Behold! The peak of my social skills!
I'm not happy with this chapter. It needs more editing and more internal thoughts. And better, less forced conversation.

The trek to the camp has been torturous. Harry, while leaning heavily on the stranger, has been carefully navigating the frozen undergrowth, and the stranger seems to be effortlessly following an unseen trail.

Throughout the entire journey, Harry's mind has been wandering, the outside world disconnecting from him.

Upon reaching a secluded clearing, the stranger has helped Harry onto a makeshift bedroll beneath a rocky overhang. It hasn't been enough to be considered a proper shelter, but it has been keeping the wind, cold, and snow off. Harry has been wheezing, nearly collapsing, as the stranger gently has been laying him down.

"Here we go. Just stay here, okay?" the stranger has instructed, not waiting for a response. He has been busying himself around the tiny camp.

Harry has been sitting wrapped in a cloak by the fire pit, eagerly awaiting some answers. Waiting for the stranger to say something, whatever. He has been watching the figure move around the camp, or more precisely, how things have been moving in the camp.

The most curious part of it all has been the absence of a wand. Instead, a strange pale green mist has been appearing around the floating things.

Overwhelmed by curiosity, he hadn't been able to hold back his questions any longer. "Why?" he has asked.

The stranger has halted and tilted his head, inquiring, "Why what?"

"Why did you help me? Why did you appear in the forest? The centaurs said you should erase my memories, but you didn't. Who are you? What are you doing here? Where's the creature that was with you, and what is it? What is that green fog that moves objects? What did Firenze mean about the ancient unicorn and his fading magic?" Harry's questions have tumbled out one after the other.

"Slow down, boy." The stranger has cut him off gently. He has released a bag he has been holding, which has been surrounded by the green mist, placing it on the ground near a tree trunk. "Firstly, coming here alone has been reckless. Not to mention dangerous, as you've discovered. Secondly, why do you think I'll answer your questions? And thirdly, how old are you? Nine? Ten?"

"I'm eleven!" Harry has replied indignantly.

The stranger has chuckled and remarked on Harry's small stature. "You're tiny for eleven years old. You're just skin and bones. Don't they feed you at that fancy school of yours?" resuming searching through his bags after that.

Frustration, stress, and something else have built up in Harry, and he has to burst it out, "Because of you, I couldn't sleep properly. I had nightmares, took calming potions, and even went to therapy! When I finally forgot, I saw something circling over the forest. Yes, what I did was stupid, but it's your fault too! You didn't erase my memories! You brought me here! And you said we'd talk! So don't avoid it now and answer!" He has shouted, but then a wave of panic has set in.

Realisation has hit him: he has shouted at an adult, potentially a non-human one who has saved his life twice, and no one at school has known where he has been. His mind has raced with worst-case scenarios.

Adult who has something, somewhere, that is probably a dragon! Who knows what he's going to do to me now? I'll be a dragon's dinner or breakfast! Or-

The stranger has stopped what he has been doing, looked at Harry, exhaled a heavy sigh, and then has approached him. With a wave of his hand, he has conjured a ball of fire, sending a fresh wave of panic coursing through Harry's veins. He has instinctively covered his face and braced for the expected pain.

But instead of pain, what has followed has been the soothing crackle of wood and the comforting warmth of a small, smoke-free fire now crackling in the pit. Across from him, the stranger has settled down.

After a moment of silence, he has admitted, "All right, you're right. I should have erased your memory, and I'm sorry you had nightmares because of me. I promised we'd talk, that's true, and I probably shouldn't have said that."

Pausing to take a deep breath, he has continued, "I didn't erase your memory because you're just a child, and children tend to forget, especially the younger ones. And you, boy, you look much younger than eleven."

"So, you didn't erase my memory because of my age? Will you erase it now that you know it?" Harry has inquired.

The stranger has gazed at Harry for a moment, has released a sigh, and has shaken his head. "No, still too young."

Confused, Harry has pressed further, "What does my age have to do with erasing memory?"

The stranger has hesitated but has explained, "The human mind is a fragile thing. Excessive tampering can influence its development, especially in children. It can lead to the formation of peculiar habits and traits. It's dangerous and unethical. I avoid such interventions whenever possible."

"When would you erase my memory? The centaurs seemed to think it's a serious matter," Harry has pressed.

The stranger has marvelled at Harry's persistence.

"You're quite a strange child," the stranger has remarked. "Most people in your situation would panic, flee, or react in various other ways. They wouldn't return, especially not alone and unarmed, and especially not after the mention of memory erasure. They wouldn't ask further questions."

Harry has pondered for a moment, realising the illogicality of his actions. "I don't know, fine. I know it's not normal, I know..." Harry has hesitated, searching for words. "Is it an urge? I can't explain it. My body doesn't listen to my head. And... And... I'm sorry."

The forest has grown silent, with only the crackling of the fire and the sounds of nature remaining.

"Sixteen," the stranger has suddenly blurted out. "And I'd still rather not delve too deeply into your mind. Especially given that it's not much of my thing."

"So, I'm lucky about five years." Harry has concluded.

"No, you're lucky to run into me," the stranger has retorted.

Silence has descended again, and Harry has exhaled, nervously toying with a patch of moss at his feet. With no one and nothing else to focus on, the silence has rapidly grown uncomfortable.

"So, is my age the only reason you helped me?" Harry has finally inquired.

"Boy—"

"My name is Harry. Harry Potter," Harry has asserted, irritated by the term 'boy,' which has reminded him too much of the Dursleys.

"I know who you are, boy. I may avoid those wand wavers, but I still know who you are. Like centaurs and individuals from other countries know it too. Although, the farther you move from Britain, the less recognition your name carries. In Asia or America, younger generations might not even be familiar with you. It's mostly the older generation with some political background who would recognise your name from eleven years ago."

"So, you helped me because you knew who I was?" Harry has asked, taken aback by this new revelation.

The stranger has chuckled. "Finally! For the first time, I see you think," he has exclaimed with a laugh. "What do you mean?" Harry has asked, puzzled. He has known that venturing into the forest in the dead of night alone had been unwise, but he couldn't comprehend the connection between that and his previous question.

"And it's gone," the stranger has sighed. "You're famous, boy, a celebrity. People want to be close to famous people. They pretend to be friends, pretend to care. But it's all a façade. They seek your company because being seen with you brings them attention. They can leverage your influence and wealth for their own purposes. Are you really trying to tell me that you've never been curious, never wondered whether people were genuinely your friends or just using you?"

"Why would—" Harry has begun to defend himself but has stopped.

He has recollected Uncle Vernon's praises for his boss, which quickly turned to curses when the man wasn't around. Aunt Petunia's conversations with the neighbours, in which she praised their gardens, only to mock them later in the privacy of their home.

"I see you're thinking again. Have you remembered anything? Any specific case that, in hindsight, appears suspicious or evident?" the stranger has queried, with a tone that has suggested he has known the answer.

Harry has wanted to deny, to insist that he has had no recollection of such incidents. However, he could not. Because he has remembered the train station and a big family complaining about the Muggles and asking about the platform.

They haven't played it. They haven't known who I was. The twins have only found out when they have helped me with the suitcase.

Harry has repeated over and over. But a small voice of doubt has kept coming back.

Why would Mrs Weasley ask where the station is if she had already taken five children to it? To the station from which she has gone to school herself? She hasn't even tried to be quiet.

"Your silence is the answer," has interrupted his thoughts, and it has pulled Harry back into reality.

"So? Which of your friends is telling porkies to you?" the stranger has asked with a smirk in his voice.

"None!" Harry has retorted. "It's just... It's not..." His voice has trailed off, and he hasn't even been sure how to conclude his sentence.

The stranger has sighed, retrieved a bowl from his belongings, poured some contents from a pouch into it, and offered it to Harry. "Here, eat. I can hear the rumbling in your stomach. Don't dwell on suspicious friends right now. You'll have time for that tomorrow. You're tired."

"What is this?" Harry has asked, accepting the bowl.

"Dried meat, fruits, and nuts."

"It's your food. What will you eat?" Harry has questioned.

"Don't fret, boy. I can fend for myself. Missing one day's worth of supplies isn't a grave matter, and one bowl won't make a significant difference," the stranger has replied.

Harry has disagreed. He has been familiar with the pangs of hunger and hasn't wanted to impose on anyone.

"But it's your food. I really can't—" Harry has protested, but the stranger has cut him off.

"You can, and you must. I'm the host for now, and it's considered impolite to decline a host's offering. Besides, your sleep has been disrupted because of me. It's the least I can do. So, eat."

Harry has decided not to protest further and has taken a thin slice of the meat, placing it in his mouth. It has had a peculiar, rubbery texture at first, similar to an old, unopened piece of bubblegum, and has lacked a distinct flavour. He has been tempted to spit it out.

But with the stranger observing him, Harry has persevered, swallowing it and selecting another piece. This time, he has deliberately included some nuts to avoid the off-putting taste. Unfortunately, he has had to pick another, sooner or later. Fortunately, the next piece has been more palatable.

The third piece, however, has started a delightful symphony of flavours on Harry's tongue. It has begun with a fiery spiciness, followed by smoky undertones, saltiness, and herbal notes, all harmonising into a delectable meaty taste.

The aftertaste has lingered long after Harry has finished it.

With the contest of the bowl partially gone, it has been the time for answers.

He has intended to inquire about the stranger's name, but has hesitated. This mysterious person hasn't seemed inclined to share personal information.

"What did Firenze mean when he said the slain unicorn wasn't an ancient unicorn, and that his magic wasn't what it used to be? And what is the green fog that's moving objects?" Harry has queried.

"That 'fog' is my magical aura. A visible form of my magic, if you will," the stranger has responded.

"This is the first time I've seen anything like this," Harry has stated.

"That's not surprising," the stranger said sternly. "Magic Britain is not rea - it's not known for - it prefers an easier way to master magic."

He has seemed on the verge of sharing something more profound, but it has remained unspoken.

"You mean wands? But wizards can't perform magic without them," Harry has stated.

The stranger has locked eyes with Harry for a moment, then has shaken his head and has emitted a scoff.

"Of course you think so. That's what everyone in Europe believes. It's a laughable. I'm torn between laughter and tears at the sheer absurdity of it."

"What's so laughable about it? Wizards need wands to cast spells; they can't do it any other way," Harry has defended.

"Is that so? How do you explain the magical occurrences before you ever held a wand? When you were angry or frightened, didn't anything unusual happen?" the stranger has asked, evoking Harry's experiences with accidental magic.

Harry had remained silent, haunted by recollections.

"Your silence speaks volumes yet again," the stranger has stated.

After a brief pause, the stranger has inquired, "I suppose you don't recall the route back to your school, do you?"

Harry has simply shaken his head.

"Alright, I'll accompany you to the gamekeeper's cottage. I'll use a spell to ensure no one notices you until you're tucked into bed. It's far too late for a child to be up. Please, boy, heed my advice."

However, Harry hasn't been easily able to suppress his curiosity. He has inquired, "But what about the unicorn and its magic?"

"We'll talk on the way, okay? Come on," the stranger has urged as he gently has taken Harry's hand.

They have walked in silence for a moment, and Harry has begun to wonder if the stranger's offer has merely been a ploy to get him away from the camp. But just when he has been about to ask again, the stranger has started.

"Do you know what the oldest magical creatures are?" he has inquired.

Harry has taken a moment to consider the question. He hasn't recalled learning about this in the school library, but one answer has occurred to him. "A phoenix, right? It rises from the ashes when it dies. But what does this have to do with unicorns?" he's replied.

The stranger has laughed and said, "Yes, that's true. A phoenix is one of the oldest creatures. But there are more. There are actually the oldest three listed. Can you guess?"

"Since I asked about a unicorn, I suppose it will be one of the other options. But I really don't know the third one."

"Ah, you're quite clever," the stranger has said with a hint of joy in his voice. "The third is a dragon. Do you know why these three are considered the oldest?"

"Well, it's evident with phoenixes as I said. But I don't know the reasons for the other two," Harry admitted.

"The answer lies in the fact that nobody knows exactly when or how they came into existence, or which one came first," the stranger has explained.

"Okay, I get that," Harry has said. "But what does this have to do with unicorn magic?" Harry has asked impatiently.

The stranger has lowered his head to avoid a low-hanging branch and replied, "How interestingly you worded that. Unicorn magic. It's not all the same, though."

Harry has let out a sigh and asked, "What do you mean? Isn't magic just magic?"

The stranger's response has been cryptic, "Yes and no. It's a bit more complex."

Harry has persisted, "How is it more complicated?"

"Like you said, 'magic is magic,' but that doesn't mean it's the same magic," the stranger has said as they pushed through the bushes, scattering snow around.

"And that means what?" Harry has asked with a sigh. Could this person get to the point?

The stranger had begun to explain, "Magic is everywhere. It flows through all living things, in plants, water, the air, and the earth. It's present everywhere. All living beings generate it, and everyone can sense it. Some individuals may learn to wield it, while it may deny others, despite their efforts. Each creature possesses a unique form of magic specific to their species, and it affects some more profoundly than others."

"Let me guess," Harry has interrupted, "the oldest creatures fall into the latter category."

The stranger has responded nonchalantly, "Among other things."

After a while, the stranger has continued, "Have you seen pictures of unicorns? Perhaps in a museum or old paintings?"

Harry has hesitated for a moment before responding, "I'm not sure."

The stranger has chuckled briefly and added, "If you had, you'd notice they are quite different from what you met."

"Perhaps it's because it's a Muggle depiction," Harry has offered, thinking about hags.

The stranger has laughed again, saying, "That might be the case. Drawing styles were different in the Middle Ages, but that's not what I meant."

As they've navigated another thicket, the stranger has continued, "I mean, the unicorns have changed. They used to resemble antelopes or goats. They had a slender body, a lion's tail, a long neck, and their magic affected nature. It wasn't just horses with a horn like now."

"How is that possible?" Harry has inquired, taken aback.

"The world has changed. Magic has changed. The world has grown darker, and magic weakened. People stopped appreciating nature, wizards abandoned traditions, and so on. Although there are exceptions," has come a stern answer, but it had been clearly forced. "honour to the exceptions."

For a moment, they've walked in silence, and Harry has begun to notice larger gaps between the treetops as they've neared the forest's edge. The roots have slowly vanished under the increasing snow, causing Harry's slippers to become entangled.

Observing Harry's struggle, the stranger, who has been walking ahead, has asked with an amused tone, "Would you like me to carry you, boy?"

Blushing, Harry quickly refused, and the stranger chuckled.

As the gaps between the trees have widened, Harry has asked hesitantly, "Did you kill the creature that killed the unicorn, or did it come back?" Maybe, just maybe, I don't have to worry, he thought.

The stranger's reply has been decisive. "No, it's not dead, but it didn't return. Why do you ask?" he has stopped and turned to Harry.

In a rush of panic, Harry has explained, "I think it's in the school, or at least someone someone who is helping it. They're after something the headmaster hid in the castle." He hasn't even known why it came out of him.

Silence has descended once more, only broken by an owl's distant hoot.

The stranger has stared at Harry, his head tilted. "Why are you telling me this?" he has asked, sounding perplexed. "What's happening at your school is none of my concern." He has said and continued on his way.

Harry has sped up as fast as his slippers and soft snow would allow.

"Because you've hurt it before. You can get rid of it forever. If you don't, it might return and harm more unicorns." He has urged.

The stranger has replied coldly and without hesitation, "It won't come back anytime soon. If it does, I'll aim higher."

Harry has wanted to keep insisting, but something has told him it was in vain, so he has just sighed, defeated.

They've walked in silence the rest of the way until they've reached Hagrid's hut.

The stranger has stopped and turned to him. "We're here. I'm not going any further," he has declared in a definite tone.

Once again, silence has filled the air, with only the rustling of branches and the flapping of wings. Harry has waited, shifting on his feet.

"Sure - camouflage, - yes. I forgot, I'm sorry," the stranger has said, uncertainty radiating from his voice. He has raised his hand and muttered something. "There. No one will notice you until you fall asleep."

In a commanding voice, he has added, "Now go. I'm serious."

Harry has taken a few steps towards the edge of the forest before pausing.

He has turned back toward the forest. "How much longer will you be here?" he has inquired.

In an impatient and somewhat irritated tone, the stranger has retorted, "I don't know, and I don't plan to tell you. Now, go."

Harry has stared at him for a moment, then lowered his head and finally stepped out of the forest, heading back to the castle.

The facts stated in this chapter are not necessary true and may be busted in the future chapters.

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Shout out to A Plump Hutt for reminding me to update this story.