Chapter 56
Gray led Malfoy and Fang through the trees until they reached a small clearing. A large, moss-covered tree stump stood in the centre, and somewhere nearby came the soft sound of running water, though its source wasn't immediately obvious.
"Over here—have you found something?" Malfoy couldn't hold back any longer, his voice tight with nerves.
Gray stopped and turned to look at him. Malfoy was shaking visibly, his face as pale as the moonlight overhead. The moment Gray glanced back, he hurried on.
"Gray, did you see something? Don't—don't go any further. What if we actually run into that thing?"
Gray had abruptly changed direction a few moments earlier—clearly he'd noticed something. Malfoy had no intention of following him straight into the jaws of whatever monster was out here.
Gray flicked his wand. A clump of wet, mossy earth flew out and slapped itself over Malfoy's mouth.
Malfoy gagged at the sudden damp, earthy taste and tried frantically to spit it out.
The floating light particles from Gray's wand rearranged themselves into words in front of Malfoy's face.
"If you don't want to attract that thing, keep your mouth shut."
A second line appeared below the first.
"If you make another sound, I'll leave you here in the forest to find your own way back."
The words dissolved into the night air the moment Malfoy finished reading them.
Malfoy opened his mouth instinctively to protest—then clamped both hands over it, eyes wide with panic as he stared at Gray.
Gray had already turned away again, scanning the surroundings. Malfoy let out a shaky breath of relief and hurried to catch up.
Through his magical sight, Gray examined the faint circuits of magic lingering in the area. There was a strange aura here—familiar somehow, though he couldn't quite place it.
Malfoy, for all that he was only a child, was proving far too irritating. He couldn't read a situation at all, and the Astronomy Tower incident had already shown that he needed constant reminders not to cause trouble.
For a fleeting, dark moment Gray considered simply dealing with him here—removing the liability before he could drag them both down.
Behind him, Malfoy shivered violently and hugged his robes tighter around himself.
Of course, Gray dismissed the thought almost immediately. He wasn't a monster, and he certainly wasn't turning into a Dark wizard. At worst, once they were safely out of the forest, he might treat Malfoy to another "amusement park experience" to round out the boy's childhood.
At that moment Gray located the source of the odd feeling he'd noticed earlier.
On a broad leaf nearby lay several drops of silver-blue blood. In the clear moonlight the droplets gave off a soft, shimmering fragrance.
Malfoy edged closer, clearly desperate to ask what it was, but he caught himself just in time and pressed his lips together, eyes fixed questioningly on Gray.
Gray ignored him. He stared at the blood, then looked down at the ground.
More of it stained the earth—partly absorbed by the soil, easy to miss at first glance. Now that he focused, he saw the trail pointed in exactly the same direction as the stray Wiggentree tuber earlier.
An injured unicorn lay somewhere ahead.
Gray set off at a brisker pace. Malfoy scrambled to keep up while Fang brought up the rear, ears pricked and constantly checking behind them.
The trail of unicorn blood continued all the way—still fresh, the final drops glowing with an otherworldly sheen, almost alive. Malfoy stared at one particularly bright droplet and, for a wild second, seemed tempted to taste it—until Gray's sharp glance snapped him back to reality.
After about half an hour they reached another small clearing and stopped.
A single figure knelt on the ground before them: a unicorn, its spiralled horn catching the moonlight, its body radiating a gentle, silvery glow. It was licking at a wound on its flank.
Around the unicorn, countless root-like herbs—shaped like human hands or webbed duck feet—had pushed up through the soil. They released drifts of fine grey dust that flowed together into thin, dark streams, settling gently over the unicorn's injury and staunching the bleeding.
Malfoy drew in a sharp, astonished breath—"Hss—" but swallowed the sound before it could become a word, producing only a muffled wheeze in his throat.
Gray turned. A faint silver light shimmered across his dark eyes, like moonlight reflected on still water.
He raised his wand to his lips in a clear "quiet" gesture toward Malfoy, then swept his gaze across the clearing.
Voldemort wasn't here. The unicorn must have escaped—for now—and Voldemort was probably still searching.
So what next? Send up sparks to call Hagrid, or try to get the unicorn out of the forest first?
Gray glanced up at the sky.
At this depth in the forest, on such a clear night, green sparks would be unmistakable. Hagrid would see them instantly and come running.
But so would Voldemort, wherever he was. The signal would reveal their exact position—and confirm that the unicorn was still alive.
If Voldemort arrived first, Gray wasn't certain he could protect the creature. He was confident he could handle the currently weakened Dark Lord in a straight fight—but confidence wasn't certainty. One mistake, and Gray could escape; the unicorn would not.
He studied the magnificent animal. This living unicorn was even more beautiful than the dead one he had seen before—perfect in both ordinary sight and magical vision.
If it was at all possible, Gray wanted to save it. Unicorns were creatures of legend, and now extremely rare magical beasts.
With that thought, he stepped forward. Malfoy followed close behind like a shadow.
The unicorn lifted its head. Its eyes fixed on Gray and it gave a low, warning whinny, levelling its horn directly at him.
A faint ripple of magic stirred along the horn—delicate silver light flickering to life. The surrounding streams of grey dust scattered into harmless powder.
Gray stopped, brow creasing slightly.
The unicorn was clearly threatening him with its horn—yet he felt no danger at all. It was as though the display of hostility wasn't directed at him.
In other words, the unicorn's true target wasn't Gray.
He turned slowly and looked back at Malfoy.
With a casual flick of his wand, Gray lifted Malfoy bodily into the air. The Slytherin's eyes widened in panic; he opened his mouth to yelp, then slammed it shut again with both hands.
Gray didn't speak. He simply guided Malfoy backward a safe distance, then gave Fang a meaningful glance.
After so many patrols with Hagrid, Gray and the boarhound had developed a quiet understanding. Fang gave a soft, rumbling woof, cast one wary look at the unicorn, then trotted over to stand guard beside Malfoy.
When Gray looked back, the unicorn had lowered its horn. It bent its head again, apparently resting.
Gray approached once more. This time the unicorn made no move to stop him. It allowed him to come right up beside it without the slightest sign of fear.
Gray reached out slowly and ran his fingers along the unicorn's neck.
The mane felt like strands of pure moonlight—silky and impossibly soft.
That was Gray's first thought.
His second thought was, 'Why is it being so calm with me?'
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