Chapter 123: Scorch, The Unicorn's Child
As "Quirrell's" fingertips touched the gold‑red drop of blood, a burning tore through his soul, as if his whole being had been plunged into boiling water.
Voldemort did not care. He could bear this pain. The twists of repeated Dark Transfigurations, the agony of shredding his soul to forge Horcruxes, all bit deeper than this sear ever could. He had even felt the Killing Curse rebound upon him once—the near‑shattering of a soul, beyond all suffering.
He had Apparated on instinct the moment that strange creature flared back, when a tongue of gold fire appeared. He trusted his speed. His body had already begun to blur as the flame neared.
But just as "Quirrell" slipped into space like a fish and reached to cross to another corner, something seized and fixed him in place, a drag and lock so absolute it froze him. Space, flowing like water, turned to ice. The fish stilled.
The shock of it cost him the instant.
Zzz.
In that sliver of time, the tip of the flame leapt as if pulled, and bit down on the gold‑red drop.
The drop burst.
Fed on that fuel, the gold fire swelled in a blink, clung to "Quirrell's" finger, then his palm, his wrist—
Pain.
A force like molten rock hammered Voldemort's soul.
If the first burn was boiling water, this was lava.
The pain shattered his hesitation. "Quirrell" flicked his wand, and an invisible blade shot free.
Slash.
His arm parted clean at the shoulder.
Even so, in the heartbeat it took, gold fire had devoured the forearm; it licked past the elbow, hungry to climb higher.
"Quirrell" pointed his wand. The shredded stump, not yet burned, blew apart, spreading into a long, bloody curtain that fell between him and the flame.
His eyes cut to the mare, her skin scored with blades. He would take the second‑best prize—he would seize the foal's blood, as planned.
Drip.
Black‑red blood seeped from the corners of "Quirrell's" eyes and from his nose. The magic in his body sagged.
"Damn it."
"This wretched body."
Without a moment's pause, "Quirrell's" form became a column of black smoke and shot for the sky. He did not spare a glance for the mare. He would not risk reaching for a unicorn foal's pure, fresh blood. Not now. Not like this.
At the rate his magic was draining, one breath more, and he would never slip the net of that strange, powerful creature.
Seeing the enemy rise, Aurelius called Cloud to his hooves, ready to give chase. He stopped at once and flashed to Seleneia's side.
Two flames blossomed, one on his own wound, one washing over the mare. They were still red‑gold, yet the gold ran richer, brighter. Black vapors mixed with green steam boiled out of the cut in Aurelius's side. The flame burned them to ash.
Seleneia was far worse off. Cuts crisscrossed her body, deep and shallow, and the gash at her belly's peak nearly showed—
Aurelius spat two globs of shining saliva, one into her mouth, one directly into the wound.
As multicolored fumes bled from her, the Qilin's spittle drove the healing on, but too slowly. The mingled poisons would not clear in a moment; they bit and bit at her flesh. And…
Aurelius's eyes tightened on her belly, and his worry bit harder.
Seleneia gave a low, tiny sound, thin with pain. He understood her. He did not know how to answer. Her child—
He split off a tiny curl of cloud and caught a single gold‑red drop of his own blood, floating it carefully into Seleneia's belly.
He looked again, then tried to soothe her. "It is all right. It is all right."
"Wait for me."
Aurelius sent a wash of purifying flame over his body and drove deeper into the firewalls around them, stoking them higher and sealing the sky into a dome of flame.
He vanished.
Seconds later, he was back—with a young wizard at his side, still tugging on his robes.
As Leonardo drew his wand, Aurelius poured the story out. It had been three to five minutes, no more, and it beggared belief.
Leonardo's eyes darkened to still water. He lifted his wand and floated the collapsed Asterion to Seleneia's side.
Luck could be cruel. There were many unicorns in the Forest, and yet Voldemort had fixed on these. He should have tied them into his enchanted flask when he had the chance.
If Aurelius had not happened upon them—
Leonardo glanced at the Qilin's wound. "Master, it is nothing. It is nearly closed. See to Seleneia first—and her child."
Leonardo nodded and knelt by the mare, eyes moving fast over the wounds. He knew them at once: Sanguinisectum. Quirrell had taught that Dark spell only days ago, that trick of wedding potions to a curse. Cuts alone were easy to mend. The trouble lay in the potions.
Black vortices turned in his eyes. He used the Peeking Fiend's Eye to analyze the residues along the wound's edge. The deeper he looked, the heavier his face.
Not a crude blend of a few brews, but a set of ratios and ingredients that formed something more complex, more stubborn.
Her wounds were on one side of it. The other…
He looked at her belly. Through the deep slice, he could see within. A flicker of sorrow touched his eyes.
It could still be saved.
Aurelius had said he had given a drop of Qilin blood and steadied the foal for the moment, but it was still bad. More Qilin blood would not help; the life force was too rich to bear. And Seleneia no longer had the strength to bring the foal into the world.
It would have to be done by hand.
Delivering a unicorn foal—
Leonardo whipped a slip of paper from his pocket and tapped it. Lines of words sprang up. He handed it to Aurelius and turned back to his work, spell after spell to knit Seleneia and the life she carried.
"Aurelius, go to Mr. Scamander."