Chapter 9: Forbidden Forest
May 10, 1992 – Sunday
Professor McGonagall's Office
The atmosphere in Professor McGonagall's office was thick with dread as Buffy, Dawn, Hermione, and Harry sat stiffly in the cold, wooden chairs. The silence between them was oppressive, each lost in their own spiral of regret and worry. The flickering candlelight cast long, eerie shadows on the stone walls, making the room feel like a dungeon rather than an office. It was as though the very air around them knew the trouble they were in, pressing down on them with the weight of their mistakes.
They were cornered, and they knew it. The realization of how utterly they had failed was like a heavy stone in their stomachs. How could they have been so stupid as to forget the cloak, the very thing that had kept them safe on the way up. And Buffy—how could she have been so careless, so distracted, that she forgot to activate her necklace, her most crucial tool? There was no plausible explanation they could offer, nothing that would justify their actions to Professor McGonagall, especially not sneaking out of bed and wandering through the castle in the dead of night. And being caught up the tallest Astronomy Tower, of all places—a spot that was strictly out-of-bounds unless for class. The thought made their hearts sink even further.
The list of their transgressions seemed endless: the Invisibility Cloak, the forbidden visit to the tower, and, of course, Norbert. The gravity of the situation loomed over them like a dark cloud, and in their minds, they were already packing their bags, imagining the swift and unforgiving expulsion that was sure to follow.
The oppressive silence was finally broken by the sound of footsteps. The door swung open, and Professor McGonagall appeared, her face a mask of stern disapproval. But she wasn't alone. In her grasp, she held Neville, who looked both terrified and desperate.
"Harry! Buffy!" Neville blurted out the moment his eyes landed on his friends. His voice trembled with urgency. "I was trying to find you to warn you. I heard Malfoy saying he was going to catch you, he said you had a drag—"
Before Neville could finish, Harry shook his head violently, his eyes wide with panic, willing Neville to stop before he made things worse. But it was too late. The damage was done. Professor McGonagall's eyes narrowed, her expression darkening. The anger that radiated from her was palpable, and in that moment, she looked more likely to breathe fire than Norbert himself. Her gaze bore down on them, sharp and unforgiving, as she towered over the four students.
"I would never have believed it of any of you," she said, her voice low and cold, each word cutting through the air like a blade. "Mr. Filch says you were up in the Astronomy Tower. It's one o'clock in the morning. Explain yourselves."
The question hung in the air, heavy with expectation, but the silence that followed was even heavier. For the first time in her life, Hermione Granger, the girl who always had an answer, was utterly speechless. She stared down at her slippers, her face pale, her whole body rigid as though she had been turned to stone.
Professor McGonagall's lips thinned as she surveyed them, her disappointment and anger plain on her face. "I think I've got a good idea of what's been going on," she said, her voice laced with a dangerous edge. "It doesn't take a genius to work it out. You fed Draco Malfoy some cock-and-bull story about a dragon, trying to get him out of bed and into trouble. I've already caught him. I suppose you think it's funny that Longbottom here heard the story and believed it, too?"
Buffy caught Neville's eye, and her heart twisted at the sight of his stunned, hurt expression. She silently pleaded with him, her gaze conveying what words couldn't—this wasn't true. But Neville, so earnest and eager to do the right thing, looked utterly crushed, as if the very foundation of his trust had been shattered. The silent exchange was brief, but the pain in Neville's eyes lingered, deepening the guilt that gnawed at Buffy's insides.
Professor McGonagall's voice cut through the tense silence, sharp and unforgiving. "I'm disgusted," she declared, her tone laden with disappointment. "Six students out of bed in one night! I've never heard of such a thing before!" Her eyes, usually kind and understanding, were now cold as they flicked from one guilty face to another. "You, Miss Granger," she continued, her voice taking on a note of disbelief as she looked at Hermione, "I thought you had more sense."
Hermione flinched as if struck, her usual confidence completely crumbled under the weight of McGonagall's scorn. Buffy could almost feel the pain radiating from her friend, but there was nothing she could do to ease it.
"And as for you three, Mr. Potter, Miss Potter, Miss Summers," McGonagall went on, her gaze now boring into Harry, Dawn, and Buffy, "I thought Gryffindor meant more to you all than this. All five of you will receive detentions—yes, you too, Mr. Longbottom," she added, as Neville's face fell even further, "nothing gives you the right to walk around school at night, especially these days. It's very dangerous."
The room seemed to close in on them, the weight of McGonagall's words suffocating. But it wasn't over.
"And fifty points will be taken from Gryffindor," McGonagall pronounced, her voice ringing with finality.
"Fifty?" Harry gasped, the word escaping him before he could stop it. His heart plummeted as he did the quick, dreadful math in his head. That was more than the lead he'd earned for Gryffindor with his last, hard-fought Quidditch match. Everything they'd gained was slipping away.
"Fifty points each," Professor McGonagall clarified, her chest rising and falling with the intensity of her emotion as she breathed heavily through her long, pointed nose.
The words hit like a sledgehammer. The room seemed to tilt, and for a moment, all Buffy could hear was the rushing in her ears. The world felt as though it was spiraling out of control.
"Professor—please—" Buffy began, her voice trembling, desperate to find some way to plead their case, to make McGonagall understand.
"You can't—" Dawn started, her voice tinged with panic.
"Don't tell me what I can and can't do," McGonagall snapped, cutting off their protests with a finality that brooked no argument. Her eyes blazed with an anger that was more hurt than fury, the disappointment she felt radiating off her in waves. "Now get back to bed, all of you. I've never been more ashamed of Gryffindor students."
The finality of her words was a dagger to the heart. As they stood to leave, the crushing reality settled in—two hundred and fifty points lost. Buffy's legs felt like lead as she walked out of the office, the enormity of what had just happened weighing heavily on her shoulders. In one night, they'd destroyed Gryffindor's chances for the House Cup, the honor and pride they had fought so hard to uphold. The dream that had seemed within reach just hours ago was now shattered, reduced to nothing by their own mistakes.
Entrance Hall
At first, the Gryffindors passing by the towering hourglasses that recorded the House points couldn't believe their eyes. How could they have lost one hundred and fifty points overnight? It had to be a mistake, a glitch in the system. But as the disbelief wore off, whispers began to spread like wildfire through the castle corridors, each retelling adding more fuel to the fire. The devastating truth sank in: Harry and Buffy had cost Gryffindor all those points, dragging down their entire house, along with three other first years who had foolishly joined in.
The news hit like a tidal wave, sweeping through the school and leaving shock and outrage in its wake. Harry, once the golden boy of Gryffindor, admired for his bravery and the buzz of his recent Quidditch triumphs, was now looked upon with scorn. Buffy, too, found herself on the receiving end of the students' wrath. They had gone from being two of the most respected and revered figures at Hogwarts to the most despised, virtually in the blink of an eye.
The change was palpable. Even the normally amicable Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, who had no direct stake in Gryffindor's success, had turned against them. They, too, had been eagerly anticipating Slytherin's downfall, hoping for a change in the House Cup's longstanding dominance. Now, thanks to the Potters, that dream seemed dashed, and resentment brewed in every hallway they passed.
Harry and Buffy could feel the eyes on them wherever they went. The accusing stares, the venomous whispers that weren't even hushed anymore, all bore down on them like a physical weight. It was as though the entire school had been unified by their collective disdain, making Harry's and Buffy's every step feel heavier than the last. Slytherins, of course, reveled in the chaos. They clapped mockingly whenever Harry or Buffy passed, their laughter echoing off the stone walls. "Thanks, Potters, we owe you one!" they would call out, their voices dripping with insincerity and malice.
For Hermione, Dawn, and Neville, the fallout was brutal in its own way. While they weren't as notorious as Harry and Buffy, they still bore the brunt of the backlash. Their peers no longer looked at them the same way; the camaraderie that had once characterized Gryffindor now felt icy and distant. Conversations stopped when they entered a room, and people pointedly ignored them as if they were invisible. Hermione, who had always been the most studious and eager to participate in class, now kept her head down, her hand no longer shooting up to answer questions. She buried herself in her books, her silence a stark contrast to her usual vivacity.
Dawn's usual brightness was dimmed, and even Neville, who had only wanted to help, found himself shunned by his housemates. They all carried the guilt and shame of what had happened, a weight that pressed down on them with every step they took through the once-welcoming halls of Hogwarts. The castle, which had always felt like a second home, now felt like a cold, unfriendly place. They were outcasts, isolated not by choice but by the anger of those who had once called them friends.
May 26, 1992 – Tuesday
Forbidden Forest
Two weeks after the fateful night when they had lost Gryffindor so many House points, the repercussions still hung heavy in the air. The atmosphere at breakfast was tense, the chatter subdued as Harry, Dawn, Hermione, and Neville each received identical notes delivered by the school's owls. The brief but foreboding message was enough to send a chill down their spines:
Your detention will take place at eleven o'clock tonight.
Meet Mr. Filch in the entrance hall.
Professor M. McGonagall
That night, the common room was unusually quiet as they prepared to face their punishment. Ron and Willow exchanged worried glances with them, offering hushed words of encouragement that did little to ease the knots in their stomachs. With a mixture of dread and resignation, Harry, Dawn, Hermione, and Neville left the warmth of the common room behind, their footsteps echoing ominously as they descended the staircase to the entrance hall.
Waiting for them in the dimly lit entrance was Argus Filch, his gaunt figure illuminated by the flickering light of a single oil lamp. The sight of Malfoy standing beside him, looking equally apprehensive, reminded them that he, too, had earned a detention that night. They had almost forgotten in the chaos of the last two weeks, but now, the reminder only deepened their sense of foreboding.
"Follow me," Filch commanded, his voice oily with a twisted satisfaction as he lit his lamp and beckoned them outside. He led the way with a deliberate slowness, clearly relishing their unease. "I bet you'll think twice about breaking a school rule again, won't you, eh?" he sneered, his words laced with menace. "Oh yes… hard work and pain are the best teachers if you ask me… It's just a pity they let the old punishments die out… hang you by your wrists from the ceiling for a few days, I've got the chains still in my office, keep 'em well-oiled in case they are ever needed…"
The group exchanged nervous glances as they trailed after him, the oppressive darkness of the night pressing in around them. Filch's words were like a cold wind, sending shivers down their spines. They knew better than to take him at his word, but the way he spoke of such punishments, as though he were nostalgic for them, made the hairs on the back of their necks stand up.
"Right, off we go, and don't think of running off, now," Filch continued with a malevolent grin. "It'll be worse for you if you do."
With that ominous warning hanging in the air, they began their march across the dark grounds of Hogwarts. The vastness of the night swallowed them whole, the only light coming from the lamp Filch held, casting long, eerie shadows across the dew-damp grass. Neville's quiet sniffles were the only sound besides their footsteps, his fear palpable as he trudged along, trying to suppress his mounting anxiety. Harry and Buffy exchanged worried looks, the unspoken question hanging between them: what kind of punishment awaited them?
The moon overhead provided scant comfort as it peeked out between the clouds, casting fleeting beams of silver light across the landscape before plunging them back into darkness. Their path took them closer to the familiar sight of Hagrid's hut, its windows glowing warmly against the night. For a brief moment, hope fluttered in their chests—perhaps they would be helping Hagrid with something mundane, something safe.
But that hope was quickly dashed when they heard a distant shout from the darkness ahead. "Is that you, Filch? Hurry up, I want ter get started," Hagrid called out, his booming voice unmistakable.
Buffy glanced over at Harry and saw the flicker of relief on his face at the mention of Hagrid. At least they would be working with someone they trusted. But before that comfort could fully take hold, Filch's voice cut through the night like a knife, his tone dripping with disdain. "I suppose you think you'll be enjoying yourself with that oaf? Well, think again, boy—it's into the forest you're going, and I'm much mistaken if you'll all come out in one piece."
Neville's quiet whimper broke the silence, a pitiful sound that echoed their collective dread. Even Malfoy, who usually maintained a cool, indifferent air, looked suddenly pale and shaken. He stopped dead in his tracks, his voice faltering as he repeated, "The forest?" The usual bravado was gone, replaced by genuine fear. "We can't go in there at night—there's all sorts of things in there—werewolves, I heard."
Neville, unable to contain his terror, clutched at Harry's robe, his grip tight with desperation. His breath came in ragged gasps, and a choked noise escaped his throat, barely more than a whimper.
Filch's eyes gleamed with perverse delight at their fear. "That's your problem, isn't it?" he said, his voice quivering with glee. "Should've thought of them werewolves before you got in trouble, shouldn't you?" The way he savored their discomfort made it clear he was enjoying every second of their misery.
Hagrid came striding toward them out of the dark, his massive silhouette almost blending with the night, except for the gleam of his large crossbow, which he held ready in one hand. Fang, his loyal boarhound, trotted faithfully at his side, his eyes gleaming in the dim light. The quiver of arrows slung over Hagrid's broad shoulder added an air of seriousness to the scene, a silent warning that this wasn't going to be an ordinary night. "Abou' time," he grumbled, his deep voice reverberating through the quiet night. "I bin waitin' fer half an hour already. All right, Dawn, Buffy, Harry, Hermione?"
His usual warmth was evident as he greeted them, his tone softening slightly despite the circumstances. But before any of them could respond, Filch's cold, sneering voice cut through the air like a blade. "I shouldn't be too friendly to them, Hagrid," he said, his words dripping with disdain. "They're here to be punished, after all."
Hagrid's expression darkened, a frown creasing his brow as he turned his gaze to Filch. "That's why yer late, is it?" he asked, his voice low with displeasure. "Bin lecturin' them, eh? 'Snot your place ter do that. Yeh've done yer bit, I'll take over from here." There was an underlying growl in Hagrid's tone, a protective edge that made it clear he wasn't pleased with Filch's meddling.
Filch, undeterred, gave them one last nasty look, his lips curling into a thin, cruel smile. "I'll be back at dawn," he said, his voice filled with ominous promise, "for what's left of them." With that, he turned on his heel, his lamp bobbing away into the darkness, the light growing fainter until it was swallowed by the night.
As soon as Filch was out of sight, Malfoy's composure cracked. He turned to Hagrid, his voice betraying the panic he'd been trying to hide. "I'm not going in that forest," he declared, his bravado rapidly disintegrating.
Hagrid's response was immediate and fierce, his eyes narrowing as he stared down at Malfoy. "Yeh are if yeh want ter stay at Hogwarts," he said, his voice as solid as the trees that loomed around them. "Yeh've done wrong an' now yeh've got ter pay fer it."
Malfoy, clearly rattled, tried to protest, his voice rising as he grasped for an escape. "But this is servant stuff, it's not for students to do. I thought we'd be copying lines or something, if my father knew I was doing this, he'd—"
"—tell yer that's how it is at Hogwarts," Hagrid cut in, his growl low and menacing. His patience with Malfoy was running thin, and it showed. "Copyin' lines! What good's that ter anyone? Yeh'll do summat useful or yeh'll get out. If yeh think yer father'd rather you were expelled, then get back off ter the castle an' pack. Go on!"
Malfoy froze, his fury battling with fear. He opened his mouth as if to argue further, but no words came out. Instead, he dropped his gaze to the ground, his anger simmering just beneath the surface but his fear winning out. He didn't move, though it was clear he wanted to be anywhere but there.
"Right then," Hagrid said, his voice softening just a bit as he turned back to the rest of the group. "Now, listen carefully, 'cause it's dangerous what we're gonna do tonight, an' I don' want no one takin' risks. Follow me over here a moment."
Hagrid led them into the forest, his broad shoulders casting long shadows that merged with the dense darkness surrounding them. The night was eerily quiet, the usual sounds of the forest hushed as if the trees themselves were holding their breath. "Look there," Hagrid said, his voice a low rumble as he pointed to the ground ahead. His tone, usually filled with warmth and gentleness, now carried a somber weight. "See that stuff shinin' on the ground? Silvery stuff? That's unicorn blood. There's a unicorn in there bin hurt badly by summat." The sight of the shimmering liquid, so pure and yet so tragic, sent a chill through the group. "This is the second time in a week. I found one dead last Wednesday. We're gonna try an' find the poor thing. We might have ter put it out of its misery."
The thought of having to put down such a majestic creature filled the air with a sense of dread, a heavy sorrow that seemed to hang over them like a cloud. Malfoy's voice broke through the oppressive silence, shaky and laced with fear. "And what if whatever hurt the unicorn finds us first?"
"There's nothin' that lives in the forest that'll hurt yeh if yer with me or Fang," Hagrid replied, his confidence doing little to ease the growing unease. "An' keep ter the path," he added, his voice firm. They all knew the dangers that lurked in the shadows, but Hagrid's presence offered a thin layer of comfort. "Right, now, we're gonna split inter two parties an' follow the trail in diff'rent directions. There's blood all over the place, it must've bin staggerin' around since last night at least."
"I want Fang," Malfoy said quickly, his eyes flicking nervously toward the boarhound, whose long teeth glinted in the pale moonlight.
"All right, but I warn yeh, he's a coward," Hagrid replied, with a slight hint of irony in his voice. He glanced at the others, dividing them into groups. "So, me, Hermione an' Neville'll go one way an' Draco, Harry, Dawn, Buffy, an' Fang'll go the other." His instructions were clear, but the gravity of their task weighed heavily on everyone. "Now, if any of us finds the unicorn, we'll send up green sparks, right? Get yer wands out an' practice now—that's it—an' if anyone gets in trouble, send up red sparks, an' we'll all come an' find yeh—so, be careful—let's go."
With that, Harry, Dawn, and Buffy set off into the forest with Malfoy and Fang, the night closing in around them like a living entity. The further they walked, the thicker the trees became, their twisted branches forming an almost impenetrable canopy above. The path beneath their feet was barely visible, a narrow strip of earth winding through the endless expanse of shadows. Each step seemed to take them deeper into the unknown, the forest growing darker and more foreboding with every passing minute.
They walked in silence for nearly half an hour, the only sounds the soft crunch of leaves underfoot and the occasional rustle of something unseen in the underbrush. The tension in the air was palpable, a thick, unspoken fear that made the hairs on the back of their necks stand on end. Malfoy's bravado had long since faded, replaced by a quiet, nervous energy that mirrored the unease in Harry and Buffy's hearts.
Finally, through the tangled branches of an ancient oak, they saw a clearing ahead. The air felt different here, colder, as if the very life had been drained from the surroundings. "Look—" Harry murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
Something bright white was gleaming on the ground, a stark contrast to the darkness that enveloped them. They inched closer, hearts pounding, their breaths shallow. The closer they got, the more their suspicions were confirmed.
It was the unicorn all right, and it was dead.
Buffy had taken one hesitant step toward the fallen unicorn when an eerie, slithering sound caused her to freeze in place. The night seemed to hold its breath as a bush on the edge of the clearing began to tremble. The unsettling rustling grew louder, until from the shadows emerged a hooded figure, crawling across the forest floor with a sinister, predatory grace. The figure's cloak swept the ground like a living shadow, obscuring its form as it approached the fallen unicorn. The creature moved with deliberate, almost hungry intent, and when it reached the unicorn's body, it lowered its hooded head over the wound in the animal's side and began to drink the blood that pooled there.
The grotesque sight was too much for Malfoy. He let out a blood-curdling scream, his voice echoing through the clearing in a high-pitched, panicked wail. His cry was abruptly followed by the frantic scrambling of Fang, who bolted into the forest, his barking fading into the distance. The hooded figure, having raised its head, now locked its gaze directly onto Buffy, Dawn, and Harry. Blood dribbled from its chin and down its front, staining the dark cloak in sinister streaks. Without hesitation, the figure rose to its feet, its movement swift and menacing as it advanced toward them.
Then, a searing pain, unlike anything Buffy and Harry had ever experienced, exploded in their heads. It felt as though their scars were being torn open, flames licking at their minds with excruciating intensity. The agony was so overwhelming that they dropped to their knees, clutching their heads, struggling to breathe through the torment.
"Buffy, Harry," Dawn's voice cut through the haze of pain, her fear evident as she heard the thunderous sound of hooves pounding behind her. She turned to see a powerful figure charging towards them. Something leaped gracefully over them, a blur of motion and strength that collided with the hooded figure. The impact was violent, but Buffy and Harry could barely focus on the scene through the blinding pain that still throbbed in their heads.
After what felt like an eternity, the pain began to subside, and Buffy and Harry managed to look up. The hooded figure had vanished, leaving only a faint trail of disturbance in the clearing. Standing over them now was a majestic centaur, its eyes filled with a mix of concern and urgency. Dawn was already pulling Buffy and Harry to their feet, her hands trembling slightly.
"Harry, Buffy," she said, her voice shaking as she looked at them with worried eyes. "Are you all right?"
Buffy glanced at the centaur, its form imposing and regal in the moonlight. "Was that a vampire?"
"No," the centaur replied, his voice deep and resonant. He took a moment to study the twins and Dawn, his gaze lingering on the scars on Buffy and Harry's foreheads. "You are the Potters. You had better get back to Hagrid. The forest is not safe at this time—especially for the two of you. Can you ride? It will be quicker this way."
"Can you take all three of us?" Dawn asked, her concern evident.
"I can, barely," the centaur said, his expression shifting to one of grim determination. "My name is Firenze." He lowered himself onto his front legs, presenting his back as a means of transport. Buffy, Dawn, and Harry climbed onto Firenze's back with a mixture of relief and urgency, their movements careful as they settled into place.
Suddenly, the tranquility of the clearing was shattered by the sound of more galloping. Two centaurs emerged from the trees with explosive force, their massive forms cutting through the undergrowth. Their flanks were heaving with exertion, sweat glistening on their tawny coats as they skidded to a halt.
"Firenze!" Bane's voice boomed with authority, carrying an edge of righteous fury. "What are you doing? You have humans on your back! Have you no shame? Are you a common mule?"
Firenze, still holding his ground, met Bane's gaze with a calm yet firm demeanor. "Do you realize who they are?" he responded, his tone laden with urgency. "They are the Potters. The quicker they leave this forest, the better."
"What have you been telling them?" Bane growled, his voice a low rumble of disapproval. "Remember, Firenze, we are sworn not to set ourselves against the heavens. Have we not read what is to come in the movements of the planets?"
Ronan, a centaur with a more subdued presence, pawed at the ground nervously, his eyes reflecting his unease. "I'm sure Firenze thought he was acting for the best," he intoned, his voice a blend of gloom and resignation.
Bane's frustration boiled over. He kicked his back legs in a sharp, angry motion. "For the best! What is that to do with us? Centaurs are concerned with what has been foretold! It is not our business to run around like donkeys after stray humans in our forest!"
Firenze's eyes flared with a fierce intensity. "Do you not see that unicorn?" he bellowed, his voice reverberating through the clearing. "Do you not understand why it was killed? Or have the planets not let you in on that secret? I set myself against what is lurking in this forest, Bane, yes, with humans alongside me if I must."
Without waiting for a response, Firenze pivoted sharply, his muscles rippling as he turned away from Bane and Ronan. With Buffy, Dawn, and Harry clutching onto him as best they could, he plunged into the darkness of the forest, the trees closing in around them like silent sentinels. The undergrowth rustled and snapped beneath their hooves, and the moonlight cast eerie shadows that danced across the forest floor, leaving Ronan and Bane behind in their wake.
The trio clung tightly to Firenze's back, their breaths coming in ragged gasps as they pushed through the dense, oppressive thicket. The air grew cooler and heavier, and the once clear path seemed to narrow as they ventured deeper into the forest. Their surroundings were cloaked in an uneasy silence, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant, mournful calls of nocturnal creatures.
As they navigated through a particularly dense patch of trees, Firenze suddenly halted, his senses alert and his posture tense. The forest around them seemed to hold its breath, the stillness pressing in like a tangible force.
"Isabella Potter, Harry Potter, Dawn Summers," Firenze's voice cut through the silence, firm and commanding, "do you three know what unicorn blood is used for?"
The question hung in the air, charged with an ominous undertone. Harry, still recovering from the previous events, shook his head slowly. "No," he admitted. "We've only used the horn and tail hair in Potions."
"That is because it is a monstrous thing, to slay a unicorn," Firenze said, his voice grave and resonant. "Only one who has nothing to lose, and everything to gain, would commit such a crime. The blood of a unicorn will keep you alive, even if you are an inch from death, but at a terrible price. You have slain something pure and defenseless to save yourself, and you will have but a half-life, a cursed life, from the moment the blood touches your lips."
The gravity of Firenze's words settled heavily over them. The notion of life purchased with such a horrific trade filled the air with a chill.
"But who'd be that desperate?" Dawn wondered aloud, her voice tinged with incredulity. "If you're going to be cursed forever, death's better, isn't it?"
"It is," Firenze agreed, his expression somber. "Unless all you need is to stay alive long enough to drink something else—something that will bring you back to full strength and power—something that will mean you can never die. Do you three know what is hidden in the school at this very moment?"
A wave of realization washed over Dawn. "Me," she said, hesitatingly, "I have something called the Key."
"Besides yourself," Firenze said, his eyes piercingly intense.
"The Sorcerer's Stone!" Harry exclaimed, the pieces falling into place. "Of course—the Elixir of Life!"
Firenze's gaze sharpened. "Can you think of anybody who has waited many years to return to power, who has clung to life, awaiting their chance?"
"Do you mean," Harry croaked, a shiver running through him as he started to connect the dots, "that was Vol—"
"Harry! Dawn! Buffy! Are you three all right?" Hermione's voice cut through the tension, and she, along with Neville, came rushing down the path, Hagrid huffing along behind them.
"We're fine," Buffy said, her voice trembling slightly with the aftermath of the encounter. "The unicorn is dead, Hagrid. It's in that clearing back there."
"This is where I leave you three," Firenze murmured as Hagrid hurried off to examine the unicorn. His voice was filled with a quiet resignation, as if acknowledging the limits of his own intervention. "You are safe now."
Buffy, Dawn, and Harry slid off Firenze's back, their legs shaky but relieved. The dense forest around them seemed to exhale a sigh of relief as well.
"Good luck, Isabella and Harry Potter, and Dawn Summers," said Firenze, his voice soft but earnest. "The planets have been read wrongly before now, even by centaurs. I hope this is one of those times."
With a final, lingering look, Firenze turned and cantered back into the depths of the forest, his figure slowly disappearing into the thickening darkness.
Gryffindor Common Room
Ron and Willow had fallen asleep in the dimly lit common room, their bodies slumped over the cozy armchairs and sofas. The room was silent except for the crackling of the fire and the occasional rustle of the curtains. Ron's slumber was disturbed by a loud shout, his dream abruptly interrupted by thoughts of Quidditch fouls. He jolted awake, blinking in confusion as Harry's urgent hands shook his shoulder. Beside him, Willow stirred groggily as Buffy nudged her awake, the urgency in their gestures slicing through the fog of sleep.
Within moments, Ron and Willow were fully alert, their eyes wide with concern. The intensity of Harry, Buffy, and Dawn's faces—still pale and shadowed from their harrowing experience in the forest—told them something was seriously amiss. The trio began recounting their terrifying ordeal, their voices laced with a mix of fear and disbelief.
Harry, Buffy, and Dawn moved restlessly in front of the roaring fire, their pacing reflecting the adrenaline still coursing through them. Their hands trembled slightly, and their voices were edged with the sharpness of their recent fear. The warmth of the fire did little to dispel the cold dread that had settled in their bones.
"Snape wants the Stone for Voldemort… and Voldemort's waiting in the forest… and all this time we thought Snape just wanted to get rich…" Harry said, his words spilling out in a rush, as if speaking them aloud would make them less real.
Ron and Willow exchanged horrified glances, their faces paling further at the mention of the dark name. "Stop saying the name!" they both whispered urgently, their eyes darting around the room as if the very utterance could conjure the Dark Lord.
Harry, Buffy, and Dawn were too consumed by their own fears to notice their friends' distress. "Firenze saved us, but he shouldn't have done so… Bane was furious…" Harry continued, his voice trembling as he replayed the scene in his mind.
"He was talking about interfering with what the planets say is going to happen…" Dawn interjected, her voice barely above a whisper, reflecting her own unease.
"They must show that Voldemort's coming back… Bane thinks Firenze should have let Voldemort kill us… I suppose that's written in the stars as well," Buffy added, her gaze distant as she struggled to grasp the full implication of the centaurs' prophecy.
"Will you stop saying the name!" Ron hissed again, his anxiety clearly mounting.
Harry's words came in a fevered rush. "So, all I've got to wait for now is Snape to steal the Stone," he said, his eyes wide with the weight of their predicament, "then Voldemort will be able to come and finish me and Bells off… Well, I suppose Bane'll be happy."
Hermione, despite her own evident fear, attempted to offer some semblance of comfort. "Harry, Buffy, everyone says Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was ever afraid of. With Dumbledore around, You-Know-Who won't touch either of you. And as long as Dumbledore is here, I'm not worried about that Ben's guys warning that Glorificus is coming for you, Dawn. Anyway, who says the centaurs are right? It sounds like fortune-telling to me, and Professor McGonagall says that's a very imprecise branch of magic."
The night dragged on as they talked, the sky gradually lightening with the approach of dawn. They spoke in hushed tones, their voices growing hoarse from the intensity of their discussion. Exhaustion weighed heavily on them, and eventually, the group began to wind down. They retreated to their respective beds, their bodies aching from fatigue and minds restless with the night's revelations. As they settled under their blankets, the fire in the common room burned low, casting flickering shadows on the walls, while their throats remained sore from the strain of their frantic conversation.
June 1, 1992 – Monday
Great Hall
In the years that followed, Harry, Buffy, and Dawn would often look back on their exams with a sense of incredulity, unable to fully recall how they managed to navigate the academic demands while their minds were consumed with the fear of Voldemort or Glorificus crashing through the doors of Hogwarts at any given moment. The days dragged on, each one punctuated by the knowledge that Fluffy, the three-headed guardian of the trapdoor, was still alive and securely behind its locked confinement. Despite their apprehensions, there was no sign that Glorificus had managed to breach the castle's defenses, as the magical wards held steadfast against any incursion.
The heat during the examination period was oppressive, a relentless swelter that seemed to seep into every corner of the castle. This was especially true in the large examination hall where the written papers were held. The air was thick with the scent of ink and parchment, and the heavy warmth made it feel as though the very walls were closing in. To combat this, they were provided with special new quills—an innovation designed to ensure academic integrity. Each quill was imbued with an Anti-Cheating spell, a glittering enchantment that shimmered faintly in the dim light of the exam room.
Practical exams were just as grueling, though they took on a different kind of challenge. Professor Flitwick, with his customary enthusiasm, called students one by one into his classroom. There, they were required to perform the whimsical task of making a pineapple tap-dance across a desk, an exercise that tested their precision and creativity. Professor McGonagall's practical exam involved turning a mouse into a snuffbox, a test that demanded both skill and artistry. Points were awarded for the beauty of the transformation, but a mouse with whiskers would result in deductions, adding an extra layer of pressure. Meanwhile, Snape's presence loomed like a dark cloud over their attempts to concoct a Forgetfulness potion, his sharp gaze making even the most experienced students falter under the weight of his scrutiny.
Throughout these trials, Harry and Buffy did their utmost to maintain their composure, despite the persistent, stabbing pains in their foreheads—an aftereffect of their harrowing encounter in the forest. The ache was a constant reminder of the danger that lurked beyond the castle's protective wards, but they pushed through, driven by a determination to complete their exams.
The final exam of the term was History of Magic, a subject that typically elicited a collective groan from students. The exam consisted of one hour of answering questions about eccentric wizards who had, among other things, invented self-stirring cauldrons. The subject matter seemed almost absurd in light of the current circumstances, but it was a welcome distraction from the darker events that loomed over their lives.
When the ghostly figure of Professor Binns, with his faintly translucent and slightly ethereal form, floated through the classroom to signal the end of the exam, the relief was palpable. The students, exhausted and frazzled, couldn't help but let out a cheer.
Grounds
As the group emerged from the dim confines of the castle and into the bright, sunlit grounds, Hermione's comment about the exams drew a mix of relief and disbelief from her friends. "That was far easier than I thought it would be," she remarked, her voice carrying a hint of surprise and satisfaction. Her usual meticulous nature had led her to delve deeply into every aspect of their studies, from the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct to the tumultuous uprising of Elfric the Eager. The sense of accomplishment was evident in her tone, as if the weight of her preparation had finally been lifted.
Despite Hermione's enthusiasm for reviewing their exam papers to gauge their performance, Ron had always found this practice unsettling. As a result, the group decided to abandon the academic introspection in favor of a more leisurely afternoon. They made their way down to the shimmering lake, where the warm, golden light reflected off the water in a dazzling dance of sparkles. The scent of blooming flowers and freshly cut grass filled the air, providing a stark contrast to the intense atmosphere of their recent exams.
Under the shade of a sprawling oak tree, which offered a canopy of cool relief from the blazing sun, they settled down on the grass. Nearby, the elder Weasley twins and Lee Jordan were engaged in a playful interaction with a giant squid. The massive creature, its tentacles undulating lazily in the shallows, seemed to enjoy the attention as they gently tickled its appendages. The scene was one of carefree amusement, a rare and precious respite from their recent trials.
"No more studying," Ron sighed contentedly, stretching out on the grass with an air of complete relaxation. The heat was heavy but soothing, and the grass felt cool and comforting against his back.
Willow, ever the optimist, attempted to uplift the mood further. "You could look more cheerful, Harry, Buffy, Dawn. We've got a week before we find out how badly we've done, there's no need to worry yet," she encouraged, her voice carrying a note of reassurance.
Despite her best efforts, Harry and Buffy's faces remained etched with concern as they absentmindedly rubbed their scars. The recurring pain in their foreheads had become an unsettling distraction. "I wish I knew what this means!" Harry burst out, frustration tinged with desperation in his voice. "Mine and Bells' scars keep hurting—it's happened before, but never as often as this."
Hermione, always the practical one, suggested a remedy. "Go to Madam Pomfrey," she proposed, her concern evident.
"We're not ill," Buffy countered, her tone resolute yet laced with worry.
Harry's voice was tinged with a sense of foreboding as he added, "I think it's a warning… it means danger's coming…"
Willow, who was more focused on the pleasant heat and the relaxation of the moment, dismissed their fears with a wave of her hand. "Relax," she said, her voice relaxed and nonchalant. "Hermione's right, the Stone's safe as long as Dumbledore's around. And I bet he's even working with your aunt to make sure your home has wards to protect against Glorificus. Anyway, we've never had any proof Snape found out how to get past Fluffy. He nearly had his leg ripped off once, he's not going to try it again in a hurry. And Neville will play Quidditch for England before Hagrid lets Dumbledore down."