Work Text:
[Forbidden Forest, 1st September 1995]
Harry cursed aloud as he pushed his way through a cluster of hawthorn bushes, heading further into the Forbidden Forest as panic raced through him. The thorns on the bushes tore at his robes and skin, but he didn’t care – he didn’t even feel it. It had been two days since he’d felt anything at all, since the last dose of his concoction wore off. And it hadn’t stopped there – if anything things had degenerated even further. Something was very wrong with him, he knew.
His deadened sense of touch was followed by taste a day later – anything he ate now felt only like ash in his mouth – and he was terrified of what would come next. What if it was his sight? How would he find a unicorn then? Ice roared through his veins non-stop, and his involuntarily twitching limbs now felt like they all had weights attached to them. It was taking much of his focus just to keep himself moving normally, though the manner in which he was crashing through the undergrowth was hardly an example of the subtlety he normally sought to embody, in truth.
He’d been counting on the elixir keeping his symptoms sufficiently at bay until this evening, but it had rapidly become apparent that either it just wasn’t enough on its own any more, or his body had built up some kind of tolerance. He needed the blood to go with it, and he needed it now, but nothing had gone right for him this evening either.
His plan had been simple – sneak off when he got off the train in Hogsmeade whilst everyone else was heading to the carriages, head to the clearing in the forest where he’d most frequently found unicorns tracks, and then do what was necessary. Stay away from others in the meantime, and keep his limbs under control at all costs. Simple, right?
Unfortunately though, there’d been a factor that he’d overlooked – his face. To say he looked a wreck would be hugely underplaying it. His appearance had been rapidly degrading over the last two days – he’d barely even recognised himself in the mirror that morning. He was now deathly pale, as if he hadn’t seen sunlight in years, save for the black bags around his eyes which looked utterly harrowing at this point. His eyes themselves, if they looked like green fire after he’d taken his last dose, now they looked like ash – dark, the green almost a dull grey, and lifeless. On top of that, he was coated in an ice cold sweat that nothing he did seemed to be able to stem. He had the look of a terminal patient who’d been for a swim, and others had noticed. Sure, he’d taken a cabin for himself on the train, but when they’d had to get off and take the carriages there’d been no hiding it.
People had gaped at him, looking horrified, thinking he was sick, and had refused to leave him alone. He’d all but been press-ganged into a carriage and escorted up to the castle to see Madam Pomfrey, which was the last thing he needed. But what could he do? He’d argued, and insulted the families of a half dozen people hoping to get them to piss off, but that had only drawn the eye of a prefect who insisted on fetching the matron. He’d been lucky they’d left him in a side-room off the entrance hall whilst they went to fetch her, which had allowed him to finally get away. That would cause its own problems later when she came looking for him, but he’d have to deal with that when it happened. One thing he was absolutely clear on was that it would be disastrous if she found him in this state, so he had no choice.
He just had to get some blood. Get the blood, mix it with the elixir, then take it. Then everything would be fine, it had to be. He’d make up an excuse, get back to taking it regularly, and give himself time to take precautions to make sure this didn’t happen again. It would all be okay as soon as he got his hands on a bloody unicorn. It would.
His breath was ragged as he forced himself through another cluster of bushes, and then stumbled out into a clearing with a small pond filled with crystal clear water at its centre. This was the place he’d been aiming for – a water source that he’d learned the unicorns were particularly drawn to. Perhaps there was something magical about it, or it was simply ‘home’ to them, but whatever the reason he had been fortunate to stumble on it early last year. Tracking unicorns was hard, but the tracks he often found here made sure that it wasn’t impossible. Tonight though… oh, tonight, it seemed he was in luck. Finally something was going his way.
For a short distance away from him, on the other side of the pond, stood a golden unicorn foal. It had clearly been drinking from the water, but had heard his entry into the clearing and was now staring at him. Its eyes were wary, but far from the fright he’d seen in the eyes of his kills last year. ‘It’s probably too young to understand. To hold the same fear,’ he thought to himself, as he slowly and carefully pulled out his wand. ‘Never mind, it will do. One is as good as any, and if I’m lucky the parents may even come to look for it…’
His eyes hardened as he brought his arm up, twitching though it was, and clamped down on his focus to force his arm to hold still whilst he levelled his wand at the little unicorn. If this was the price demanded of him in return for the strength, the power that he’d been enjoying – one more young unicorn – then he would happily pay it.
“Diffindo!” he hissed, and pushed his magic into his wand in the way that had become second nature to him. A scythe of silver light exploded from its tip, and flashed across the clearing. It cleaved through the little foal before it knew what was happening, but Harry reeled back as it did so.
As the magic flew from his wand, it felt like something had gripped the inside of his chest and was pulling at it. His vision darkened considerably and his legs gave out from underneath him. He stumbled, hitting his knees before he could do anything to steady himself, and with an added violent spasm of his hand his wand tumbled from his grip. It felt like someone had ripped the breath from him, leaving his chest suddenly half-empty. His panic spiked to new levels as he reflexively gasped for air and clutched at his chest. What was that?! He’d never felt anything like that before, and he’d killed unicorns before – both grown and foals. What was happening to him?!
And as if that weren’t enough of a problem, before he even had his breath back, a voice called out from the surrounding forest. “‘Ey now, who’s there?”
Harry cursed again. He knew that voice, it was Hagrid. What were the odds he would just happen to be out and about in the exact part of the forest Harry himself was in during the welcoming feast? He mentally threw some choice, angry words at any deity that might be listening as his hand scrabbled around in the dirt for his wand – his still returning sight and the dim moonlight combining to make it hard for him to immediately spot.
“Show yerself!” Hagrid called out again. “If ye’re a student, best make yerself known now if yeh’re not wantin’ detention till the end o’ term!”
The bushes in front of him, to the left side of the pond, rustled. Finally his fingers alighted on smooth wood that could only belong to his wand, and he grasped it firmly, making to pull himself to his feet and retreat to the shadow of the trees as he did so. But his time was up.
The half giant stepped into the clearing, his pink umbrella that Harry knew housed the remnants of his wand extended in front of him warily. His eyes found Harry quickly. “Now then, wha’re you doin’ all the way out ‘ere? The forest’s off limits to—” Then, his eyes found the unicorn foal. Its body cleft almost in two by his overpowered cutting spell, its precious blood – blood that he knew he couldn’t afford to waste – already soaking the ground around it.
Hagrid let out a gasp of outrage and started towards the corpse, but it was obvious to both of them that the animal was beyond saving. With an exclamation of anger, the half giant turned back towards Harry.
“Wha’ in the blazes d’ye think ye’re doin’?! Was this your doin’?! Ye’ll… ye’ll be expelled for this, y’hear? Unicorns’re sacred beasts! Ye’re comin’ back to th’ castle. Now!”
He started angrily towards Harry, and fear gripped his chest like never before as he felt the metaphorical pincers closing in around him. There was no way he could talk his way out of this, and if Hagrid took him to the castle everyone would know… It would all be over. Not only that, he’d lose the blood which he’d come here for, that he needed so badly, that even now was flowing away… wasted. ‘No!’ he mentally intoned, before thrusting his shaking wand out in front of him.
“Stupefy!” he hissed, and a crimson bolt of magic shot from his wand to smash against Hagrid’s chest, even as it felt like another claw was yanking at his chest. At least this time he was prepared for it and managed to keep himself upright, but he was decided not prepared for the half-giant grunting in surprise but otherwise continuing moving forwards – very much remaining in the land of the waking.
‘Of course, giant blood!’ he moaned to himself. Hagrid was shielded from much minor level magic by the tolerance afforded to him by his blood. And now he was upon him, and the man’s hand reached out as if to grab Harry’s arm. But then he stopped, and a look of horror spread across his face. He was close enough to see through the shadows that Harry had been trying to hide himself in. Close enough to see his face. Close enough to realise who he was. ‘No. No, no, no, no, no!’ He had to do something!
“Harry?!” Hagrid gasped. “This… this can’t be—”
“Diffindo!”
Another scythe of silver magic burst from his wand, twice the size of the one that had gutted the unicorn foal, as Harry threw as much magic as he dared towards his wand and into the spell. His world went black at the effort it took, and this time he felt the not-so-gentle caress of dirt against his face as he collapsed to the ground.
But, thankfully, he held onto his consciousness, and a dark relief flowed through him. Somehow, it would all be okay. Because the cry of horror and pain from just in front of him told him that he’d hit his mark, and that the half giant had not been able to shrug that spell off, as did the thuds that followed it.
Hagrid, the kindly gamekeeper and Harry’s first friend in the world, was dead.