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HRA# Chapter 87: Settling the Unicorns and the Erkling in Class
🕑 Added 2025-04-03 22:09:03 +0000 UTCThis fragment of parchment had essentially revealed the identity of the mysterious black-robed figure. Naturally, Voldemort wouldn’t be the one begging Harry or Dumbledore for help. That left only one possibility: the person Voldemort had possessed—Quirinus Quirrell.
“I haven’t agreed to anything yet, Dumbledore,” Harry said with a cold laugh.
Without a doubt, this small earth elemental had been summoned by Quirrell. Harry hadn’t expected that, during the very first lesson of the Shaman Priests’ Club, more than just the twelve children had forged a pact with the earth elementals. The professors hadn’t been entirely wiped out either—Quirrell had somehow managed to sense the earth elemental’s presence and earn its approval.
Even Voldemort himself probably hadn’t anticipated that the pitiful wretch he’d possessed harbored such a talent.
But—what did it matter?
You know to swerve when a car’s about to hit a wall, you know to buy when the stock market rises, you know to repent when you’re sentenced for a crime, and you only think to wipe your nose when the snot’s already in your mouth—what’s the point?
Up until last year, Quirrell’s life could have been called enviable. At a young age, he’d secured a position as the Muggle Studies professor at Hogwarts. Yet, he’d chosen to throw himself at Voldemort’s feet during a summer trip.
Perhaps, in the beginning, Dumbledore might have had a way to save him. But back then, Quirrell had shown no trace of regret—not until Voldemort had fully taken control and ripped off the mask.
“…Even you don’t have a solution?” Dumbledore sighed. “Not even with those remarkable shaman spells of yours?”
“Shaman priests aren’t gods,” Harry said with clear disgust. “For a traitor who willingly falls like this, we’d only destroy them completely. Of course, if he somehow manages to survive on his own, then he’d have a chance to repent.”
“Before that, he’ll need to prove himself… with his blood, or Voldemort’s.”
The orcs had never shied away from acknowledging the misguided paths they’d once walked. Even those new orcs seeking redemption later on had to first endure the Alliance’s pursuit and the torment of demon blood, surviving it all before they could speak of atonement in Azeroth.
Under Thrall’s leadership, the orc shaman priests always recounted the tales of what happened on the lands of Draenor to their young kin and peers.
Ner’zhul had indeed regretted shattering Draenor, but by then, what good was his regret?
There was nothing left.
“A rule forged in iron and blood,” Dumbledore sighed again.
“If Professor Snape were here, he’d probably say your head’s made of troll dung or ask if you’ve eaten too many sweets,” Harry suddenly chuckled. “It’s a fact even I know—he won’t live much longer. The unicorn blood will be his end.”
“What?!” Hagrid’s eyes widened in shock. “Wait, so you’re saying, Headmaster Dumbledore, you and Harry know who it is?!”
“I’m sorry, Hagrid,” Dumbledore said, glancing at Harry. “For certain reasons, I can’t tell you who it is just yet. I believe Harry agrees with me on this.”
“Er, sorry, Hagrid,” Harry said solemnly. “This isn’t something too many people should know about right now—though I think the unicorns in the Forbidden Forest should be safe now.”
“Alright, if you both think so,” Hagrid said, slinging his bow back over his shoulder and scratching his head. “Then I’ll go check on the unicorns first… Oh, Harry, I was thinking—could we temporarily settle the unicorns in that, er, suitcase of yours? I just feel like it’s still not safe enough out there.”
He looked like a worried old mother hen.
“Of course,” Harry nodded. “A bit of life in the suitcase would be a good thing.”
“Ah, brilliant!” Hagrid said cheerfully. “I’d better hurry and find them, then. Hope nothing goes wrong.”
If the task were left solely to Harry as he was now, Hagrid might still feel a flicker of unease. But entrusting it to both Dumbledore and Harry? Hagrid couldn’t be more at ease.
Dumbledore and the future Dumbledore—how could anything possibly go wrong?
After Hagrid left with peace of mind, Harry and Dumbledore didn’t talk much. Mostly, it was Dumbledore speaking and Harry listening—when it came to the properties of unicorn blood, Harry naturally couldn’t match Dumbledore’s depth of knowledge.
Dumbledore was, after all, a renowned figure in alchemy as well.
The old man and the boy even took some time to analyze how long Quirrell might hold out, based on the frequency and intervals of Voldemort’s unicorn hunts.
That very night, a new group of residents moved into the small world within Harry’s suitcase: seven unicorns—five adults and two foals.
Hagrid’s persuasion had been a success. As he often boasted, he was rather well-liked in the Forbidden Forest… though it also helped that this unicorn herd could no longer bear losing any more of their kin.
A suitcase that dark wizards couldn’t find, absolutely safe, and backed by Hagrid’s guarantee—it sounded pretty good.
Notably, the adult unicorns were a shimmering silver-white, their coats sleek and glossy, perfectly matching the fantastical image from Muggle fairy tales. Beyond their beauty, they boasted powerful, streamlined muscles, a clear sign they weren’t harmless.
The foals, meanwhile, sported golden fur, utterly adorable.
Seeing the unicorns up close, Harry could understand why Hagrid had been so outraged by their deaths—they really suited his tastes.
Specifically, their rarity.
Fierce, rare, and majestic—these were all qualities Hagrid adored.
Though they couldn’t speak human tongues, the unicorns clearly understood what wizards said. Harry designated their living area in a corner beneath a cliff. After explaining a few precautions about life in the suitcase, the lead unicorn gave a clever nod.
The two foals, though curious, obediently followed the adults into the woods.
“I doubt they’ll stay here long,” Harry said, turning to Dumbledore as he watched them go. “It’s safe, but it’s too small for them. They can’t even run freely.”
“I’m glad you thought of that, Harry,” Dumbledore said with a cheerful smile. “But you must know, for most creatures, survival always comes first.”
“Then we’ll release them back to the Forbidden Forest once it’s safe,” Harry said, standing up. “Whenever they’re ready.”
Until the seven unicorns felt secure enough, Harry had no intention of telling his friends about them. Hermione and the others would undoubtedly be fascinated, but wild beasts were wild beasts—better not risk anyone getting hurt.
Once trust was established, there’d be time to share.
The next morning at breakfast, Harry spotted Quirrell at the staff table. He looked perfectly fine, utterly normal.
Well, if you could call his timid, almost schizophrenic demeanor outside the classroom “normal.”
Snape seemed to be saying something to Quirrell, his expression fierce. Quirrell stammered as usual, drawing indignant looks from the students eating below, some of whom looked ready to jump up and give Snape a piece of their mind.
Honestly, Harry wondered if Dumbledore had ever told Snape that Voldemort was possessing Quirrell… or if Snape even realized he was occasionally threatening the Dark Lord himself.
James had all but carved into Harry’s mind that Snape was a rotten git, telling him how Snape had worshipped the Dark Lord since their school days and joined the Death Eaters straight after graduation.
Hmm… Harry figured Snape probably knew something, but not the full picture. Maybe he just thought Quirrell was a run-of-the-mill Death Eater.
Over the past few weeks, Quirrell had settled into his role as a competent Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. It was as if he could peer into the students’ deepest desires—showing off powerful curses one day, bringing in dangerous magical creatures as teaching aids the next.
Every lesson left the students satisfied, proclaiming, “This is the Defense Against the Dark Arts I wanted!” Older students even called him the most capable professor for the subject in years.
His transformation into a confident figure the moment class began only added to his cool factor. A professor with a dual personality—Dean Thomas even swore Quirrell was hiding a third persona: a murderer straight out of Muggle novels.
Congrats, you guessed right.
“No textbooks today, as usual. Those in the back, feel free to move closer,” Quirrell’s magnetic voice filled the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. “Good. Can everyone see the front?”
“Yes!”
The students chorused, dragging out the word, their faces alight with excitement, each wondering what Quirrell had in store for today.
In the open space at the front of the room stood a cage, draped in black cloth. Only the cage’s outline was visible, its contents hidden, though a beautiful melody drifted from within.
“La~ la~~ la~~~ la~”
A woman’s voice, pure and clear as a mountain stream, the tune enchanting.
“What could it be?”
“A garden pixie? A fairy?”
“I bet it’s a harpy!”
“Idiot, harpies sound awful—you’d go mad just hearing them.”
“It’s definitely a gorgeous woman!”
“…”
The students buzzed with speculation.
“Excited?” Quirrell rested a hand on the cage’s edge, smiling. “Want to see her true face?”
“Yes, Professor!”
A unanimous shout.
“Very well, let’s unveil the mystery,” Quirrell said, yanking the cloth off with a flourish.
The next moment, squeals erupted from the more timid first-year girls.
Inside the cage wasn’t the beautiful fairy or lovely sprite they’d imagined. It was a creature about three feet tall with a sharp, pointed face—something like a goblin, but much larger.
With the cloth gone, the ethereal song vanished, replaced by a harsh, cackling giggle, as if it were laughing. The sound was shrill and grating.
The students’ screams made Quirrell’s eyes narrow with satisfaction.
“Anyone know its name?” he asked, raising his voice, then pointing directly. “Tell me, Harry.”
“Erkling,” Harry said flatly. “A mischievous creature, mainly found in the Black Forest of Germany. Thanks to wizard activity, they’re now scattered across Europe.”
“Gryffindor earns one point,” Quirrell said promptly. “Go on, Harry. Keep going—you know more.”
“When children hear an Erkling’s call, they’re entranced and can’t help searching for the source,” Harry continued. “Once they stray from their guardians, the Erkling eats them.”
His words drew gasps. No one had expected the caged monster to be a child-eater. The kids in the front row suddenly regretted sitting so close—what if the cage broke? They’d be in danger.
“Perfect answer,” Quirrell nodded. “Even I couldn’t add more. Gryffindor, two more points.”
“Even now, hundreds of children across Europe are eaten by Erklings every year,” Quirrell said softly. “All Muggle children, of course… Poor, ignorant, foolish Muggles—how could they ever suspect such a creature preys on their kids?”
Snickers rose from the Slytherin students.
“Oh, oh, oh, no laughing, please,” Quirrell turned, wagging a finger. “Though Muggles are indeed quite stupid—you all know I used to be a Muggle Studies professor. I know them too well.”
“They don’t even grasp the basic rule of ignoring strange calls. If an odd sound keeps going—or calls their name—they’ll curiously seek it out.”
The Slytherins laughed louder, while some Muggle-born students shifted uncomfortably.
“It’s not funny, children. If Headmaster Dumbledore saw this, he’d be upset,” Quirrell said with mock sternness. Though he seemed to scold the Slytherins, his tone and expression egged them on.
“We still have to protect Muggles, hmm, though I’m not sure why we bother with something so numerous,” Quirrell shrugged. “So today, we’ll learn how to deal with an Erkling. Any suggestions, Harry?”
From Quirrell, Harry saw no trace of their battle in the Forbidden Forest three days ago. He looked vibrant, not at all like someone whose life was ticking away from drinking unicorn blood.
No, it was Voldemort—Voldemort was in top form.
“If you’ve got a stick handy, just give it a whack,” Harry said impassively. “Erklings aren’t strong or fast, and their only magic is luring children.”
“Oh, no, no, Harry,” Quirrell tsked. “You’re a wizard—a noble wizard. When faced with a problem, you should think of magic first, not act like some dim-witted Muggle and, ha, ‘give it a whack.’”
The Slytherins roared with laughter, while the Gryffindors turned to Harry, sensing something off.
“Watch this,” Quirrell said, drawing his wand and flicking it to unlock the cage.
Freed in an instant, the Erkling blinked around in confusion. Within two seconds, it locked onto its long-desired prey—these first-year students.
They smelled delicious—it had been dying to taste them.
Screams erupted immediately, especially when the Erkling turned toward them. Harry’s earlier words flashed through their minds: it eats children alive.
This time, even the Slytherins joined in the terrified cries. Those in the front row leapt onto their chairs, desperate to scramble back, cursing themselves for grabbing the best seats to see better.
The children’s shrieks only fueled the Erkling’s excitement and hunger. Some even saw a long strand of drool drip from its mouth—disgusting.
But just as it took a few steps forward to pounce, a light voice cut through—“Stinging Jinx.”
A flash of yellow light streaked past, and the next moment, the Erkling collapsed, writhing in agony, shrieking, clawing at its skin. Every touch seemed to amplify its pain.
Everyone could see red welts blooming across its body, like whip marks or burns, the surrounding flesh swelling grotesquely.
“Thank you, Professor! You saved us!” Blaise Zabini from Slytherin shouted.
“You’re welcome, child,” Quirrell said with a smile, ignoring the Erkling thrashing in pain at his feet. “A clever one—five points to Slytherin.”
