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HRHL# Chapter 77: A Pain Like Drilling into the Bone
🕑 Added 2025-01-22 14:27:44 +0000 UTC“Blinding?”
Hagrid and Harry both tilted their heads back, scanning the sky for Mars.
As Ronan had mentioned, it wasn’t difficult to find—a star so unnaturally bright it dominated the heavens.
“It really is glaring,” Hagrid remarked, squinting at the celestial body before turning back to the centaur. “Have you seen anything strange around here lately? A unicorn’s been injured—do you know anything about it?”
Ronan didn’t respond directly. Instead, he spoke in the same enigmatic tone: “Mars is particularly bright tonight.”
Hagrid sighed heavily, giving Harry’s shoulder a gentle pat. “See what I mean? That’s centaurs for you. Never give a straight answer—always got their eyes on the stars. Frustrating, isn’t it? You ask about a unicorn, and they’ll talk about Mars instead. They never just say what they mean…”
Riddlers, huh?
Harry hadn’t spent much time conversing with centaurs; his interactions with them had been more... combative. He could still hear the echoes of their anguished screams from before.
There had been a time when he’d wondered if Veratia might’ve taken things too far. But now?
They deserved it.
This is the punishment riddlers earn!
“Still, their hearts are in the right place,” Hagrid continued, a faint chuckle in his voice. “They may not be straightforward, but they care about this forest and all its creatures. Anyway, let’s keep moving.”
Leaving Ronan behind, who remained fixated on the stars, they continued their search.
“They remind me of Professor Dumbledore,” Harry remarked, nudging a branch out of his way with his foot. “Always speaking in riddles, never saying things outright.”
“Now that you mention it…” Hagrid nodded thoughtfully, scanning the forest floor. “Look here—unicorn blood, all over the ground. Even on the roots of the trees.”
They pressed forward until they came to a fork in the path.
Both trails were marked with fresh blood—streaks and glistening pools suggesting the unicorn hadn’t gone far.
“We should split up, Hagrid,” Harry suggested, his tone firm. “It’s badly injured; if we hurry, we might still save it.”
“Well…” Hagrid hesitated, torn between his desire to protect Harry and the urgency of finding the unicorn.
“Don’t worry about me,” Harry reassured him. “If anything happens, I’ll send up red sparks.”
Reluctantly, Hagrid nodded. “Alright. But take Fang with you. He may be a coward, but his instincts are sharp.”
Harry glanced down at the massive boarhound, skepticism plain on his face. You think it’s like Fiona, our phoenix? That it’ll throw itself in front of a Killing Curse for me?
Still, he nodded. “Alright, I’ll bring Fang.”
“Be careful,” Hagrid urged, gripping his crossbow tightly as he headed down one path. Halfway, he turned back, his brow furrowed with concern. “You’re sure about this? We could stick together.”
“The unicorn doesn’t have much time,” Harry replied resolutely.
Once Hagrid disappeared, Harry tucked his wand back into his robes, pulling out the one he had confiscated earlier.
With Fang reluctantly in tow, he followed the blood trail deeper into the forest.
The farther he went, the denser the trees became. Their gnarled branches wove together, blocking out most of the moonlight. The path narrowed, barely navigable.
The bloodstains grew sparser but more concentrated, pooling in silvery patches on the ground.
Fang whined nervously, pacing around Harry’s feet and tugging at his robes, as if pleading with him to turn back.
Harry ignored the dog, his focus unwavering.
Ahead, the trees gave way to a clearing, their ancient branches twisted into a canopy of shadows.
A soft, mournful whinny pierced the stillness.
Pushing through the last of the branches, Harry saw it—a radiant white unicorn, collapsed on the ground. Its coat, once pristine, was now stained with blood, and its eyes shimmered with a desperate plea for salvation.
Harry approached cautiously, keeping an eye on his surroundings. Fang’s incessant whining was grating.
“Stupefy.”
The stunning spell silenced the dog, leaving it unconscious in a heap.
As the spell echoed through the forest, a rustling sound came from nearby bushes.
Harry froze, his wand aimed at the disturbance.
A moment later, a hooded figure emerged, moving with a serpentine grace that exuded menace.
It slithered toward the unicorn, its every movement deliberate, radiating an aura of malevolence.
Reaching the dying creature, the figure bent low, its hood obscuring its face, and began to drink deeply from the unicorn’s wound.
The unicorn let out a heart-wrenching cry, its body convulsing in agony.
Pain exploded in Harry’s scar, searing and relentless, as if a brand had been pressed against his forehead. The last time it had hurt this much was when Sebastian had cast the Killing Curse.
Clenching his jaw against the pain, Harry raised his wand.
“Stupefy!”
A jet of red light shot forward, striking the hooded figure and knocking it aside.
The unicorn’s labored breaths quickened, a faint glimmer of hope returning to its eyes.
Harry advanced cautiously, his wand trained on the motionless figure.
But it wasn’t over.
The figure rose slowly, its silhouette dark and foreboding, like Death itself. Had it held a scythe, the image would have been complete.
Harry’s scar throbbed violently, his vision blurring as his grip on the wand faltered.
The figure surged forward, a blur of shadow and malice.
A sudden voice—ethereal and faint, yet urgent—rang in Harry’s mind: “Run!”
Ignoring the pain, Harry raised his wand again, his rage overtaking him.
“Crucio!”
