Deep in the Forbidden Forest, the centaur continued urging Harry to leave. He explained many things—especially about unicorn blood.
"Unicorn blood can keep one alive… but the cost is dreadful. Anyone who lives that way becomes a cursed soul, a half-life doomed to exist in torment…"
The centaur shifted his hooves anxiously. Something in the forest felt… off. He couldn't explain it, but the unease had been growing since earlier.
And centaurs didn't take such feelings lightly.
"Unless," he added hastily, "you're only using the blood to survive long enough to drink something else… something that restores your life completely… something that grants immortality…"
"Harry Potter, do you know what's hidden inside the school?"
"The Philosopher's Stone!" Harry blurted. "Of course—the Elixir of Life! But… who would—"
"Can't you guess? Who has waited in the shadows all these years? Who clings to life with everything he has, waiting for his return?"
Harry's pupils shrank. It was as if an iron claw clamped down on his heart. The wind howled through the trees, sending leaves flying into the sky and branches creaking ominously.
"No—something's wrong!"
Before he could process what was happening, a strong arm yanked him backward.
The centaur stood protectively in front of him, bow drawn, eyes fixed on the unicorn's corpse nearby—and on the boy who knelt beside it.
"What are you doing…?" Harry peeked out from behind the centaur, only to see something that left him speechless.
The dead unicorn… was dissolving, like a clay sculpture soaking in water.
"What… what's happening?"
"I don't know!" the centaur said grimly. "Unicorns return to the earth quickly after death, but never this fast!"
"Wait—Harold's still there!" Harry cried, finally spotting him near the body. He took a step forward—
Only to be pulled back again.
"Stay back!" the centaur warned.
His instincts screamed that whatever was happening to the unicorn was tied to the boy. Centaurs always trusted their instincts.
And just like that, the unicorn vanished completely, leaving not even its horn behind.
Then, a ribbon of silver-blue light floated through the air—like a sliced stream or a colored gust of wind. The centaur had never seen anything like it.
It was wondrous… but also unsettling.
The light circled Harold briefly before flowing into the branch in his right hand.
A ripple spread from the wand shaft like a stone dropped in water.
Harry noticed golden runes glowing on Harold's exposed wrist, flashing faintly in the dark like a bracelet of ancient script.
Oh—he remembered! Harold's wrist had glowed the same way when he was making a wand before.
According to Harold, it was a magical rune meant to stabilize the hand during wand-core fusion.
The thought struck Harry so hard it startled him—but he shook his head quickly.
Impossible. He was certain Harold hadn't pulled a tail hair from the unicorn. Without a core, how could he be making a wand?
"Harold, wake up!" he shouted, blocked by the centaur. He could only yell, hoping Harold would hear.
But the wind had grown wild. His voice was lost almost instantly—and even if Harold had heard him, he probably had no time to respond.
The Whomping Willow shaft was reacting violently.
Harold could only focus on one thing: transforming the unicorn's soul—if that's what it was—into a wand core.
And the process was going alarmingly well. Almost too well—easier than using a tail hair.
But then something odd happened.
The unicorn's body had disappeared. Was the thing that entered the wand its soul… or the entire unicorn?
In the end, it didn't matter.
Whichever it was, this was something never before seen in wand-making history.
Harold's heart pounded with excitement. He never imagined the unicorn would give him such a miraculous surprise.
One rune after another lit up, and the unicorn fully merged with the Whomping Willow shaft.
It was time to fuse the split shaft and finalize the wand core.
But… it wouldn't work.
Harold frowned, feeling the strange feedback pulsing through the wood.
What about the unicorn just now?
No time to think. A fine fracture had just opened along the shaft.
Harold plunged his hand into his pocket, rummaging.
He hadn't brought much with him—only two five-inch-long teeth.
He'd had them for a while but hadn't dared use them.
Now he didn't want to either. If he had a choice, he'd prefer to find another unicorn and take a proper tail hair. At least it would match.
But he had no choice anymore.
A distant howl pierced the air.
It echoed through the forest, shaking birds from their nests.
More centaurs appeared, whispering urgently among themselves. Thɪs chapter is updated by 𝕟𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕝⁂𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖⁂𝕟𝕖𝕥
Hagrid returned, instinctively shielding Harry with his large body.
He tried to pull Harold away—but the moment he reached out, he was struck by something silver and white.
Three unicorns had arrived, seemingly out of nowhere. One of them had knocked Hagrid aside.
The trio surrounded Harold, refusing to let anyone approach.
"So strange," one centaur murmured.
"What's strange?" Harry asked instinctively.
"Unicorns… never travel in groups," the centaur replied, staring blankly at the wand—no, the branch—held by the boy at the center.
He could feel it—two distinct forces colliding inside that wood.
One was the pure, gentle magic unique to unicorns.
The other… chaotic, savage, aggressive.
But the violent force was clearly weaker—and it was quickly pushed aside, suppressed to the end of the wand.
A moment later, two tiny fangs poked out from either side of the wand's tail.
And then, the completed shaft changed once more—gaining a spiral of golden markings, identical in shape and curve to the horn of a unicorn.