Chapter 6; A Night to Remember

Harry and Tippy took a rest in the shade of an oak just outside of the glade where Harry had met the unicorns. After consulting with Charlus, they had all decided that it was an ideal place to perform the ritual. The painting was currently unrolled and laying flat on the ground at the base of the tree. Charlus too, was amazed at Harry's story, but pretended to have known it would happen that way, all along. As the sun got lower and lower in the sky, Harry began his preparations for the casting. First he placed the warding runestones at intervals around the glade. He then drove a stake into the middle of the clearing and attached a 3 ½ foot string to the stake. That done, he walked a circle, driving a stake every two feet until he had completed the circle. Then he had Tippy banish the grass in the circle until he was left with bare, flat earth. At each point he had staked, he placed the bare stones until they completed the inner circle that was exactly seven feet in diameter. Next, he took the vial of unicorn blood out of his pack and carefully inscribed on each stone the Runes of Deepening. When that was completed, he took out a vial of his own blood that he had drawn the day before and walked the circle of stones, drawing a line in his own blood that connected each of the stones. When, at long last, he finished his preparations, Harry sat in the middle of his circle and meditated. After considerable effort, he was able to find the center of calm that he needed to sharpen his focus.

Outside the circle, Tippy prowled restlessly, alert and prepared for the kind of danger only she could imagine. Somewhere in the night could be heard the chirping of insects and the occasional hoot of an owl. Harry, for his part, was mindless of all the comings and goings around him. His mind was focused on a flame, feeding to it all of his doubt and fatigue, leaving him calm and collected. Soon, the sun set over the forest canopy and not long after the harvest moon rose, swollen and orange in the night sky. The time had come to begin the ritual.

"It's time my boy!" Charlus called out from the edge of the glade.

Hearing this, Harry took the last of the unicorn blood and mixing it with his own, drew the Deepening Rune on his forehead, the deep crimson of his own mixing with the iridescent unicorn blood. Under the orange light of the full moon, his face took on an mystical cast.

"Rad, Peorth, Beorc, Daeg, Ing!" Harry incanted. "The Deepening has begun!"

With that, Harry focused with all his might on picturing in his mind a vision of his core, growing stable as it expanded. He pictured its oscillations slowing and evening out, the pulsating red changing into a steady blue so bright that it almost appeared white. The insects around the glade seemed to sense the importance of these happenings as they gradually quieted. The peace of the clearing was shattered shortly thereafter when somewhere in the near distance came the howl of an angry wolf.

Tippy heard the howl and immediately recognized it for what it was, the cry of a werewolf. Charlus, knowing that it was too late to interrupt the ceremony, called out to her, "Tippy! Protect the boy!"

Protecting Harry Potter was not something Tippy needed to be told to do. The defiant house elf crouched down, her arms extended in front of her like some heroine from a martial arts movie. If the situation weren't so deadly serious, it would have been amusing to anyone watching. As it was, the painting of Charlus Potter sat forward apprehensively in his frame while Harry continued on blissfully unaware, lost in his focus. For several long moments, the silence stretched on until Tippy was sure that the werewolf had passed on or had else been deterred by the wardstones surrounding the glade. Suddenly, a great crash was heard on the edge of the clearing and a massive, slavering werewolf bounded into the clearing.

The werewolf was not large by the measure of its kind, but was half again as large as a regular wolf. Its massive jaws held a gleaming row or razor sharp teeth and its hind legs rippled with corded muscle. As it cleared the brush, it shook its shaggy head, seemingly befuddled by the wards. But werewolves were notoriously resistant to defensive magic and this one was no exception. With another shake of its head, the werewolf finally came to its senses and looked straight at Harry. With a maddened howl it charged.

Tippy knew she was outmatched. She was not a fighter, but she was determined to protect her Master at all costs. As the werewolf approached, she snapped her fingers, putting all the force she could into a banisher aimed right at the werewolf's head. Instantly, the wolf went flying into the night, landing nearly twenty feet away and rolling to a stop. No sooner than it had its feet under it, however, it was charging again. This time, it aimed itself at Tippy, aware in its bestial way, that she posed the greater threat. When the house elf sent another banisher, it leaped high, right over it and continued in its charge. Tippy managed to hit it once more, but the werewolf was ready for it. With the innate magical resistance of its kind, it managed to lower its head and dig its claws into the rocky soil. Even so, the desperate house elf managed to push it back several feet. However, as soon as the spell lifted, the werewolf darted back and forth, making itself as difficult a target as possible.

In a little over five seconds, it managed to halve the distance, eating up ground at a ferocious pace. Tippy was growing more frantic with every passing second. With both hands upraised, she was leveling curses as fast as she could, with little to no effect. Grass, dirt and rocks were being blasted into the sky by her strikes as the werewolf closed the distance to a bare handful of yards. With a victorious howl it leaped through the air, directly for Tippy, but before it could sink it's teeth into her grey-green throat, Tippy popped away, appearing suddenly fifteen yards upwind of the ravenous beast. The werewolf snarled and darted its head back and forth, looking for his escaped prey. It was then that it again spotted Harry, sitting still within his circle, mindless of the ferocious battle waging in his midst. For a few seconds the werewolf continued to search the area, obviously weighing the fat morsel that Harry represented against the desire to crush the pesky elf. Finally, its decision made, the werewolf wheeled around and began running towards Harry's location. It had cleared no more than a half dozen feet when Tippy appeared with a pop sitting astride the beasts heaving back. With one hand wrapped firmly in the coarse hairs of its ruff, Tippy snapped her finger and a large mallet appeared in her other hand. The werewolf, hardly aware of Tippy's small weight on its back, did take notice when a large conjured mallet landed squarely between its eyes. Whether the shock of the impact or the very presence of the wiry elf and its unlikely weapon were the cause is open for debate, but the effect was obvious. With a yelp, the werewolf's head dug into the dirt as it skidded to a rolling stop, going ass over teakettle less than a stone's throw away from Harry's position.

The werewolf, however, was far from out of the fight. Little Tippy fared far worse. Unable to extricate herself from the thrashing wolf, her legs were crushed beneath its much greater weight. Worse still, she had lost the mallet in her tumble. Dazed, she never saw the great mass of fur and hate until it had her in its poisonous jaws. With a great shake of its head, it tossed her broken and bleeding body over its head. Tippy landed hard on one of the runestones, her life's blood mingling with the unicorn blood that inscibed it. Her feeble cries were meek indeed compared the victorious howl that came from the rampaging beast. Just as it was groggily moving in to finish its kill, another and far more hopeful sound emerged; the thundering of hooves and the enraged whinny of a vengeful unicorn!

Most people viewed unicorns as the very embodiment of purity and peace. Indeed, they were peaceful creatures by nature and their purity was unquestioned. From their snow white coats to the powerful magic, they radiated a goodness that affected everyone that came in contact with them. But such purity was a double-edged sword, for purer still was the wrath and protectiveness of one provoked. Their singular nature stood in marked contrast to the duality and wickedness represented by the werewolves.

As the unicorn galloped into the clearing, the werewolf gave a challenging roar and moved immediately to face the new threat. With angry snarls they charged, each gaining momentum with every step. Sparks flew from the unicorns hooves as it lowered its head to meet its foe. As they neared, the werewolf darted wide, trying to encircle the unicorn and avoid the dangerous horn. The unicorn was faster however and moved quickly to intercept. Seeing that it was outmaneuvered, the werewolf darted to the left, but was again too slow for the agile unicorn who neatly sidestepped without pausing in its charge. Frustrated, the wolf leaped as it drew near, hoping to clear the horn, but just as it seemed it might succeed, the unicorn raised her head and skewered the werewolf through its abdomen as it passed overhead.

So great was their impact that the werewolf slammed into her head, fully impaled on her horn. The unicorn's head was forced back by the collision, even while she tried to bear the sudden weight. Her head was forced backward and down at a painful angle and she stumbled, her front hooves driven to the ground. She tumbled to a rolling stop, still bearing the werewolf on her horn. The unicorn mightily strove to shake her head to dislodge the grievously wounded wolf, but to no avail. The werewolf was mewling piteously and also trying to free itself. In desperation, it dug in with its claws, pushing and slicing at the unicorns face and chest. Long, ragged slashes appeared on the unicorns flesh, glowing softly blue in the moonlight. The unicorn continued to shake its head, tearing even wider the wound in the werewolf's gut. Finally, the wound opened up enough that she was able to extricate herself, then collapsed, weakened and weary. Before unconsciousness claimed her, she couldn't help but notice that the stone that lay near her bleeding head suddenly flared with a brilliant silvery blue light.

Harry Potter, an exhausted six year old wizard, sat in the center of his ritual circle, completely unaware of his surroundings. His thoughts, if they could be called that, were solely focused on his core, which he pictured as a bright blue-white globe on a background of absolute black. He was unaware of the passage of time or even the cares of his body. The Deepening Ritual required that level of focus. Stray thoughts or external influences could ruin its effect, often with disastrous results. As focused as he was, he was unable to avoid noticing when the image in his mind's eye was engulfed in a seeming explosion of light. His calm focus was suddenly swamped with new images and feelings so startlingly different that he was instantly overwhelmed by their intensity. First, a feeling of intense love and protectiveness that wrapped around him like a warm blanket. Next came a feeling of savage pride and territoriality.

If no other occurrence had interrupted his aborted ritual, things might have ended very differently for young Harry. However, fast on the heels of that fierce urge came one even more shocking in its intensity. A pure and white-hot sense of purity and righteous anger filled him, near to bursting. Startled out of his stupor, Harry opened his eyes. Blinking them rapidly to clear the afterimages from his vision, Harry grabbed his glasses from the pocket of his robes and placed them on his head.

At first he thought that the ritual had ended and that Tippy, in her enthusiastic way, had awakened him. He was fully prepared for her exuberant hugs, but was shocked when the first sight that greeted his blurry eyes was her broken and bleeding body lying on the edge of his circle.

"Tippy!" he cried, trying to get up on legs that had fallen asleep. Unable to stand, Harry crawled over to her, dragging his useless legs behind him.

"Tippy! What happened? Are you okay?" he asked, his voice cracking with emotion.

Rolling her over on her back, Harry looked into her dead, glassy eyes. Harry was heartbroken with grief. The elf represented the world to Harry; mother, sister and friend. He buried his head in her blood covered body, crying tears onto her hair and face. He was aroused from his grief, however, when he heard a horrible, wounded cry.

"Tippy? What…?" He looked into the Tippy's face and realized the cry couldn't have come from her. Looking frantically around, Harry saw another sight that shocked him to his core. On the other side of his circle lay the prone and obviously wounded bodies of the unicorn mare he had met just yesterday in this very glade and some sort of large, mean looking canine creature. Both animals were severely wounded, though to his eyes, the unicorn's injuries seemed more obvious as the irridescent blue blood stood out starkly against her white coat.

Again, Harry was overtaken with grief and horror. Never, in his young life had anything prepared him for this shocking tableau. Tippy and Charlus had told him, of course, what had happened to his parents. But he was just a baby then. He couldn't remember a bit of it. The obvious carnage in front of him was almost too much for his sheltered eyes. Again overtaken with sobs, he clutched at the unicorn. No sooner had he laid hands upon her than he was again assaulted by intense, foreign emotions. Feelings of love, protectiveness and fierce territoriality rose in him like an unstoppable tide. So desperate was he to help the wounded animal that his mind instinctually grasped at a recent memory; a memory of the unicorn touching her horn to her flank and healing her injury. In his memory, he could almost feel the white-hot magic of her horn as it radiated out into the wound. He sensed it like he could still sense his own magical core.

Without conscious thought, he pictured his own core radiating that same bright white light. With shaking hands, Harry reached out and touched the wounds on the unicorn's chest. Instantly, a blinding light flowed out from his hands and engulfed the head and chest of the injured animal. In the blink of an eye, the wounds healed as though they never existed. As the glow faded, the mare raised her head and prodded Harry with her nose. Looking up through tear-stained eyes, Harry saw her raised head and shouted with glee.

"What happened? Are you alright? What can I do? Does it hurt? Oh, thank Merlin! I can't believe…I thought…." He yelled, eventually dropping off in hysterical sobs as he clutched at her neck. The unicorn whinnied and laid her head across his shoulders, waiting patiently for his sobs to lessen. After a time, she again prodded him gently with her nose. When he looked at her, she nodded her head toward the massive canine. When Harry looked, he could tell that the animal was still alive, its thick chest rising and falling as it drew in sharp, shuddering breaths. Harry looked again at the unicorn.

"Can you…you know….heal him?" He asked.

The unicorn slowly stood and walked over to the dying werewolf. Lowering her head, she touched her softly glowing horn to the wound and a bright blue glow emanated from her horn. The wolf howled and tried to struggle, but was too weak and weary to fight the strong magic. The light surrounded the wound, which slowly began to close. The seconds drew out into a minute and then two, before slowly fading away. When it had disappeared, Harry scrutinized the wound. Though it had closed somewhat, it still looked nasty and was still bleeding heavily. The wolf had quieted but continued to whimper piteously. Again the unicorn looked askance at Harry.

"How come it didn't heal?" he asked. "Can't you heal him?"

The unicorn shook her head, a somehow sad look in her eye.

"What should I do?" Harry asked.

The unicorn walked over behind Harry and nudged him toward the werewolf. Harry, unsure what to do, followed her lead. Mindless of the danger, he leaned over the werewolf. As he looked down on its bleeding form, he couldn't help but think of Tippy lying broken and bleeding on the ground, crying out for Harry to help her. Just like that a floodgate opened within Harry as he was once again carried away on a tide of emotions. While the unicorn looked on, Harry embraced the tide, a white glow surrounded his hands as he laid them on the beast and the deep emerald green of his eyes changed into a a bright, shining silver. This time, Harry was better able to retain his perception, and he watched, almost as an outsider, as this unusual power surged from his hands and into the deep arterial wound in the beasts midsection. Almost immediately, the werewolf began to thrash and stir, but Harry pressed firmly down, keeping it pinned. This time the glow didn't stop with the visible wound, but continued to grow until it surrounded the beast.

As its thrashing grew worse and worse, so too did the torrent in Harry's mind. A snarling, angry presence surged in his mind, threatening to carry Harry away in its brutality. His hands tightened on the werewolf with a savage strength. Almost as soon as it began, however, the other feelings grew within Harry. Brutality was met with unconditional love and his territorial urges were beaten back with the purity of sacrifice and the unwavering desire to protect. For long moments, the battle waged within Harry, waxing and waning in desperate struggle. All the while, the glow around the werewolf grew in intensity, until it burst with vibrant light. When it subsided, Harry swooned, overcome with a sudden feeling of utter exhaustion. As he kneeled there on the verge of unconsciousness, he looked down and was surprised to see, instead of a snarling beast, a naked, middle-aged man with sandy brown hair and brown, liquid eyes. The naked man was similarly haggard and shocked as he looked up at Harry.

"James?" he said, but his question fell on deaf ears. Harry Potter collapsed on the ground, dead to the world.