Chapter 66: The Unicorn's Revenge

What's going on?

Silven stood there completely baffled, not quite understanding what was happening.

What Dumbledore had used was not the Elder Wand at all, and strictly speaking it couldn't even be considered a proper wand.

"Mr. Ollivander, what's wrong?"

Dumbledore's voice pulled Silven back to his senses.

"Sorry…" Silven said. He glanced at Dumbledore again and couldn't help asking, "Professor, your wand…"

"Ah, I knew you'd notice." Dumbledore said without turning around. "Yes, it's broken — it nearly snapped in two during a certain battle."

Dumbledore stepped through the flames. Just as Silven was about to follow as before, the flames that had parted suddenly closed together again.

"It seems my magic's gotten a bit rusty. My apologies, Mr. Ollivander — would you mind waiting here for a while?"

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

Silven twitched the corner of his mouth…

If you didn't want him to see the final chamber, just say so. Rusty magic? You think I'm some goblin you can fool?

It's just Voldemort — who cares? The only reason he'd insisted on coming along this time was to see if there was a chance to make good on the big talk he'd been spouting earlier.

The thing about telling the unicorn he'd find a chance to let it take its revenge personally.

He'd originally planned to have Harry sub in for him, but halfway through, Fluffy had suddenly gone berserk and mucked it all up.

And now Dumbledore wasn't even giving him the chance to watch.

"Can't be helped, I did my best." Silven said softly to the silver-maned creature in his hand. "How about you wait a bit longer — there'll be another chance later."

The silver-maned creature gave no response, so Silven took that as agreement.

Still, although he'd been blocked outside, the instant Dumbledore opened the door, Silven had caught a fleeting glimpse of the scene within.

Harry seemed to have already lost consciousness, but was still gripping tightly onto one of Quirrell's arms…

Quirrell, presumably — because Silven really couldn't connect this nameless creature before him, with two faces, one arm, and half a body that looked like stone, with that cowardly Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

Quirrell was screaming, his face contorted, as though undergoing some indescribable agony.

The next second, his entire body rapidly withered and faded, crumbling apart like sand beneath a blazing sun, dissolving into a cloud of drifting ash.

After that the door shut completely, and not even a sound could be heard.

Silven, thoroughly bored, paced a circle around the cramped space and casually picked up a small bottle from the floor, giving it a shake.

What was inside should be the potion that could get one through the black flames.

Silven shook it… tsk, Harry really had drunk it down to the last drop. With that, there was no way he could sneak in either.

Suddenly finding himself with nothing to do, Silven simply walked over to the long table and looked at the five potions lined up on it.

There had originally been seven, but the potion that could pass through the black flames had been drunk by Harry, and the one that could pass through the purple flames to return the way they'd come had been taken by Hermione — leaving only five.

Judging by the gaps left behind, Silven reconstructed the positions of the two removed potions, and following 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 stuff, ignore them outright.

Pack up the remaining poisons and take them away.

He'd come all this way, after all — couldn't make the trip for nothing. These were poisons brewed by Snape; you never knew when they might come in handy.

The only question was whether they were really poison. Snape and Dumbledore were in cahoots, so Snape definitely knew Harry would be coming here.

What if Harry hadn't reasoned correctly and drunk the wrong potion…

If it were just docking points or giving Harry detention, Snape would certainly jump at the chance — but he absolutely wouldn't kill Harry.

Maybe all five were nettle wine, with three of them simply made to look like poison.

Of course, even so, Silven still took the potions. Whatever the case, these were Snape's handiwork, and they looked like poison — even sold off in Knockturn Alley they'd fetch a pretty price.

Just as Silven was forcefully stuffing the bottles into the pockets of his robes, the wand in his hand began to tremble violently once more, and at the same time a wave of chilling aura washed over him.

Silven snapped his head up. The black flames were torn open without warning, and a wraith-like mass of fog surged out at speed.

Even stranger, at the center of the fog was a terrifying face, cursing Dumbledore and Harry Potter as it flew.

Upon seeing that face, the wand trembled even more violently.

Silven knew perfectly well — it was the unicorn urging him on.

Fine, before there'd been no way; but now that another chance had appeared, he wouldn't go back on his word.

"But whether it works or not is up to you!"

In a flash, he raised his wand and aimed it at the oncoming cloud of smoke.

"Silver Mane Star Fall!"

Before Silven had even finished the incantation, a blue light blazed to life at the wand's tip. A unicorn, likewise formed of smoke, leapt into the air, the horn on its brow gleaming coldly, and drove itself headlong into the black fog with all its might.

"Ah! Ah! Ah!"

Silven realized that even in wraith-form, Voldemort could scream this miserably. What he hadn't expected at all was that a unicorn's soul could actually inflict real damage on Voldemort in this state.

Voldemort's shrieks were proof enough.

"Who… are… you!"

As if bearing endless resentment, Voldemort roared and turned his gaze toward Silven.

Silven's response was equally simple — he turned his head away so Voldemort couldn't see his face.

Please — that was Voldemort. He'd have to be insane to go drawing that kind of aggro on himself.

It might not actually work, sure, but just in case — Dumbledore was nearby, so Voldemort shouldn't dare linger too long.

And given Voldemort's arrogant, overbearing personality, he probably hadn't noticed a nobody like Silven before either.

Reality matched what Silven had thought: although Voldemort would have loved to hit Silven with twenty Avada Kedavra curses, right now he didn't dare stop, or waste time trying to get a look at Silven's face.

Besides Dumbledore's threat, the unicorn showed no sign of letting up either — it twisted its body and charged at him once more.

Under this double threat, Voldemort could do nothing, dared do nothing — he could only flee headlong toward the outer reaches without looking back.

The unicorn chased after him for a while longer, but Voldemort ran even faster this time, vanishing into thin air in the blink of an eye, and the unicorn, now without a target, could only turn back in frustration.

Silven noticed that there seemed to be something hanging on its horn — something grey and murky like a dark cloud, carrying a familiar cold, sinister aura.

Hmm?

But before he could get a closer look, Dumbledore came running out, and seeing that Silven was unhurt, he let out a small sigh of relief.

"Professor…" Silven spoke up first. "Something — I don't know what — just ran off a moment ago."

"Thank you for the warning, Mr. Ollivander. The important thing is that you're unhurt," Dumbledore said. "Could you take Mr. Potter to the school hospital for me? I'm afraid I have to go deal with something more urgent first."

(End of chapter)