Chapter 29
Just as Albert was admiring the breathtaking scenery in awe, the lead unicorn suddenly neighed sharply, as if it had sensed something.
At that sound, every unicorn turned its head toward Albert's hiding place.
Albert swallowed hard. He knew that he couldn't risk fighting this small herd of five or six unicorns. According to legend, anyone who slays a unicorn at night is cursed—an eternal, agonizing torment that clings to the killer's body for the rest of their life.
The only reason Voldemort, through his host Quirrell, had slain a unicorn in the past was for its blood. Drinking it would restore a quarter of his original power. Voldemort, of course, was aware of the curse—but he cared little, knowing the consequences would fall solely on Quirrell's body, not his own.
In this situation, escape was not an option. Had the creatures been anything but unicorns, Albert would have already blasted his way free. But he understood now: humans could not simply run from such pure, ancient spirits. And so, he resolved to face them head-on—without violence.
After all, unicorns were inherently good creatures. They weren't known to harm the innocent without reason.
With this thought, Albert gently pushed aside the branches and stepped into the clearing, facing the unicorns directly.
Time seemed to blur under the weight of tension. Seconds may have passed—or minutes. Finally, the lead unicorn turned its gaze away, and the others relaxed, though they remained watchful in the clearing.
Albert exhaled in relief and sat on the grass, quietly observing the unicorns' behavior. Even for a wizard, encountering a herd of unicorns in the wild was a rarity.
As the unicorns nudged and brushed against one another, Albert noticed something troubling—the lead unicorn's front right leg was wounded. A faint black mist clung to the injury, and silver blood trickled steadily from the cut.
Concerned, Albert slowly rose to his feet and approached. The unicorns stirred uneasily, their eyes wary.
Stopping about four or five meters away, Albert spoke gently, "I saw that one of you is injured. It looks like a curse—a wound inflicted by dark magic. I may have something that could help."
According to legend, unicorns were highly intelligent, pure magical beings. Albert hoped they would understand his intention.
After a brief pause, the lead unicorn neighed softly—a sound that carried cautious acceptance. It allowed Albert's presence but denied him further approach.
He had heard that unicorns only allowed women near them. Why that was, he still didn't understand. Was there truly such a distinction between men and women to a creature so far removed from human concerns?
Since he couldn't get closer, Albert reached into his robes and pulled out a Lantern Plant—something he had happened to come across earlier in the forest. He placed it gently on the ground, along with several seeds of Sunberry Crystals.
Albert's former life—when he had learned healing magic from his uncle—served him now. He recognized the black mist escaping the unicorn's wound: a dark, unnatural heat, a sure sign of cursed magic.
He cast a gentle healing spell, one that infused the plant with restorative energy and vitality, then stepped back seven or eight paces and raised his hands to show he meant no harm.
The lead unicorn, sensing the life and light radiating from the enchanted plant, stepped forward and took the Lantern Plant in its mouth.
The wounded unicorn followed, licking the glowing sunlight from the Sunberry seeds and swallowing them. Slowly, its entire body began to emit a soft, silver glow—like moonlight made flesh.
From the wound on its leg, wisps of black mist began to rise, twisting and writhing as if reluctant to leave. But soon, they were drawn into the Lantern Plant, where they dissolved into glowing light.
Unlike ordinary plants that absorb sunlight and release oxygen, Lantern Plants absorbed darkness—and released light. A strange magic, unscientific yet true.
The reason the wound had resisted healing became clear: the lingering dark magic was the true barrier. Once the cursed remnants were pulled out—wriggling like larvae—the silver glow surged and the injury closed completely.
The lead unicorn let out a low, grateful cry before turning and leading its herd silently back into the forest.
Albert watched in silence. As the unicorns left the clearing, the silver glow on their bodies slowly faded. By the time they reached the trees where moonlight couldn't touch, the glow had vanished entirely.
They had used moonlight to awaken the magic within themselves and dispel the darkness from their wounded kin.
Unbeknownst to Albert, someone else had already learned of tonight's events. Voldemort and Quirrell had planned to use unicorn blood to stave off death. But perhaps Voldemort's condition hadn't yet deteriorated to that extent—or perhaps they feared Dumbledore's wrath if a unicorn was slain again.
It was also likely that they had injured one unicorn to lure more, hoping to trap several at once. But when the others arrived, the plan became unfeasible, and they were forced to flee. The unicorns, meanwhile, had sought safety to heal their fallen companion.
Once the herd was gone, Albert searched the clearing and found seven or eight strands of unicorn tail hair. Each one was worth ten Galleons—he couldn't just leave them behind.
(Though Albert was wealthy beyond measure, he detested waste, especially when it came to rare magical items.)
Pocketing the shimmering silver hairs, Albert felt tonight had yielded unexpected rewards. It was best, he thought, to head back to bed in the dormitory.
But just as he turned to leave, he heard something—heavy footsteps approaching through the underbrush. Before he could hide, a white shadow darted through the trees ahead.
Could it be that the unicorns hadn't left after all? Or was it something else entirely? The Forbidden Forest was vast—even Hagrid didn't know how many magical creatures dwelled within.
Not knowing whether the approaching creature was friend or foe, Albert leaned against a stone, drew his wand, and scanned the shadows.
Suddenly, a low chuckle echoed from the woods.
Startled, Albert nearly cast a severing spell—the same one he had used to slice apart the troll in the girls' bathroom—but restrained himself. It was unwise to attack blindly, not knowing whether this was enemy or ally.
Besides, launching an attack could reveal his location and magical strength—dangerous if a true battle followed.
The tension grew heavier. Just as Albert considered slipping away, a voice emerged from the darkness.
"Easy now, little one," it said in English. "No need to get excited. I won't harm you."