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Chapter 55: The Forbidden Forest
🕑 Added 2025-10-28 10:21:23 +0000 UTCChapter 55: The Forbidden Forest
Quirrell lay slumped on the sofa near his fireplace, shivering and groaning weakly. Piled beside him were several discarded turbans, emanating a truly foul odour. Quirrell, however, seemed oblivious, likely having grown accustomed to the stench.
Life had become unbearable for him lately.
For some reason, whenever he walked the school corridors, he felt eyes constantly on his back, a prickling sensation that left him perpetually uneasy. Those younger students had also become annoyingly studious, frequently stopping him in the halls to ask questions.
Worse than that was the demanding presence on the back of his head. The Dark Lord seemed to be slowly regaining strength, requiring more and more life force, and Quirrell was nearing his limit.
"Snape..."
His eyes filled with hatred. If Snape hadn't interfered, he might have already obtained the Philosopher's Stone, freeing himself from this parasitic existence. Frankly, Quirrell found his current state, neither fully human nor truly himself, repulsive. He hadn't looked in a mirror for a long time.
"My L-Lord," Quirrell began hesitantly, his heart heavy, "m-must we truly hunt the unicorns? The c-curse..."
Unable to secure the Stone quickly, Voldemort had commanded they venture into the Forbidden Forest to hunt unicorns. Unicorn blood could sustain life, but from the moment it touched the drinker's lips, they were cursed forever, paying a terrible price. A cursed life, even prolonged, was one filled with despair and pain.
If there were any other way, Quirrell desperately wanted to avoid the curse. Even if the Dark Lord returned to full power, the unicorn's curse would remain, tormenting him eternally.
"Your loyalty wavers, Quirrell," Voldemort's voice, though weaker than before, still made Quirrell tremble. "I am disappointed. You are unwilling to make even this small sacrifice for me."
Quirrell sagged further into the sofa, whimpering helplessly, overcome with despair and terror. In truth, he no longer had the strength to refuse Voldemort. The parasitic entity, nourished by Quirrell's own life force, had grown strong enough to exert control over its host.
Voldemort, listening to Quirrell's pathetic sobs from the back of his head, felt only disgust but refrained from further verbal abuse.
"Once we have the Stone... once we steal that accursed Stone! I will regain my full power and magic, and you, Quirrell, will be rewarded beyond imagination..."
"Surely you do not think," Voldemort hissed, "that I, in my full power, cannot overcome a simple curse?"
Belittle, express disappointment. Threaten, intimidate. Deceive, promise future rewards. Voldemort expertly manipulated Quirrell, combining his words with direct mental control. The effect was immediate. Quirrell abruptly stopped crying, wiped his face, and nodded, trembling.
"F-for you, my Lord, I fear nothing! Rest assured, I will d-do as you command tonight!"
And so, as darkness enveloped Hogwarts, Quirrell appeared precisely at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Taking a deep breath and adjusting his turban, he ducked under the low-hanging branches and entered the oppressive gloom.
The vast forest stretched before him. Unsure where to find a unicorn, Quirrell hesitated. The voice from the back of his head hissed impatiently.
"Follow the moonlight, you fool!"
Quirrell nodded quickly and obeyed, following the path illuminated by shafts of moonlight filtering through the dense canopy.
Before long, he spotted a four-legged creature. But it wasn't beautiful or elegant; it radiated wild power. A wary centaur. Quirrell raised his wand, but before he could cast a spell, the creature leaped over a thicket and vanished into the trees.
"Ignore it. Centaurs are proud creatures. They do not meddle in human affairs. It will not speak a word to anyone at Hogwarts. Continue following the moonlight! Do not waste time!" Voldemort commanded, first offering reassurance, then urging him onward.
Finally, deep within the forest, Quirrell found his prey: a unicorn, bathing in a pool of moonlight, ethereal and beautiful.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Quirrell cast the curse without hesitation. A cloud drifted across the moon, plunging the clearing into darkness. The unicorn let out a single, piercing cry and collapsed, its legs twitching feebly before falling still.
"Quickly! Bite its neck! Drink the blood!" Voldemort urged, his voice frantic.
Though repulsed, Quirrell knelt beside the unicorn's corpse, lowered his head, and drank.
Moments later, he stood up, a bright, disturbing smear of silver-red blood on his lips. His complexion had improved noticeably; colour had returned to his face. But if one looked closely, faint black lines, like veins, were already visible beneath his skin – the mark of the unicorn's curse.
"More! Find more!" Voldemort hissed greedily. "I need more life force... Quickly! Follow the moonlight..."
Harry sat nervously at the rough wooden table in Hagrid's hut, waiting. The table was laden with strange-looking food, emitting a surprisingly appetizing aroma. But despite his hunger, Harry didn't dare touch anything.
"Ron," he whispered, "is that... a biscuit... on the far left?"
Ron, looking equally apprehensive, glanced towards Hagrid, who was bustling around the hearth, and whispered back, "I think it's a rock, mate. Tried biting one earlier. Nearly lost a tooth."
"They're rock cakes," Hermione added quietly from beside them. "But... they're Hagrid's rock cakes... Do you think we should mention that our teeth aren't quite as... robust... as his?"
"We're guests," Harry demurred. "Wouldn't it be rude?"
Ron looked horrified. "Are you blind? Look at that soup bowl in front of you! I could take a bath in it!"
"Steak's ready!" Hagrid boomed, turning around. He carried a Gargantuan slab of meat on a platter and slammed it onto the table with a crash that made Fang, Hagrid's large boarhound lying under the table, whimper.
Harry reached down and patted Fang's head sympathetically. After a brief internal struggle, he raised his hand. "Hagrid? Could you possibly... break up the rock cakes for us? We're not quite strong enough."
"And the steak!" Ron added immediately, then shot Hermione an expectant look.
Hermione shrugged and offered Hagrid a sweet smile. "Just a tiny piece for me, Hagrid. We already ate dinner in the Great Hall."
"Blimey! My apologies!" Hagrid slapped his forehead, then stomped his foot in remorse. "Forgot meself... hardly get visitors, 'cept Dumbledore." The hut shook slightly. "No wonder Dumbledore never touches me rock cakes!"
Under the table, Fang whimpered again and retreated further into his basket, tail tucked.
"It's alright, Hagrid, really," Harry said quickly. Hagrid, looking contrite, proceeded to break the rock cakes into smaller (though still formidable) chunks and carve manageable slices from the steak. Finally, they could eat.
Surprisingly, the food was delicious. The softened rock cakes were chewy and flavourful, and the steak was perfectly cooked, easily rivalling the house-elves' fare up at the castle.
"Harry," Hagrid said conversationally as they ate, "noticed more youngsters wearin' suits like yours lately?"
At this, Harry lit up, his eyes shining. He launched into an animated account of recent events, focusing particularly on Leon's performance in the Duelling Practice sessions and mentioning the weekend tutoring.
Hermione remained quiet, looking thoughtful. She still found the whole 'Peaky Blinders' business rather odd, not quite proper...
Ron, however, looked envious. He desperately wanted to join the weekend duelling sessions, but thanks to several missed assignments, he was spending all his weekends in detention with Professor McGonagall. (Strangely, McGonagall had initially tried to teach Ron something, but after discovering he still couldn't reliably transfigure a match into a needle, she had given up, muttering something about how "not every student is a Shelby.")
"Right then, youngsters," Hagrid said eventually, looking at the clock. "Gettin' late. Time yeh were headin' back."
The trio thanked him politely and got ready to leave, but Hagrid pulled on his own coat to escort them. "Bit uneasy 'bout the forest lately," he explained. "Best I see yeh back ter the castle."
Bundled up, the four of them stepped out of the hut, chatting and agreeing to spend Christmas together.
Suddenly, a high-pitched, mournful cry echoed from the depths of the forest. Hagrid froze, listening intently, then swore under his breath. "A unicorn!"
He rushed back into the hut and emerged a moment later carrying his crossbow (disguised, poorly, as an umbrella). He looked seriously at the three children. "Somethin's hurtin' the unicorns. I gotta go check. You three head straight back. Quickly now."
With that, Hagrid plunged into the dark trees, Fang trotting nervously at his heels, leaving the three friends staring after him.
"Harry, what are you doing?" Ron exclaimed, watching his friend turn back towards Hagrid's hut.
Harry ignored him, went inside, and emerged dragging a reluctant, sleepy Fang by the collar.
"I have to go see," Harry said, his expression determined, though he didn't explain why. He was thinking of Shelby. Mr. Shelby had been acting strangely lately, ordering the Peaky Blinders to be vigilant, to report anything unusual. He'd even borrowed Harry's Invisibility Cloak. Clearly, Mr. Shelby was planning something. Harry wanted to help, somehow.
"Ron, Hermione, you go back," Harry said, looking towards the silent, menacing forest. He swallowed nervously but stood his ground. "I'll take Fang and see what's happening."
"Are you mad? That's the Forbidden Forest!" Ron and Hermione cried almost in unison.
But their reasons differed slightly.
Ron: "It's full of dangerous creatures! You could be killed!"
Hermione: "Or worse, expelled!"
"Honestly, Hermione," Ron muttered weakly, "get your priorities straight."
Their protests didn't sway Harry. "It'll be fine," he said, trying to reassure himself as much as them, tightening his grip on Fang's collar. "I've got Fang. Hagrid says he's more reliable than any human in the forest."
With a wave, Harry turned and walked towards the dark treeline. Behind him, Ron and Hermione exchanged a look, then, gritting their teeth, ran after him.
"Harry, wait for us!"
Just as Quirrell, Hagrid, and the trio entered the forest from different points, Leon Shelby, cloaked in invisibility, reached the forest edge.
He stared into the terrifying darkness ahead, checked the wand in his right hand, and the pistol in his left. Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside.
The forest was eerily silent. The dense canopy blocked out the moonlight, plunging everything into blackness. The air was heavy and damp. Occasionally, a crow would let out a harsh cry from the branches above, amplifying the unsettling atmosphere. Leon moved slowly, his feet sinking into the soft, wet earth with squelching sounds.
He remained on high alert, every muscle tense, ready for anything. He might be facing the most feared Dark Wizard in history. Even in his weakened state, Voldemort was not to be underestimated.
Suddenly, rustling came from the undergrowth directly in front of him. Though invisible, Leon instantly pointed his wand towards the sound.
A moment later, a panicked-looking centaur emerged from the bushes, clearly spooked. It didn't pause, nor did it notice the unseen observer. After a brief hesitation, the centaur galloped away into the darkness.
Leon's eyes narrowed. He waited a moment, then moved cautiously in the direction the centaur had come from.
Soon, he pushed through a patch of low bushes and came upon a gruesome scene: a dead unicorn lay on the forest floor. There was a terrible wound on its neck, yet strangely little blood had spilled. Its legs were bent at unnatural angles, suggesting a horrific struggle before death.
Shaking his head grimly, Leon pressed on. Following the faint trail, he found two more unicorn corpses, equally mangled.
Finally, after another ten minutes, he saw a familiar, hunched figure ahead. In a moonlit clearing, a hooded figure was crawling slowly across the ground, like a predator stalking its prey, towards the body of another slain unicorn.
The figure lowered its head and began to drink greedily from the wound, loud gulping sounds echoing horribly in the silence.
Suddenly, a rasping voice, stronger than before, yet still weak, hissed from beneath the hood.
"Stop drinking, fool. We have company..."
