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Chapter 112 – Fifty Thousand Galleons!!
Hagrid awkwardly scratched his beard as Hermione continued to rant.
Before he could answer, Firenze emerged from between the trees, Harry slumped across his back. He gently lowered Harry to the ground.
"You're safe now, Harry Potter," Firenze said calmly. "Good fortune was with you tonight… Astrology is often misread. Centaurs are not all-knowing— and I hope that applies now as well."
He nodded to Hagrid and disappeared into the forest.
Harry staggered forward, still shaking. He opened his mouth to greet Hagrid— then froze.
"Where's Darren?"
"Darren healed a unicorn," Hermione snapped, still furious. "A unicorn, Harry. And then he fainted on the ground. We're heading to the hospital wing— we need to check on him."
She was seething. If she weren't terrified of Dumbledore—or fond of him—she'd have marched straight to his office to demand answers.
Harry returned drenched, exhausted, and still trembling.
Partly from Voldemort's presence.
Partly from hearing Darren had collapsed.
Thankfully, Madam Pomfrey had declared Darren only magically overexerted— he'd wake up in the morning.
The unicorn, the one Harry thought dead, lay in the far corner, quietly breathing. It watched Darren with large, worried eyes.
"Oh, I don't know how I ended up targeted… Don't ask me anything," the unicorn—Alico—murmured. "Dumbledore knows. I told him already."
It didn't enjoy talking to humans and refused to let anyone touch its mane. At best, Hermione was allowed to approach a few steps. Harry thought the unicorn was unbearably proud.
But they didn't dare complain.
Madam Pomfrey shooed them out moments later.
Harry hurried to the common room and shook Ron awake hard.
Ron shouted something about Quidditch fouls before blinking himself alert.
Once Harry told him everything that happened in the Forbidden Forest, Ron's face drained of color.
"So Snape wasn't after the Philosopher's Stone for himself… He was stealing it for Voldemort? Voldemort was waiting in the Forest?!"
"Don't— don't say his name…" Ron whispered.
Harry paced around the fireplace. "Firenze said the stars changed tonight… Bane and the others didn't want him to save me. They wanted me to die. To let Voldemort kill me!"
Hermione gasped. The memory hit her:
The hooded figure that had destroyed Hagrid's crossbow.
The same figure that nearly struck Darren.
Harry froze.
Voldemort had attacked Darren too.
The thought made his stomach twist with panic. If Darren had died tonight, Harry didn't know what he would've done.
Hermione's eyes brimmed with tears as she pictured losing Darren. She tried to steady her own breathing as she spoke:
"It's okay… we're back in the castle now. You and Darren are safe. Don't forget— Dumbledore is here. The Dark Lord can't touch you inside Hogwarts."
"Yes…"
"But—"
"And—"
They talked until dawn's first light slipped through the windows. Finally, exhausted, they all dragged themselves to bed.
Before they went, they made one agreement:
Don't tell Darren any of this.
He was too kind. Too reckless.
He'd run after Voldemort himself if he knew the truth— especially if he realized Voldemort was the one who murdered their parents.
Harry yawned and headed to his dormitory.
When he pulled back his blankets, he froze.
His Invisibility Cloak lay folded neatly on his bed.
A note rested on top:
Just in case.
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When Darren woke the next morning, Alico was gone.
Madam Pomfrey explained that Dumbledore had taken the unicorn away— its injuries were severe enough that it might be sent to St Mungo's.
Despite Darren saving its life, Alico still carried several curses— too dangerous to leave untreated.
"Before it left," Madam Pomfrey added, "it insisted on giving you these."
She handed Darren several strands of unicorn hair and a small bottle of unicorn blood.
The blood glimmered silver-blue, more beautiful than any potion he'd ever seen.
"Unicorn blood is priceless," Madam Pomfrey whispered reverently. "Especially when given freely. It can save someone on the brink of death— perhaps even prolong life… though nothing can grant true immortality."
Darren stared at the bottle, stunned.
How many Galleons could this sell for?
He looked at Madam Pomfrey thoughtfully.
"Madam, you've taken care of me so many times. Please— take the blood."
[Ding, Father +50]
"Oh, no— no, I can't accept that!" she said, though she stared at the bottle like it was a phoenix feather dipped in gold.
Seeing his chance, Darren lowered his voice.
"Then… maybe you could buy it? You like it, and I can't use it. You'd be doing both of us a favor."
[Ding, Father +100]
Madam Pomfrey inhaled sharply.
Such a polite, selfless child…
Her heart couldn't take it.
She clenched her jaw. "…Fifty thousand Galleons."
"Deal!"
[Ding, Father +80]
It was probably about right— maybe lower than the black market, but still more than he'd get elsewhere.
"You're not even going to ask whether I gave you a fair price?" she asked softly.
Darren smiled. "It was meant for you. The Galleons are just to make you feel better accepting it. If you're comfortable, that's enough."
[Ding, Father +60]
"Good boy…" She wiped her eyes. "I won't take advantage of you. Fifty thousand is already above market rate. Anything higher and I'd have to save up my salary for years."
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