too dangerous. And yet, except for those angry wasps, perfectly ordinary wasps, not magical in any way, he had not seen anything at all dangerous. He was still cautious, but it was habit.

xxx

A long way away, Hagrid inspected the crate of blast-ended screwts, only six, those whom he'd managed to save from the Ministry officials. Illegal breeding of dangerous beasts, they said. And Headmaster Pucey had been furious, especially when he'd admitted that it was not the first time he'd done some experimental breeding. He'd never been good at lying, and the questioning had been fierce. He hadn't thought that Pucey could look like that. And now the whole forest was to be inspected for dangerous beasts. He'd managed to warn Aragog, the giant spider, to try and keep his family out of sight, but there were so many now, and they needed a lot of food. Aragog was his friend, a friend whom he'd found when he was just a lonely kid. He'd had no human friends at that time. He was too big, and his age-mates had been wary of him.

Not far away, he heard one of the dragons roar. Lucy, probably, he thought. She was his favourite, even when the other dragon-keepers regarded her as dangerously unpredictable. Hagrid was very much enjoying this new job, and counted himself lucky that he'd been friendly with Charlie Weasley who'd put in a good word for him. He was also lucky that the Ministry didn't know about various other interesting animals that he'd introduced into the Hogwarts forest over the years, though only some were illegal. But the Centaurs hadn't liked it. They had insisted he take Fluffy somewhere else, and they'd killed the pair of Tiger Scorpions he'd let free, just because they'd attacked one of their foals. 'Just their nature,' he'd tried to explain, but the Centaurs refused to listen.

He stood up and stretched and then went to see Lucy, crooning to her as she cocked her head, listening. The dragons liked him, he thought, even if the Ministry officials had been so cold, and then Headmaster Pucey. Pucey was not nearly as understanding as Albus Dumbledore would have been.

xxx

Voldemort had taken his time heading to Hogwarts. But he was feeling confident that he was finally on his way to his comeback. There was Rookwood, his deputy, who was totally loyal, and he now had firm control over his other two followers, neither of whom would dare challenge him. They were well clothed now, and well supplied, thanks to some earlier robberies of Muggle homes, and they even had a wand each, one that suited them well enough, plus a spare. The wands were the result of a visit to the Manor home of Beaumont Abercrombie. He'd thought he could rely on Beaumont to supply them with a few provisions and several wands - the old families all kept stocks of spare wands - but instead, there had been challenges and questions, and in the end, he had gathered his group and taken the Manor by force. Both Beaumont Abercrombie and his eldest son were dead, their wands taken, plus a dozen wands removed from a desk drawer.

The small group also made a stop at the Vincent Grady Mental Institute, where Abercrombie had told him that Dumbledore was confined. Voldemort had a fancy to murder the old man, preferably with a dose of torture to begin with. But the wards were strong, and he decided not to spend the time required to bring them down, though he could have, of course, if he'd chosen. At least that was what he told himself. He didn't want to admit that he had lost so much power. He'd be better when he had a body of his own, he was sure.

Hogwarts. The four men stood regarding the castle. The lights were shining in the twilight. It was a beautiful and an impressive sight. Each of them had spent their school years there. For three of them, it was a reminder of a time when their troubles were few. For Voldemort, it was a reminder of the beginning of his rise to power. Tom Marvolo Riddle - 'I am Lord Voldemort.' And those first followers, almost all of them dead now.

Rookwood asked, "The Three Broomsticks for the night?"

Voldemort/Evans snapped, "Of course not. We are wanted prisoners, remember?"

"Yes, Master."

Their meal was adequate, though their supplies would not last many days, and they sheltered for the night in a cave made warm by magic. The bedding was conjured, though only Voldemort's lasted the night. Conjures seldom lasted long, especially cloth, which was why no wizard risked wearing conjured clothing.

The following day, they would enter the forest and try and find the unicorn herd.

xxx

Harry didn't see the four men who searched the forest. They were some distance away, the place where Voldemort had found unicorns before. They were watched by Centaurs, who made sure not to be seen. The Centaurs hardly ever interfered in the affairs of wizards. They knew about Harry, as well, and were amused at his efforts to make two huge boulders appear to have eyes that watched over the waterhole. In low light, one would have taken them for monsters, just the effect he wanted.

Harry was working on something more complex now; he wanted a trickle of water to make its way up one of the boulders, track downwards again, and spread out on the flat rock between them to make a trickling waterfall. He didn't know whether magic could make perpetual motion, but he was working on it. After all, if magic could defy the laws of physics and have spaces larger on the inside than on the outside, it could probably make water flow uphill and stay flowing. He hadn't found anything about it in the library, and thought he would ask Perenelle. She might know. He wouldn't ask Brandon and Sonia in case they disapproved of him being alone in the Forbidden Forest.

He was standing at the edge of the waterhole, concentrating on trying to make the little stream of water do what he wanted it to do, when something grabbed at the back of his robe. Giving a startled cry, he wheeled and swung his wand in a shield spell, which sent the creature tumbling backwards. A spider. A spider bigger than he'd ever seen. Surely it was as big as a dog! As big as those ghastly bulldogs of Vernon's horrible sister. It had to be magical. No spider grew that big.

The spider righted itself and just stared at him. Harry thought he could feel what it was saying - Hungry, eat, though there didn't seem to be any actual sound. Surely the spider wasn't thinking of him as prey!

But the spider was not retreating, just edging around, as if weighing up its method of attack.

Harry watched it, wary, wand out. It was the Elder wand, which he almost always used when not watched.

There were the mouth parts, moving, as if already tasting flesh. It sent a shiver through him. Spiders were poisonous. They used their poison to paralyse their prey and sometimes, instead of killing, they would wrap it in silken bindings and keep it fresh for when they chose to eat. He didn't know much about spiders, but he thought he knew that much. But this one - he could almost feel its hunger. It really and truly wanted to eat him.

The spider darted at him, very quick. Harry slashed his wand, and it lost its balance as one of its legs was severed, just at the joint. There was a sound from it, barely at the edge of perception. It was like a scream, high pitched. He would have left it alone if the spider had just gone away. But again he heard, or almost heard, 'hungry,' and again the spider rushed him, not much impeded by the loss of one of its legs.

Harry only shielded this time, enough to send it tumbling again. He didn't know why it should be so desperate; surely it did not normally eat wizards.

The spider wasn't giving up. He would have to kill it, whether he wanted to or not.

The next time it rushed at him, he sent a bombarda. It would not survive the explosive spell. But although it was knocked to the ground again, the same as with his shield spell, it simply pulled itself up again and again started circling. Harry wanted to check around in case there were others, but dared not take his eyes from it for an instant. There was no point running when the spider was quicker than himself, and everyone knew that one could not apparate on the grounds of Hogwarts. He would have to kill it.

He tried a piercing curse to its head, which it appeared not to notice, another that should have taken its head off. He was only just managing to hold it off. A cutting spell across its eyes - were there really eight eyes? It made a squealing sound, again almost at the edge of perception. But it would not go away.

In desperation, he attacked its legs since that had been successful before, but it was not until he caught one precisely across the joint that it had any effect at all. The spider fell, a second leg severed, but again rose and came forward. Swiftly but carefully, Harry sliced off all of the legs on one side. Finally, the spider lay still, bleating in its pain and frustration. Harry could feel its agony. There had to be some telepathy there. He looked around, carefully, and up in the trees, as well. The spider had to be magical, and it had to be resistant to his magic. He'd hurt it when he'd hit its eyes, but hadn't blinded it, and his cutting spells to the legs only worked if it was precisely on the joint.

He approached, carefully. He was no longer afraid of it, he wanted to put it out of its misery, which would also stop that almost silent scream, which might bring more spiders.

He carefully put his wand to the spider's head, and whispered a harsh spell. The bleating stopped, and then quickly resumed. Experimentally, Harry tried his spells on different parts of the body, with almost no effect. It was getting more and more urgent. Unless this was the only spider in the forest, more might come.

With a sudden thought, he levitated a boulder, and then dropped it on its head. After a tense moment, he gave a sigh of relief. The spider might be almost immune to magical spells, but it was not immune to a physical attack. It was finally dead, and the screaming had stopped.

He tried vanishing the body, but nothing happened. So instead, he used his wand to make a hole large enough to bury it. But a movement caught his eye, and he swung around again, wand at the ready. Two more spiders had appeared, one of them even bigger than the slain one. But he was ignored as they went to their slain brother, and then...

Harry was sickened. Carefully, he backed away, and then walked hard, away from the scene of ravenous spiders eating the one he'd killed.

He guessed the forbidden forest really was dangerous. Maybe he'd best stay out, as Hagrid and Pucey and McGonagall had said.

xxx

Voldemort and his men were tired. They had walked and walked around the forest, and found nothing. Voldemort was sure that there had been far more wildlife around when he'd been there before. He supposed the animals might simply be inactive so close to winter, but he needed the unicorns. His borrowed body was still strong, and Evans had stopped fighting him, so he was no longer slow and clumsy, but if he had access to unicorn blood, the body could last years, long enough to organise something more permanent. It would only be a matter of settling on a suitable ritual and then gathering the needed ingredients. He already had the ritual in mind, though he'd have to do more research once he had the resources available, and he hadn't yet decided on which enemy to target for the 'blood of an enemy' ingredient. Dumbledore was hard to get at, and in any case, no longer any sort of an enemy. The obvious enemy was Harry Potter, who'd somehow managed to protect himself as a toddler, and then again, when he was possessing Quirrell. Accidental magic, he presumed, maybe even wandless magic that he'd used to defend himself. It indicated some power, maybe too much power. He had many enemies; maybe he had best use an enemy less likely to turn the tables. It might not have been his own body that Potter had burned, but it had hurt him - a great deal. He didn't want anything like that to happen ever again. There had been too much pain in his lifetime.

Every day, the four men searched. On the third day, Rookwood suggested that they split up to search more effectively, but Voldemort refused, concerned they would just take the opportunity to leave him. He had promised them riches, but it would take time to deliver riches, and he was beginning to suspect that even Rookwood was thinking of leaving him. They wanted success and power, but didn't seem to understand that he could not deliver instant results.

There were times, now, weary, that Voldemort wondered if it would be better to die. No more struggle, no more worries. He no longer cared a great deal about taking over the world; he merely wanted to feel strong and healthy. He wanted to live in luxury as well, but even that no longer seemed important. Comfort would do.

He couldn't die. He had made horcruxes that kept his spirit from the rest he was beginning to crave.

There was another careful robbery, just after dark. There were no murders, and they made sure not to be seen. They still slept in the cave, made more comfortable with stolen blankets and even some furnishings.

xxx