Chapter 59: The Magical Runes, the Unicorn

Hagrid didn’t know why Silven had suddenly sprinted toward the center of the Forbidden Forest, but seeing his frantic expression, he chose to follow behind.

Time crawled by second by second, and the deeper they went, the quieter it became; their ears seemed far sharper than usual, as if they could catch every whisper of wind and every snap of a breaking branch.

After an unknown length of time, the trees grew denser, and the once-wide path nearly vanished—but none of the three stopped.

Because the bloodstains on the ground had multiplied.

Here, Silven no longer needed to lead the way.

Hagrid rushed ahead, tearing aside vines and branches to clear a path for Harry and Silven.

After pushing through another thick thicket, a white object finally came into view.

It was a dying unicorn, writhing in agony atop the roots of an ancient oak, its silver-blue blood spilling like glittering gems across its body, mane, and the forest floor.

Beside the unicorn, a black figure crawled slowly along the ground—its shape resembled a man in a black hood, but its movements were more bestial.

Harry stood frozen. He had never seen anything so beautiful, so tragic, yet so unnatural; he felt he had to do something.

But someone moved faster than him.

“What are you?!” Hagrid crashed through the low bushes, “Stay away from the unicorn, or I’ll make you regret it!”

The shadow, seemingly unprepared for their arrival, hesitated only a moment before lunging at the wounded unicorn and greedily drinking the blood gushing from its wound.

With each sip, the unicorn’s struggles grew weaker; its mouth opened and closed, unable even to let out a cry.

“Stop!” Hagrid’s eyes turned red.

But when he finally reached it, fist raised to punish the monster that had slaughtered the unicorn, the figure slithered like a snake around a tree trunk behind it, then twisted its body into the pitch-black undergrowth and vanished.

Hagrid, blinded by rage, gave no thought to the danger—he charged after it, leaving Silven and Harry standing alone. Gradually, Hagrid’s heavy footsteps faded, and all they could hear was the rustling of leaves in the wind.

“Do you think that monster will come back…?” Harry whispered.

“I don’t know.” Silven shook his head, his eyes fixed on the unicorn as he walked slowly toward it.

Harry immediately followed.

“Is it dead?”

Silven said nothing, only stared as the unicorn’s eyes dimmed further.

In those eyes, he saw much: resentment, fury, longing, pain, pleading…

“It’s dying…”

“Who’s there?!” Harry jumped at the sudden voice behind him, whirling around and nearly dropping his wand.

By the faint moonlight, Harry finally made out the figure— or rather, the centaur.

Not Ronan or Bane he’d seen before, but a younger centaur with white-gold hair.

“This place is dangerous—especially for you,” the centaur said. “I can take you away. Can you ride?”

“I…” Harry didn’t answer; he pointed at Silven. “What about him?”

Since earlier, Silven had stood facing the unicorn, never turning back even as they spoke.

“I’m sorry—I can only carry one.” The centaur shook his head.

“Then I’m not leaving.” Harry said without hesitation.

Harry might be reckless and impulsive, but he was fiercely loyal—if Silven knew, he might be moved.

Unfortunately, he didn’t hear it.

Because at this moment, Silven was in a very strange place.

He still stood in the Forbidden Forest, but before him stretched an endless white world, faint outlines of flowers, lakes, and trees visible in the distance.

Silven looked down: the boundary between the two spaces churned like waves, colliding, pushing, yet sharply divided.

When he looked up again, the unicorn stood in the center of the white space—but now, it bore no wounds, no blood.

How was that possible?

Silven tried to step closer, but couldn’t. Though they seemed no more than five feet apart, it felt like five hundred—he couldn’t reach it.

At that moment, Silven seemed to understand. He glanced down at the wand core of the Whomping Willow.

The blue-silver glow had long since faded; the runes themselves had grown blurred and indistinct.

It appeared the unicorn had just died—but by accident, the runes on the hollow wand core had mistaken it for a dying core and activated.

But these runes were meant only to protect a core—a single tail hair. Their effect on a full-grown unicorn was negligible, barely holding back death long enough to let it linger at the edge of life and death.

But only for a moment. When the runes on the wand core vanished completely, he would return.

Yet another problem had arisen.

Silven looked at the wand, then at the unicorn, and sighed softly.

Now, the core of the Whomping Willow could only be this unicorn’s hair. Silven only hoped Hagrid and Dumbledore would remember his help guiding them and give him the unicorn’s tail.

Silven couldn’t help but look up at the unicorn’s head.

Such a fine wand core—using only a tail hair would be a waste.

Perhaps his gaze was too impolite; the unicorn immediately turned to him, adopting a defensive stance.

“Save your strength—do you think you can gore me?” Silven muttered to himself. “I won’t take your horn for free. How about this: I’ll lend the wand I make to Harry.”

“Then when he kills Quirrell, you’ll have avenged yourself personally.”

The unicorn kept staring at him.

“What? You don’t believe me?”

Silven sat cross-legged, regardless of whether the unicorn could understand, and began talking to it.

“I’m a… somewhat unusual wandmaker. You know what a wand is? This one.” He waved the Whomping Willow core. “Of course you don’t— but it doesn’t matter…”

As Silven spoke, the white space before him slowly eroded by his side’s “waves,” soon shrinking to the size of a window.

At the same time, Silven could now hear Harry’s voice—first faint, then clearer. He seemed to be speaking to someone. Was it Hagrid?

When this last sliver vanished, the unicorn would die completely.

Silven stood up from the ground.

“In any case, I’ll place part of your body into this wand, and have someone carry it to kill the monster that murdered you—it’s terrifying. You won’t be cheated.”

The space before him had shrunk to the size of a palm, glowing faintly like a lantern deep in the Forbidden Forest.

“What an odd experience,” Silven thought. “Did my grandfather know the hollow wand core had such a strange ability? He probably did. I’ll write and ask tomorrow.”

The voices beside him grew louder. Behind him, Harry’s vanished form had reappeared—but standing beside him was not Hagrid, but a centaur.

No wonder he’d kept hearing hoofbeats…

Wait—the centaur hadn’t moved. Why could he hear hoofbeats?

Silven instinctively turned again toward the former direction. The white space had vanished entirely—but the unicorn had not.

A unicorn, glowing with blue light like a ghost, charged toward him at an impossible speed, gathering all its strength to slam its horn into Silven’s hand—the Whomping Willow core.

(End of Chapter)