They stumbled back into the Gryffindor Tower well past midnight, lungs burning, adrenaline still pounding.
Ron clutched his hand, wincing. "Ow—bloody—he bit me!"
Hermione gasped. "Let me see!"
Smoke-scorched skin and angry red marks ran across his fingers.
"It's fine," Ron said quickly, trying not to wince again. "Just a nibble. Mother'll be thrilled."
Harry laughed, but the sound faltered when he caught sight of movement at the far end of the corridor — a flash of pale blond hair disappearing down the stairs.
His stomach sank. "Malfoy."
Hermione froze. "He saw us?"
"Probably followed us," Harry said grimly. "He's been trying to prove something all week."
Ron muttered, "Brilliant. That git's going to tell McGonagall first thing in the morning."
Harry sighed. "He won't have to. She'll catch him herself."
Hermione frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Harry gave a wry smile. "Trust me. History has a funny way of repeating."
Ron gave him a suspicious look. "You and your creepy predictions."
Harry shrugged. "They keep being right."
⸻
The Next Morning
By breakfast, Ron's hand had swollen enough to send him to the Hospital Wing, and Harry couldn't help feeling guilty as Madam Pomfrey fussed over him.
"You'll be fine," she said briskly, wrapping his hand. "Dragon bites always heal fast. Assuming you stop doing daft things."
"Not likely," Ron muttered.
Harry grinned. "I'll bring you some toast."
But when he reached the Great Hall, Professor McGonagall was waiting.
"Potter. Granger. Longbottom. My office. Now."
Neville looked terrified. "I didn't do anything!"
Hermione shot him a sympathetic look. "Neither did we, technically."
⸻
McGonagall's Office
Malfoy was already there, looking smug until he realized he wasn't getting rewarded.
"I was trying to catch them!" he protested. "I was doing you a favor!"
McGonagall's eyebrow arched. "A favor that involved sneaking through the corridors after curfew? How generous of you. Detention, Mr. Malfoy."
Neville stammered, "Professor, I just—heard Malfoy bragging and thought I should warn them—"
"I see," McGonagall said gently. "Then perhaps next time you'll warn a teacher instead. Detention."
Hermione closed her eyes. "We're doomed."
McGonagall folded her arms. "You'll serve it with Hagrid tomorrow night. Eleven o'clock sharp."
As they left, Harry glanced at Malfoy, who was muttering furiously under his breath.
"Well," Harry said quietly, "that went about how I expected."
Hermione shot him a look. "You expected this?"
Harry smiled faintly. "Let's just say it's happened before."
⸻
Later That Evening
Ron sat propped up in bed when Harry came to visit, his hand wrapped in bandages.
"So," Ron said. "How bad is it?"
"Detention tomorrow night," Harry replied. "Forest duty."
Ron grimaced. "Figures. Wish I could come."
Harry snorted. "No, you don't."
Ron grinned. "You're probably right. But still — if Malfoy's there, give him my regards."
"I'll consider it," Harry said dryly. "Preferably in the form of a mild hex."
They both laughed, the easy kind that made the walls of the Hospital Wing feel less sterile.
Harry stayed a while longer, talking about Quidditch and homework until Ron drifted off. Then he whispered, almost to himself,
"See you after the forest, mate."
⸻
The next night, the air outside Hagrid's hut shimmered with mist and moonlight.
Harry arrived with Hermione, Neville, and Malfoy — the four most unlikely companions for anything resembling safety.
Ron's voice echoed in his head: If Malfoy's there, give him my regards.
Harry almost smiled.
Hagrid appeared, carrying his crossbow and a lantern the size of a pumpkin. "Evenin'! Ready fer a bit o' work, are yeh?"
Malfoy gave a weak laugh. "Define ready?"
Hagrid ignored him. "We're goin' ter check on the unicorns. Been somethin' hurtin' 'em lately. Beautiful creatures — purest in the forest."
Hermione looked horrified. "Hurting them? What kind of monster—?"
"Dunno," Hagrid said grimly. "But we're gonna find out."
He handed out lanterns, the light spilling over their faces. "Now listen close. We're splittin' inter two groups. Me, Hermione, an' Neville'll go one way. Harry, yeh take Malfoy an' Fang the other."
Malfoy sputtered. "What? With him?"
Hagrid grinned. "Reckon yeh could use some courage."
Harry just shrugged. "Relax, Malfoy. Fang bites less than I do."
Hermione shot him a disapproving look, but Harry saw the corner of her mouth twitch.
⸻
The forest swallowed them like breath — a living cathedral of silver leaves and shadow.
Harry's lamp cast a narrow glow ahead, illuminating the weave of roots underfoot. The air shimmered faintly with ancient magic.
Every sound felt amplified: twigs snapping, wings rustling, Fang's steady panting.
Malfoy muttered, "This is insane. If we die, I'm haunting you."
Harry smirked. "You'd have to find room. I'm already haunted."
Malfoy frowned. "What does that even—"
"Shh," Harry said softly. He crouched, lantern low.
A ribbon of silver gleamed across the path — not dew, not moonlight. Blood.
"Is that—?" Malfoy began.
"Unicorn blood," Harry said quietly. He touched the edge of a drop with his finger. It pulsed faintly with magic, impossibly pure.
He remembered this sight from another life — and how it had ended. But this time, he was ready.
"Look," he murmured, gesturing toward the undergrowth. The trail continued deeper, faint hoofprints beside it. "Whatever did this is nearby."
Malfoy swallowed. "We could just… tell Hagrid."
Harry's voice was calm. "We will. After we know what we're up against."
The forest grew darker. Their lamps flickered, the light dancing on twisting branches. Then the smell hit them — iron and smoke and something wrong.
Fang whined softly.
⸻
They entered the clearing.
A unicorn lay collapsed in the grass, its coat glowing like starlight, silver blood pooling beneath it.
A hooded figure bent over the wound.
The world narrowed — moonlight, shadow, heartbeat.
Harry's scar ignited. Not pain — recognition. The cold touch of something he'd felt in another forest long ago.
Voldemort.
Before Malfoy could move, Harry's wand was up. "Lumos Maxima!"
Light erupted like dawn.
The hooded thing shrieked, rearing back. Smoke poured from its form, the shadows recoiling violently as it fled between the trees.
Harry stepped forward, breath ragged. The unicorn's breathing was shallow, but steady.
"Stay with me," he whispered, pressing a trembling hand near its mane. "You're not going yet."
The magic in the air vibrated — a pulse of life answering him.
Malfoy's voice trembled. "What was that?"
Harry looked at him. "Something that drinks life because it's forgotten how to live."
⸻
Hoofbeats broke the silence.
A centaur stepped into the clearing, tall and golden, eyes deep with starlight.
"Harry Potter," he said quietly. "You should not be here."
Harry straightened. "Neither should that."
Firenze's gaze flicked to the trees. "You have seen it, then. The one who drinks the blood of the pure to stay alive."
Harry nodded. "He was here before. He's trying again."
Firenze studied him for a long moment. "You speak as one who knows more than he should."
Harry gave a small smile. "Maybe I've just learned faster."
The centaur's expression softened. "The forest remembers those who respect its life. It will not forget you, Harry Potter."
He knelt briefly by the unicorn, murmured something in a language that sounded like wind over stone, and then looked to the boys.
"Go. Tell Hagrid what you've seen. And remember — the stars do not lie, but they are patient. Fate waits, even for the living."
Harry inclined his head. "I'll keep that in mind."
⸻
They found Hagrid, Hermione, and Neville near the riverbank.
Neville's face was pale, his eyes wide; Hermione's hair was full of leaves.
"There yeh are!" Hagrid cried. "I was startin' ter think—"
Malfoy cut him off. "There was a thing drinking a unicorn's blood! Floating—horrible—it nearly—"
Hagrid's face darkened. "Come on. Back ter the castle. None o' yeh should be out here another minute."
They followed in silence, the forest whispering behind them.
Harry glanced once over his shoulder. He could feel the darkness still moving in there — weak, but alive.
And for the first time, he didn't feel like prey.
⸻
Later that night, long after Hermione and Neville had gone to bed, Harry sat awake in the common room.
The firelight danced against his face, gold and red.
He thought of the unicorn — the glow of its blood, the way the forest had pulsed like a heartbeat when he'd touched it.
He thought of the hooded figure, of death returning in fragments.
And he thought of how, this time, he hadn't wanted to run or surrender.
He'd wanted to protect.
Maybe that was what living meant — not denying death, but standing between it and the people who couldn't.
He took out his small leather-bound notebook, hesitated, and wrote:
Magic serves life best when the heart remembers why it fights.
Then, closing it, he whispered softly to the flames:
"Not this time. I'm staying alive."
The fire cracked once, like a promise.
⸻
End of Chapter 30 – Detention and The Forbidden Forest