Chapter 66: The Unicorn

What’s going on?

Silven stood there bewildered, not understanding what had just happened.

Dumbledore wasn’t using the Elder Wand—and strictly speaking, it wasn’t even a proper wand at all.

“Mr. Ollivander, what’s wrong?”

Dumbledore’s voice brought Silven back to himself.

“Sorry…” Silven said, glancing at Dumbledore again, unable to hold back: “Professor, your wand…”

“Ah, I knew you’d notice,” Dumbledore said without turning around. “Yes, it broke—nearly snapped in two during a battle.”

Dumbledore stepped through the flames. Just as Silven prepared to follow as before, the parted flames closed again.

“It seems my magic has grown rusty. My apologies, Mr. Ollivander—could you wait here a moment?”

With that, Dumbledore pushed open the door behind the flames.

Silven tugged at his mouth…

If you didn’t want me to see the final chamber, just say so. “My magic is rusty”? You think I’m a goblin you can fool?

So it’s Voldemort. Who cares? I came along this time only to see if I could finally live up to the boast I made earlier.

The one where I told the unicorn I’d find a chance for it to exact revenge itself.

I’d planned to have Harry do it for me, but then Fluffy went berserk and ruined everything.

Now Dumbledore won’t even let me watch.

“Can’t be helped—I did my best,” Silven murmured to the silver mane in his hand. “You’ll have to wait. There might be another chance later.”

The silver mane gave no response, so Silven took that as agreement.

Still, though barred outside, when Dumbledore opened the door, Silven caught a fleeting glimpse of what lay within.

Harry seemed unconscious, yet still clutched tightly to Quirrell’s arm…

Probably Quirrell—because Silven couldn’t possibly link the grotesque creature before him—two faces, one arm, half its body like stone—to the timid Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

Quirrell screamed, his face twisted as if enduring unspeakable agony.

The next instant, his entire body withered and faded, crumbling like sand beneath a blazing sun into a pile of ash.

Then the door slammed shut completely, not a sound left behind.

Bored, Silven wandered around the cramped space, picking up a small bottle on the floor and shaking it.

This must be the potion that passes through the black flames.

Silven shook it… Tsk. Harry drank it all clean—now he couldn’t even sneak in.

Suddenly with nothing to do, Silven walked over to the long table and studied the five potions there.

There had been seven originally, but Harry drank the one to pass through the black flames, and Hermione took the one to return through the purple flames—only five remained.

Based on the gaps, Silven reconstructed the positions of the missing two potions, and with the clues beside them, quickly deduced what each bottle contained.

The second from the left and the second from the right were nettle wine—cheap junk, ignore them.

The rest? Poison. Take them all.

Came all this way—can’t leave empty-handed. After all, these are Snape’s poisons. Might come in handy someday.

The only problem: are they even real poison? Snape and Dumbledore are allies—he knew Harry would come here.

What if Harry misread the clues and drank the wrong one…?

If it were just about docking points or detention, Snape would’ve had no hesitation—but he’d never kill Harry.

Maybe all five are nettle wine, and three of them were just made to look like poison.

Still, even if that were true, Silven took the potions. After all, they were Snape’s work, shaped like poison—sell them in Knockturn Alley and they’d fetch a good price.

As Silven shoved the bottles into his robe pockets, his wand trembled violently again, and a chilling breath swept over him.

Silven snapped his head up—the black flames tore open without warning, and a wraith-like mist surged out.

Stranger still, within the mist was a horrifying face, flying while screaming curses at Dumbledore and Harry Potter.

Upon seeing that face, the wand shook even harder.

Silven knew clearly—it was the unicorn urging him on.

Fine. Earlier there was no chance—but now that one’s here, he wouldn’t break his word.

“But whether it works? That’s up to you!”

In an instant, he raised his wand and aimed it at the oncoming mist.

“Silver Mane, Star Fall!”

Before Silven even finished the incantation, a blue glow blazed from the wand’s tip—a unicorn formed of smoke leapt into the air, its horn gleaming with icy light, and slammed full-force into the black mist.

“Ahh! Ahh! Ahh!”

Silven realized Voldemort in ghost form could scream so horribly—and he hadn’t expected the unicorn’s spirit could inflict real harm on Voldemort in this state.

Voldemort’s screams were proof enough.

“You—who are you!”

Filled with endless hatred, Voldemort snarled at Silven.

Silven’s response was simple: he turned his head away, hiding his face.

Please—he was Voldemort. He was not insane enough to draw his attention.

Even if it wouldn’t work, what if Dumbledore was nearby? Voldemort wouldn’t dare linger.

And given Voldemort’s arrogance, he’d likely never noticed this insignificant nobody before.

As Silven expected, though Voldemort longed to cast twenty Avada Kedavras on him, he dared not stop or waste time identifying Silven.

Besides Dumbledore’s threat, the unicorn hadn’t ceased its attack—it spun around and charged again.

Under this dual threat, Voldemort could do nothing, dared nothing—only fled blindly outward.

The unicorn chased a short distance, but Voldemort ran faster this time, vanishing into thin air in the blink of an eye. With no target left, the unicorn could only return reluctantly.

Silven noticed something hanging from its horn—gray and cloudlike, radiating a familiar chill.

Huh?

Before he could examine it closely, Dumbledore emerged, sighed in relief upon seeing Silven unharmed.

“Professor…” Silven spoke up. “Something strange just ran out.”

“Thank you for the warning, Mr. Ollivander. Most important is that you’re safe. Could you take Mr. Potter to the hospital wing? I must attend to more urgent matters.”

(End of chapter)