Chapter 60: Two Wand Cores?

In the Forbidden Forest, the Centaur continued urging Harry to leave quickly, speaking at length about the purpose of drinking unicorn blood.

“Unicorn blood can prolong life, but the cost is terrible—those who sustain themselves this way become half-dead creatures, cursed lives…”

The Centaur nervously stamped his hooves, unable to explain why, since earlier, he had felt something was off about the surroundings—yet he couldn’t say exactly what.

The Centaur trusted this feeling was no illusion or coincidence; his tone grew more urgent.

“Unless you’re using it merely to stall for time, so you can drink something else—something that fully restores your vigor and vitality, something that grants immortality…”

“Mr. Harry Potter, do you know what is hidden in the school?”

“The Philosopher’s Stone!” Harry blurted out. “Of course—it’s the Elixir of Life! But I don’t understand who…”

“Can you not imagine who has waited silently for years, desperate to rise again? Who clings to life, waiting for the right moment?”

Harry’s pupils shrank as if an iron claw had seized his heart; even the air around him surged into a gale, leaves whipped into the sky, branches creaking under the wind…

“No—danger!”

Before Harry could even comprehend what was happening, a pair of strong arms seized him.

The Centaur stood before him, bow drawn and arrow nocked, eyes locked on the dead unicorn ahead—and Silven, whose back was turned to them.

“What are you—” Harry leaned out from behind, then saw a sight that left him stunned.

The dead unicorn was dissolving like a clay sculpture submerged in water.

“This… what’s happening?”

“I don’t know!” The Centaur’s voice was cold and grave.

“I know a unicorn’s body merges with the earth shortly after death—but not this fast!”

“Wait—Silven’s still there!” Harry now saw Silven beside the unicorn and moved to rush forward.

He took one step—and was pulled back again.

“Don’t go!” The Centaur dragged him back a full step.

His instinct told him the unicorn’s transformation was tied to the boy—he trusted his instinct absolutely.

That single step backward was enough—the unicorn vanished completely, leaving nothing behind, not even its horn.

Then, in the dim forest, a stream of silver-blue light appeared—like a severed brook, or colored wind… The Centaur had never seen anything so wondrous.

So wondrous it bordered on eerie.

The silver-blue light swirled around the boy, then sank into a twig in his right hand.

Hum!

A ripple surged outward from the twig, spreading rapidly through the air.

Harry noticed now that golden symbols had appeared on Silven’s exposed wrist, flickering faintly in the dark—like a golden bracelet with a unique pattern.

And the bracelet looked familiar—he thought he’d seen it before.

Oh—he remembered. The last time Silven made a wand, his wrist had looked exactly like that.

According to Silven’s explanation, these were auxiliary runes, used to stabilize the wrist during wand-core crafting.

Wand-making?

Harry was startled by this sudden thought and shook his head immediately.

Impossible—he was certain Silven hadn’t plucked a single unicorn hair, hadn’t even taken a core—how could he have made a wand?

“Silven, wake up!” Blocked by the Centaur, Harry shouted as loudly as he could, trying to rouse Silven.

But his voice was swallowed by the growing storm—the wind drowned it out. Silven couldn’t hear, and even if he could, he had no time to respond.

The Whomping Willow’s core was reacting violently—he could only do one thing: channel the unicorn’s soul into the core with all his strength.

The process went smoothly—or too smoothly. Even easier than using a single hair.

But he noticed something strange: the unicorn’s body vanished as he worked. Had the soul entered the core—or had the entire unicorn been absorbed?

But it no longer mattered. Either way, it was unprecedented in wand history.

Silven’s heart pounded with excitement—he never imagined the unicorn would bring him such a surprise.

As each rune ignited, the unicorn fully merged into the Whomping Willow. Silven began pressing the two split wand shafts together—once fused into a complete core, the wand would be finished.

But this final step refused to succeed.

Feeling the feedback from the Whomping Willow, Silven frowned deeply.

Missing a core?

What was going on? What had the unicorn been?

Crack…

No time to think.

Seeing a fine crack on the Whomping Willow’s shaft, Silven immediately rummaged through his pocket.

He hadn’t brought anything with him—his only possible core material was two teeth, each about five inches long.

The teeth of a three-headed dog. Silven had kept them, never wanting to use them.

He still didn’t want to use them now.

If he could choose, he’d rather find another unicorn, pluck a hair—though not from the same creature, at least it would be the same kind.

But now, he had no choice.

Awooo!

As if a beast had roared, half the creatures of the Forbidden Forest stirred.

More Centaurs appeared around them, whispering to one another.

Hagrid returned at once, shielding Harry behind him.

He moved to grab Silven—but as he reached out, a silver-white creature slammed into him.

Unseen until now, three more unicorns had appeared. The one that struck Hagrid was one of them.

They encircled Silven, barring anyone from approaching.

“How strange,” murmured the Centaur.

“What’s strange?” Harry asked instinctively.

“Before now, unicorns never appeared in groups,” said the Centaur, staring fixedly at the Whomping Willow branch in the center—the wizards called it a wand.

He could clearly sense two utterly different energies clashing upon it: one, the pure magic unique to unicorns; the other, the opposite—wild, violent.

Yet this violent energy was far weaker, quickly pushed to the very end.

The result: two tiny fangs sprouted from the wand’s tip, one on each side.

Simultaneously, the already-formed shaft changed again—gaining a spiral of golden runes, identical to the unicorn’s horn.

…

(End of Chapter)